Chinook
by George Hosier  - March 12

The Burro

Once upon a time in a northern kingdom, not far from where the Aurora Borealis springs chiming from the belly of the earth, lay a sleepy little village. “Triangle Union” it was called, which was rather unfortunate, since such a cold and mathematical sounding name did not accurately reflect the spirit of the place at all.

Those who lived there simply called it, “Triangle”, because they were an unpretentious folk who cared little for the sophistry and intrigue of city airs. The majority of them could find no greater pleasure than coaxing fat, tasty turnips out of their loam-glutted fields or in taking up their hunting bow, saddling their most sure-footed steed, and disappearing into the dense evergreen canopy that mantled the granite shoulders of the nearby mountains, in quest of a trophy stag, or keen-tusked boar.

Crime and corruption were rare and unwelcome visitors to Triangle, partly because of the unwritten code of brotherhood shared by all who dwelt there and partly because of the rugged independence on which they prided themselves. The King’s officers who did maintain a small constabulary in the village mostly dealt with carriage accidents, minor altercations involving locals who had ingested too much honey mead at the tavern, or hunters who had shot a stag in the King’s forest without first obtaining a letter of permit bearing the King’s seal.

On the rare occasion that a bandit or rogue would find his way to Triangle, intent on violence, robbery or some other sort of mischief, he would be apprehended in the act by outraged villagers who would bloody his head with cudgels and then trot him off to the constabulary at sword point. In the event of blizzard, flood, or fire, villagers would pass a helmet around to collect gold coins for relief of the victims. Houses would be opened to board neighbors left homeless until a community building day could be organized to erect a new house for them.

In short, the sturdy, generous people of Triangle met every crisis with a spontaneous expression of cheerful solidarity. Tranquility ruled. Although the land was rugged, and the climate harsh, the simple appeal of such a lifestyle was pleasing to the folks of Triangle, and most were content to call it home and raise their families in the unruffled peace of this rustic place.

Word eventually traveled around the Kingdom of this quaint and charming village, and over time outsiders began to make their way to Triangle Union. Many arrived seeking a sanctuary of pulchritude from the heartless, thronging crush of city life, but others came with more pragmatic intentions.

A knight of the King’s army rode through the place one day and determined that Triangle would be an excellent location to establish a military garrison. It was close enough to the border to serve as an outpost for keeping track of any encroachments by the rival Baron, and the open country and low population density made it the perfect place to build a practice field to train green soldiers in battlefield tactics.

As soon as a site for a barracks was chosen across the river from Triangle, carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, laborers, and other craftsmen from all over the realm began to settle in and near the village. It wasn’t long before men-at-arms, archers, and knights followed. The villagers were happy for the protection that the soldiers provided, and proud that the King had so honored them. Furthermore, the merchants were delighted with the increased business that the newcomers brought to the area, and many local tradesmen were grateful to find much needed work at the garrison construction site. Overall, it seemed to be an advantageous arrangement for all parties concerned.

However, most of the tradesmen and soldiers from places far away had mainly come for the generous wages they would be earning. Some were dismayed to discover that they had been assigned to a place that did not provide weekly banquets, balls, jousts, and troubadour exhibitions. The simple contentment of spending the evening with a checkerboard by the hearth, or fishing for trout in the brook escaped their sophisticated tastes. The wives that accompanied them complained loudly of the bitter weather and the lack of a sprawling, bustling open market like the ones to which they were accustomed.

Murmurs of discontent began to circulate around Triangle, as a growing number of Trianglians began to question why their village was so quaint and obsolete. Old-timers grew apologetic and defensive of their simple, uncomplicated lifestyle. This attitude was viewed by the newcomers as pure grumpiness, touched with senility. Many young people began to consider Triangle boring, and left to seek their fortune among castles and cathedrals where there were an exhilarating number of ways to earn money, and an even more dizzying selection of ways to lose it.

Then came the day that a prospector covered in dust, and hoarse from shouting, galloped into town, bawling that much gold had been found in the hills northeast of the village at a mine called Bouncing Stick. Overnight, a new wave of strangers converged on Triangle, with lean purses and dark cloaks, their eyes glinting cold and yellow in their sallow faces. Among them rode the fat Seneschal of the nearest manor, Fairbanks Castle. His name was Squire Lucre, and he had come to congratulate Triangle on their extraordinary good fortune and to humbly offer any assistance that they might require from his vast experience as manager of a wealthy manor.

The villagers seemed puzzled at first, because they had not been aware of the need for assistance. Patiently, the most eloquent of the newcomers explained that Triangle was changing, and that if they did not quickly develop some savvy, they would fall victim to a thousand ills, perils and hucksters. They assured them that their customs were hopelessly primitive compared to other parts of the Kingdom, and that if they hoped to appear more cultured than a pack of baboons, they would do well to take the Seneschal’s suggestions under advisement.

So the announcement was made that on a specified date, all Trianglians should meet with the Seneschal in the Town Square. Nobody knew exactly what to expect, and few could take time away from harvesting turnips and hunting stags to attend. The few who did turn out dressed in their best frocks and jerkins, brought picnic lunches in the hopes that the event, if boring, could be salvaged with some festivities around the Maypole.

Alas, the Seneschal’s first question completely drove all thoughts of festivity from their minds. “Where is your Burro?”

“I beg your pardon, Sire?” quavered an elderly artifact of the village. “What Burro?”

The Seneschal fluttered his hand impatiently. “Your Town Burro, of course. Don’t tell me you don’t have a Town Burro!”

As it turned out, not only did they not have a Town Burro, but they had absolutely no idea what the Seneschal was talking about. A farmer offered to loan the Seneschal his pony, and the tanner wondered if a goat would serve his purposes, but the Seneschal snapped peevishly that his question did not concern his own transportation needs, as much as the best interests of the good people of Triangle.

Embarrassed by their ignorance, the village folk begged the Seneschal to kindly explain himself. The Seneschal rolled his eyes in exasperation, but after heaving a tremendous sigh, began to explain.

“A Town Burro is a large beast that is owned by nobody in particular and everybody in general. Any town worth the name has acquired a Burro years ago. A Town Burro is a mark of class and sophistication. You would do well to get one as soon as possible.”

The villagers exchanged blank and baffled looks. “But why, wise Seneschal? How can a burro benefit us?”

“How can it benefit you?” The Seneschal appeared to struggle with a moment of apoplexy. “I really don’t see how you have made it this long without one! A Town Burro is a most indispensable necessity. To start with, it can provide transportation. Not only will it carry you back and forth between your homes and your jobs, but children can ride it to school!”

“But Seneschal, we already are able to get where we need to go. If our cart is broken, our neighbors are always happy to take us. When we have half a sovereign, we drop it in their purse by way of thanks. If we don’t have it, we return the favor another day.”

The Seneschal’s face darkened a hue. “Please! Please, good people, let me finish! The Town Burro also serves to protect you from wolves and interlopers. It drives away suspicious characters that lurk about the streets at night. Towns with Burros are safer than those without one. If a fire breaks out, the Burro will bray the alarm and haul water to put it out! Furthermore, it is a powerful beast of burden to carry supplies and materials for other projects as well. With the help of the Burro, the town can build many public structures, streets and wells to be used and enjoyed by all.”

The audience picked up their picnic baskets to leave. “Thank you for your advice, Sire, but we have never had a shortage of good-hearted volunteers to meet these needs. We are quite happy the way we are.”

“Wait!” squawked the Seneschal, “You don’t understand what you are missing.”

The elderly artifact shuffled up to the Seneschal and wagged a bony finger in his face. “All these benefits sound fine and dandy, but aren’t you forgetting something? Since this Burro critter belongs to nobody, who do you suggest is going to pay for its oats?”

“Why..why, everyone, of course. That’s the beauty of it. Since The Town Burro benefits everyone, it would be everyone’s responsibility to help provide for it. If each person contributed just one bushel of oats from his field each year, it would more than feed the Burro.”

The artifact shook his head, clucking. “Now, now, young feller. I was raising mules and burros and all sorts of livestock before you were a gleam in your Daddy’s eye. There’s a little more to keeping an animal than just feeding it oats. You have to provide shelter and a pasture. Burros require grooming and exercise and medical care.

“In fact, we villagers would have to retain a couple of grooms, a veterinarian, a groundskeeper, a carpenter to maintain the barn and corral, and probably a trainer as well. Then we would have to provide food and lodging and wages for all these men and their families. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just do the work ourselves when the need arises?”

The Seneschal’s eyes bulged and the veins stood out on the side of his neck. “You stupid barbarians are neglecting one very important detail. You absolutely must have a big strong animal to carry the gold out of Bouncing Stick Mine. Now I am prepared to humbly offer the use of my Town Burro from Fairbanks Castle. You will not have to burden yourselves with maintaining your own Burro. Simply send your oats and groom salaries to us, and our Burro will haul your Bouncing Stick gold for a modest commission.”

At that, the crowd began chucking rocks at the Seneschal. “Get out of here, and don’t come back!” they jeered, “Now we see what you’re about.”

The Seneschal dabbed at a trickle of blood, drawn by a glancing rock. Malevolently he snarled. “Fine! Have it your way, but I’ll have you know that the King takes a dim view of Burro-less towns. If you do not quickly modernize by choosing a Town Burro, one will be imposed on you by force. Mark my words!”

The villagers booed and hissed him away, but as soon as he was out of sight, they turned to each other, concern etched on their faces. An animated discussion broke out as they considered the impact of the Seneschal’s warning. It was decided that their way of life as they knew it was indeed dying, and that it would be better to have some control over the inevitable Burro than to have some ungainly, evil-tempered beast forced upon them.

By nearly unanimous consent, a committee was established to handle the animal’s purchase. The only dissenting voice was that of the elderly artifact who nagged, ranted and whined about the dire consequences of their actions in such an annoying manner that the rest of them locked him in the stocks and threw rotten turnips at him until he shut up.

As it turned out, the Town Burro wasn’t such a bad creature after all. Once everyone got used to surrendering a quarter of their harvest and a third of their income to the Burro, they discovered that bits of bark and leaves could be substituted for barley in their soup to accommodate the household budget adjustments. Although it seemed like the Burro spent an inordinate amount of time eating and sleeping, and developed a mischievous habit of biting villagers in the seat of their pants every time they turned around, they did grow rather fond of the rascal, and certainly enjoyed the banquet hall and ball room that he helped them build.

Perhaps the greatest benefit of the Burro was the peace of mind that he provided. No longer did people feel compelled to help out a neighbor in need. Since everyone grew to depend on the Burro, they came to depend less on each other, and soon found little need to even talk to their neighbors. Triangle Union matured into a village of sophisticated, modern strangers who spurned checker games, stag hunting, turnip digging, or trout fishing as they cultivated an insatiable appreciation for the finer things of life that could be provided by the Town Burro. And everyone lived happily ever after.
 

Index of Chinook Articles