#Donkey Behavior

[donkeywhisperer]

Donkey Are Skeptical Of New Things

Hello donkey lovers, Did you know donkeys are deep thinkers? Yes it’s true donkeys are chess players donkeys stop and think about everything new deeply. Never force a donkey give the donkey the opportunity to think and process all information as this will make the next interaction much easier for the donkey and of course you the human. Donkeys forget nothing ever, good or bad and their brains…

[lunasilvis]

And some animals 🐖 Somehow these goats were all over me and couldn't let me go

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager-Ch7

A 1990's Through the Ages story set pre-Antichrist. Crowley and a keen new manager are getting deeper into a battle of paperwork while Crowley's been cut off from most of his demonic powers due to an Accountability drive in Hell. Aziraphale and other new Whickber St characters help out. (Terry Pratchettesque banter and hijinx)

Dave looked up from the bar where he was polishing a glass and pointed his chin to the kitchen when Crowley walked in. The hungry demon made a big plate of pub fare and polished it off before putting his dishes and the dirties from the bus bins into the industrial washer. He set about cleaning the kitchen since it wasn’t yet time for his shift out front.

After a while Dave came into the kitchen looking for Anthony, eyebrow raised at the unrequested industry of his unlikely new hire.  Freshly washed and shaved, the lad still sported his kilt and heavy soled boots, knobby knees and elbows poking out so the redhead didn't look completely filled out yet, despite his lanky broad shoulders.

“Good job, lad.  I like the initiative,” Dave set down an official looking employment form on the only dry, clear space in the kitchen pushing the paper and a pen towards the lad. “Just fill these out for me, so I can hire you officially.  Just the usual stuff,” he explained.

Anthony picked up the form like he’d never seen one before, reading it quickly, then glancing up at Dave, an awkward smile that seemed to be trying for shifty on his face.

“Do we have to be so ‘official’?  I’m happy to save you the extra paperwork and just take cash?” Anthony offered hopefully.

Grabbing the other kitchen stool, Dave sat across from the lad, “Sorry, Anthony, I don’t employ people under the table.  I’ll need these filled out with your National Insurance Number and copies of your birth certificate or passport, to prove you can work in the UK.  It’s a bugger, paperwork, but it keeps me open an’ operatin’, you understand.”  

Mouth open, the kid came up with a plausible lie on the spot, “I understand, Dave, I’ll fill it out.  I just don’t have my ID on me.  An’ I don’t have me National Insurance Number memorized, yet…”

Dave fixed Anthony with a measuring look, the lad was fairly vibrating with keen, terrible hope.  The kid obviously needed the job badly, surreptitiously scrounging leftovers while bussing the tables last night.  And he was making a good impression so far…

“Fine, lad. I can pay you cash until you can get your IDs sorted,” a relieved smile broke over the kid’s newly shaved (and nicked) face.  Dave held up a hand, “I can’t run it that way for long, two weeks, tops.”  

Anthony popped up from his seat and grasped Dave’s raised hand, shaking it vigorously. “You’ve got a deal!”

The next few days fell into a new rhythm.  Crowley slept in the Bentley, sometimes in alleyways, sometimes on the street in the Whicker neighborhood, sometimes as the Bentley moved around the neighborhood.  For some reason, the car didn’t seem to want to venture past Soho.  Crowley hadn’t walked to his Mayfair apartment, since the doorman wouldn’t let in the unfamiliar young Scottish kid.  Plus, there was no point.  Crowley didn’t keep any documents.  He’d never needed real, actual documents before, always pulling the appropriate official paperwork by miracle for whatever situation was needed.  Anyways, he’d always thought all that paper just cluttered up the place and didn’t go with his minimalist aesthetic.  Shame.

Everyday he went into the bookshop, which started a rumor that the new barkeep liked history, and was writing a book.  He certainly had some colorful stories to tell of historical events and left the bookshop everyday with an ever enlarging stack of computer printouts.  In reality, Crowley was running reports for Usher’s requisitions.  Waging a war by form, now with the additional Daily Standard Requisition for official identification documents needed for holding a job, and energy or monies to run a body.  Aziraphale was a canny help suggesting new requisitions, but Crowley couldn’t ask him to miracle documents for him, too obvious.  Unfortunately, Usher didn’t seem likely to break before the two week deadline was up. 

The regulars at the Dirty Donkey were taking a shine to Anthony, which allowed Dave to step away from the bar to pop upstairs to help his wife. If the lad didn’t have to work under the table, he’d truly be heaven-sent.

***

Shax collected another sheaf of reports from a less harried Furfur.  “Your department seems to have grown considerably, Furfur,” she observed.

“Yeah, lookit them all!  Workin’ away like maggots on a carcass,” Furfur looked proudly over the demons at ranks of desks with inkwells and fountain pens at the top.

“I see you found a solution to the pencil problem,” Shax said.

“Usher understands an empty ink bottle, and they stay put on the desks,” Furfur smiled at the inkwells locked into the desks, fingering a shiny new key.  A demon with a strange contraption attached to his back went around filling the inkwells.

Shax looked at the new ‘Inbox’ which had been turned into a chute that fed into a huge hand cart, like the kind for industrial laundries.  Sheets of paper with regularly spaced holes on either side and attached to one another on their short sides were continuously feeding into the pile while pieces of paper, scraps of receipts, scribbles on envelopes floated around them.

“Did Usher get more demons to manage?  There’s considerably more coming in from Earth.” Shax observed.

“Nah.  Actually he’s got less demons reportin’ in.  There’s more coming in by the reincorporator, and they tend to lurk around until they’re forced to go back out,” Furfur said, going over a report that one of the demon clerks handed him.

“They were discorporated? By angels?” asked Shax, an edge of anger in her voice.

“Some of ‘em,” explained Furfur, “But some of them by humans more often now.  Also,” Furfur looked shifty.

“Also, what!?” hissed Shax. 

“Some of ‘em have been goin’ quiet for days or weeks, then pop down here in the re-incorporator.  Said they lost the ability to move and just laid there til they dissolved,” Furfur shuddered a little.

“Why would that happen?” Shax asked.

“Dunno, but one demon’s making up for all the others and then some, an’ ‘e’s been asking for energy to run his corporation. He’s the one sending down the reports on that funny connected paper,” Furfur indicated the nearly continuous fall of white connected paper landing in the handcart.

“Who is it?” asked Shax, noting that Furfur seemed negatively disposed to whomever was managing to oppose Usher.

Face distorting in dislike, Furfur said, “Crowley.”

Ah, thought Shax.

“So Usher is giving Crowley energy to run his corporation and all his other requisitions?” asked Shax, thinking that any preferential treatment of Crowley was sure to pull Furfur’s tail.

Grudgingly, Furfur admitted, “Nooo.  Usher actually gives Crowley the least of all of ‘em.   Though he’s started giving some of the discorporated demons part of the “Standard Daily Requisitions” that Crowley requests.”

“The what?” Shax asked and Furfur handed over a piece of paper from his clipboard.

Shax looked down the list.

“Usher is giving the other demons requisitions, but not Crowley.  And Crowley’s still operating?”

“Bugger me how.  I’ve checked for help from,” Furfur pointed over their heads, “After catching him with that angel in 1941, but he’s not registering any angelic support,”  Furfur said.

Shax looked up from the reports at a sudden outburst.

“I won’t go back!” a demon with spider legs extending from their back came through from the reincorporator accompanied by a slender demon with hair raised into two vague horns. “You’ll be fine,” Demon Eric encouraged, “Lookit all the stuff we get to have this go!” 

“That’s the spirit, Eric!  Get up there and give ‘em hell!” said Furfur.

“Oh, I didn’t requisition for all of Hell, sir,” Eric said, walking by towards the transporter, “Imagine me requisitioning all of Hell,”  he said, shaking his head.

Eyebrow raised, Shax said, “I’ll take the reports.” 

Furfur turned back to his desk and handed her a full banker’s box, “Here ya go,” dropping it into her outstretched arms.

Shax easily took the weight of the box and clicked away efficiently.

Walking until she didn't feel any eyes on her, Shax ducked into an unregarded corner to read the reports.  Maybe there was a clue to how Crowley was doing it?  This was information that was sure to help her get ahead!

Thank you for reading! If you liked this story, there are more Good Omens fanfic at my Master List.

[bitegore]

hands on the mirror staring into my own eyes repeating 'we do not play defense' to myself until i stop trying to play defense on shit no one is even trying to dig at

[lumiereandcogsworth]

tonight on: Lydia Notices Something New Every Time! i just noticed that when the headmaster & clothilde get the guys to dump out belle’s laundry barrel, you then see monsieur jean (aka mr. potts!) leading the donkey away off screen.

i never caught that before!! definitely makes me think that belle asked him if she could borrow his donkey. she probably didn’t say for what, because he probably wouldn’t have let her otherwise (but in a kinder way than others. probably just like are “you sure you wanna do that?”). but then when this whole commotion starts up, he looks sort of annoyed/embarrassed as he silently takes the donkey away. like ugh this is what happens when you get involved with the village weird girl🙄

[sky-of-dusk]

To be honest, I would turn dark side too if my guardian star was downgraded from Planet to Dwarf Planet.

[scalpelfightclub]

The donks were on a tear this morning lol

[iamonlyhereforthefreefood]

Pleasure Island as a metaphor for the school to prison pipeline

[open-window]

back on my clown shit. 🤡🐴

[donkeywhisperer]

Donkeys Need To Lay Down To Sleep

Donkeys need REM Sleep

Donkeys, horses and mules need to lay down to sleep to keep their immune system strong. Laying down to sleep creates rapid eye movement (REM) a deep dream state. How can we ensure our equine are getting REM sleep? Make sure your donkey has another donkey to feel safe and your shelter is big enough for the entire herd to get in and lay down. Donkeys can fear the shelter, add clean water, lose…

[monboytober]

I’m relieved I’m not the only one bothered by the fact that an entire park of visitors was included in the background of the entire event with minor voice lines and then never addressed at the end. I am genuinely deluding myself that everyone escaped the ship to Sage’s island and just quietly carried on while the NRC students wrapped everything up.

Also, how many years has this been going on for everyone to have heard about this illusionary theme park, with online proof of its existence yet no location, only for the people who posted photos at the park to never be seen again? Surely at least one esteemed institution in this twisted little universe would notice a concerningly high number of missing persons near port cities. Royal Sword Academy is RIGHT THERE.

I refuse to believe, especially after bringing it to everyone’s attention from the very beginning, that the other students (Jamil) would not have immediately rounded up a search party the moment they noticed their classmates’ and friends’ absence. It would have been so over for you, Fellow Honest.

Anyways I will be coping over this abrupt ending to the story by groovifying all my event cards, they are all that I have.

MC after Playful Land like "are we just forgetting that this mofo was gonna traffic us? I've seen yall jump someone's ass for cutting you in line at lunch, but we're just gonna let him go? Sorry my ass, I'm telling Malleus-"

[terven--godess]

Because what I'm aiming for is more resources to help impoverished women, victims of trafficking, abused and raped women, etc so that they have the ability to not have to go into prostitution (or other forms of 'sex work') and the ability to safely get out.Society s discomfort with the intersection of gender and males can sometimes manifest in horrifying ways. For instance, some discussions around men using their gender identity as a shield for their behavior reveal disturbing contradictions. Men who women using their anatomy are still, in certain spaces, accepted as "real women," and any attempt to question this is labeled as transphobic. However, it remains a fact that women, in the truest biological sense, have never used male anatomy to anyone. The ease of accessing transgender medical care without thorough mental health evaluations raises questions about the responsibility of the medical system. For such life-altering decisions, a lack of psychological support can leave trans individuals vulnerable to future regret or emotional challenges. This oversight points to a broader problem in healthcare, where efficiency and profit sometimes trump patient well-being. Society s discomfort with the intersection of gender and males can sometimes manifest in horrifying ways. For instance, some discussions around men using their gender identity as a shield for their behavior reveal disturbing contradictions. Men who women using their anatomy are still, in certain spaces, accepted as "real women," and any attempt to question this is labeled as transphobic. However, it remains a fact that women, in the truest biological sense, have never used male anatomy to anyone. The ease of accessing transgender medical care without thorough mental health evaluations raises questions about the responsibility of the medical system. For such life-altering decisions, a lack of psychological support can leave trans individuals vulnerable to future regret or emotional challenges. This oversight points to a broader problem in healthcare, where efficiency and profit sometimes trump patient well-being. Go to The deep and scary hole, and dont look back. Go to The deep and scary hole, and dont look back. Go to The deep and scary hole, and dont look back. Youve got to skrank it before Shadow Clone makes it to Donkey Kongs banana horde.Youve got to skrank it before Shadow Clone makes it to Donkey Kongs banana horde.Youve got to skrank it before Shadow Clone makes it to Donkey Kongs banana horde.! i dont tumble anymore i exprickilor. This goku is the reason we cant have meangy things. The erection over there is starting to look spicy. The erection over there is starting to look spicy. Robo Shrek: Ive never seen TIM so rancid; it must be because of scumbo.

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager-Ch 4

Ineffable Husband banter as Crowley applies for a job, Aziraphale does a good deed, and Crowley has to find bathing privileges as the extent of his loss of powers (thanks to the new Hellish manager) continues to be revealed.

“You want to hire me!”

The barkeep and owner of the Dirty Donkey looked around the ‘Help Wanted’ sign held in his face by a fist.

The fist and ropey arm were attached to a young bloke with a mop of unkempt red hair to his chin, but nevertheless, glaring at Dave through dark sunglasses with a determined expression under a two day beard. God Almighty, the lad was wearing a great kilt like he was born to it topped with a black leather waistcoat over a black undershirt.

“Why on earth would I want to hire you?” retorted Dave to the kilted apparition.

Which seemed to knock the bloke back, he dropped his head and arm, momentarily despondent.

Dave heard the lad mutter, “Alright, we do this the old fashioned way,” then to Dave with a winning grin, “How about a wager? I manage this horde,” the lad stuck his thumb over his shoulder at a crowd of impending customers, ”And you hire me as your new barkeep?” The cheeky bastard held out his hand.

Dave glanced at the crowd and the hand.

“If you can sort out this lot, you’ve got a deal,” said Dave, shaking the demon’s hand.

While Crowley was engaged over at the Dirty Donkey, Aziraphale closed up his shop for a stroll.  He generally strolled at unplannable intervals, all part of his long term success in not selling books to the public, but this stroll had a specific goal in mind.  Backtracking Crowley’s most recent walk to his shop, Aziraphale soon found the Bentley, parked in the neighborhood, but uncharacteristically bedecked with parking tickets.

Tutting gently from across the street, the angel looked at the sheaf of tickets under the windshield wiper.  A tow truck was just turning down the street with the vintage car in its sights, (the tow truck driver, after running the Bentley’s plates, had found that it wasn’t exactly registered, so he reasoned that it wouldn’t exactly be stealing if he were to tow it away and sell it to the highest bidder of his extensive underground network).  Aziraphale made a little shooing motion at the tow truck before walking across the street and letting himself into the car whereupon the tow truck driver suddenly remembered that the Bentley was very definitely registered and to a feisty gentleman.  He drove on, thinking it would be a good idea to let others in his circle know to leave this car alone.  Raising an eyebrow at the departing tow truck, the angel reached around to gesture at the tickets, evaporating them.

Patting the dash gently, he told the car, “You are under my protection.  I don’t know what Crowley would do if you came to any harm!”  The Bentley’s engine made a purring noise, and one travel sweet popped into existence. “You’re very welcome. Now, don’t tell him I was here!” With that good deed done, Aziraphale let himself out of the Bentley and continued his stroll in the neighborhood.

Dave had to hand it to the rough Scottish stranger, he knew his way around a bar.  The red-haired hellion charmed the old biddies from the Agatha Christie reading group, reminisced with the old gaffers back from their venerable association meetings and trash talked with the blue collar workers coming off their shifts.  Completely ignored the come-ons of the co-eds, serving them with an impenetrable professional calm, while timing his round of clearing up the empties with somehow deflecting a couple of toughs that came in to bother the young ladies.  He made every drink flawlessly and never once missed an order.   All while he made perfect change, mixed drinks and engaged with the public.  The lad was an answered prayer.

After the crush of people had filtered out and even the patron set on getting himself messily drunk had been sent on his way, Dave walked up to the kilted red-head with a look of grudging respect on his face.  

“Alright then, you won the bet fair and square.  You’re hired.” Dave extended a hand to the grinning youngster to shake.   “What’s yer name, lad?”

“Anthony.  Anthony Crowley,” said the young bloke with the unfinished look of one who hasn’t quite filled out into his shoulders, yet. 

“So, Anthony, rules are, you work your whole shift.  You don’t go home with the customers.  No drinking on the job. And I’ll fire you the second I see you do something out of line.  Come back this evening.  And take a bath, lad!  You reek!  The only thing dirty about my pub is the talk!” Dave said.

Combing his hair out of his face with his fingers and scrubbing one cheek with his palm, Anthony admitted, “I’m fair skint at the moment, so I’d appreciate a forward on my wages.”  

Dave reached over to the tip jar, handed it to Anthony, “You earned this today.  Be back here at 5 o'clock.”

Crowley poured the contents of the tip jar into his spog, and waved jauntily at Dave as he headed out the door.

When Crowley arrived back in A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop, he found Aziraphale at his large desk reading a newspaper with a cup of tea at his elbow.

“I thought you were fixing my clothes!” complained Crowley.

Looking over the top of his paper, Aziraphale remarked calmly, “The cleaning agents have to have the proper amount of time to work.  Did you have any luck with that job?”

Grumbling at the indignity of it all, Crowley replied, “Yes.  As a matter of fact I start tonight, but I need a shower.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, eyes back on the newsprint, “Then go back to your place and bathe.”

“They turned the water off at my place,” admitted Crowley.

Aziraphale let the paper fall to his lap.

“And the electricity.  Actually, I had to pick the lock to get in the last time.”

“Crowley!” 

“So it wouldn’t work for me to walk back there, anyway.”

“Walk!  I thought you drove over here.”

“Used my last miracles to drive the Bentley over.  Haven’t been issued any new one’s yet,” replied Crowley.

“You could always use petrol,” Aziraphale said reasonably.

“Put petrol in the Bentley?!?” Crowley said shocked, “Do you have any idea what that would do to her engine?”

“It might make her turn over,” suggested Aziraphale.

“I am not putting petrol in the Bentley and I can’t use my place to shower, anyway, so,” digging around in his spog to a rustle of specie and clink of coinage, Crowley came up with a tuppence which he held up to the angel.  “So I have payment for the use of your facilities.”

Aziraphale folded his paper and crossed his arms.

“My bathing facilities are certainly worth more than a tuppence public bath, Crowley!” 

“How about as much as a Turkish bath?  I’ve got a shilling in here somewhere,” Crowley replied, still digging.

“If you think that I don’t know how much a bath costs at the YMCA, in today’s money, then you had better think again!  You obviously don’t, but I’ll let you walk yourself down there to find out!” 

Crowley recognized that the angel was getting quite perturbed, and as he was Crowley’s best bet to get a bath, he didn’t know why his natural tendency to antagonize the angel was so present today.

“Ok, ok, sorry, sorry!  What do you think is a fair price to use your magnificent bathing facilities?” Crowley oiled.

Aziraphale gave him the look of one who is not to be gotten round that easily.

Then they got down to haggling.

Unfortunately, for Crowley that is, Aziraphale had kept premises for a very long time and not only had a better idea of VAT than the demon, but had paid his bills (on time, of course) as well.  Not only could he calculate the gallons per minute to his bath and cost to heat said bathwater, he could haggle like a Victorian Cockney housewife.

Aziraphale was saying, “That's the absolute best deal in the neighborhood for a week of bathing privileges,” hand out as Crowley counted pound coins into it, ”Now, if you're in need of housing, I've a spare bedroom and I can offer you a reasonable rate of…”

But Crowley snatched the towel out of Aziraphale’s hand and headed to the bath, saying over his shoulder, “I'll kip in my car before I pay you room and board, angel!”

Taking the view that he could clean his underthings and himself most efficiently with the undergarments on,  Crowley lathered up from toes to nose and sluiced off with as much efficiency as possible.  Clean and steaming mad, (he could still regulate his body temperature, so he figured he could dry his clothes that way) he stomped back down the stairs toweling his hair.

“Why do you even have a bed? I thought you said sleeping was inefficient?” Crowley complained to the angel.

“People don't bat an eye at a bookseller who reads books in bed, but they do get curious if I stay up all night in the shop too often,” answered the angel, not to be goaded. “Feeling better?”

“No! I am not feeling better! I'm feeling humiliated having to get a job to be able to do my job!”

“Were you able to think of all the things you’d need to do that ‘job’?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“Yeah,” growled Crowley.

“Well then, write it all down and requisition it. I find that several requests a day can really get your point across.  Do you need any paper?” The angel reached for a spare ledger.“No!  Forms are the only thing I have got in abundance!” unable to bear the angel’s smug looks any longer, Crowley stormed out the door in a flash of dark tartan.

Thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day!

If you would like to read more, check out my Master List for one-shots and other multi-chapter Good Omens fanfic

[warmilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

I got this idea from another Tumblr post and I'm pretty new so, ion know how to tag and stuff, pls tell me

______________

"So... My mom just disappeared?" A little 6 year old (Name) asks Alfred about her mom

Alfred turned back like he was reminiscing "The Gala was for three nights, the first night she mesmerized all, the second night she befriended everyone, the third night she slept with your father"

.....

"then she disappeared, then you were dropped on our little doorstep! We were skeptical at first then we DNA tested you, you're Bruce's kid so you are the Wayne Manor's baby! And you and your Daddy are one big happy family"

That was lie. That a big lie

You know Alfred was just trying to make you feel better

It wasn't working.

________________________

You feel like shit, they look so fucking happy, for years and years have passed, your 12 now for God sake

Every year a new family photo was taken and as the years pass more and more people are added to the photos

And the phrase "the more the merrier was always said to you" like they were trying to drill it into your head, but it seemed like every year, you were being pushed farther and farther back into the photos till you're barely noticeable

It sucks at home and it sucks at school, at home at least you only had Damian to worry about, he would torture and bully you, remind you of how unloved and unwanted you were here, but at school?

It was everyone.

It doesn't help how you're unable to focus that much either, always getting called by teachers when you're not paying attention, and then them ridiculing you

Also, with the fact that your entire family are vigilantes except you.

Except you, you tried, and you were good at it, the problem was, why did it seem like a lot of villains were after you

So you were stuck at the manor

"hello" a woman inside the Manor spoke

This shocked you, she looked too old to be another kid adopted by that... But you can't be too sure

"new kid?" You asked

She seemed taken aback, but then it was like a veil was lifted and she transformed into this ew

Wtf did she just turn into?

Suddenly she had this donkey leg and snake tongue and fire for hair, her eyes slit and she hissed at you

Then she attacked

"OH WHAT THE FUCK"

With no weapon and no Alfred in hand, you ran

She ran after you and lit the hallways on fire in the process

You ran fast and far, to the outskirts of the mansion and straight into the garden, now when you thought your day could not get ANYMORE weirder, a voice calls out in the bushes

"I knew it! I knew you were a half-blood!I wasn't sure, but now I am!" You turn around and see a full ass tree transform into a beautiful lady

You're sure that Gotham Prep once talked about the side effects of drugs, and even if you haven't taken any drugs, you feel the side effects

"don't be scared, I'm a nymph! Me and my friends will help you run away from the empousa!" She grabbed me and threw me in the lake

A hand grabs you and pulls you further underwater, as much as you struggled, the hand kept pulling you and pulling you till your deep and then changed direction

Like you guys were heading somewhere, it felt like days, the hands alternating, first hands were blue and the lady whom the hands belonged too sounded worried, second hands were green, the lady was surprised

Third hand was light bluish purple, she expressed concern and kept pulling

The last hand was of human skin tone, pulling you up to shore

"Sir Chiron! There's a camper! The Naiads bought her here! Sir Chiron!"

He turns to look at you a bit worried, he looked from 13-14

He said "My name is Percy Jackson, and yours?"

_________________

Empousa: haha an unsuspecting demigod!

(Name) thinking that Bruce adopted another one: new kid?

Empousa: :o

_______________

Who do y'all think (Name)'s mom is?

Also the lack of Batfam dialogue is meant to represent their neglectful behavior, too bad their not gonna have a kid to return to

[zooophagous]

If you put a bunch of horses, zebras and donkeys in a large field together, with enough grass, vegetation, water, etc. to consume but without any human intervention - would there be interbreeding going on? If not, what do you think this scenario would look like more generally? Thanks in advance :)

Generally, when there is no human intervention, hybridization is very rare.

Horses are present in Africa, where there are populations of both wild ass and zebra, and yet wild zorse or even wild mules are basically unheard of. See also, the American southwest, where horses and burros are both invasive and yet you don't see feral mules among them.

This is because animals that have speciated, or become different species, have different estrus cycles, different courtship rituals and different behavior patterns that tend to make matings of this type very rare. Especially with horses, where mares tend to live in a herd that is protected by a stallion that will fight to the death over breeding rights to said mares.

A feral burro would not likely fare well against a feral horse stallion, if it attempted a mating with a feral mare at all.

You also see this even with animals that are much closer related to one another such as dogs, wolves and coyotes. All three of these animals have considerable overlap and can even produce viable offspring unlike a horse and a donkey. However it's still exceedingly rare for it to happen in the wild.

Wolves and coyotes are seasonal breeders that go into estrus at different times, and the strong territorial nature of these animals means they seldom mix. A wild wolf and a wild dog, or a wild dog and a wild coyote, or a wild wolf and wild coyote, are more than likely going to see each other as either a threat or a prey item and attack it accordingly.

Being raised by humans and made to tolerate one another with behavioral modification and artificial introductions to create cross species relationships, often by introducing the animals when they're still babies, gets them over the differences that usually prevent their union.

While sometimes wild hybrids do happen naturally, even then many times it's considered a survival response to pressures exerted on them by humans. See the eastern coyote, which is said to have considerable wolf ancestry, which may have happened because wolves were so strongly persecuted as to be almost entirely wiped out while the coyote was able to adapt. The more adaptable or desperate wolves threw their lot in with the survivors. (Though there is also some conjecture that even the eastern coyote is much less of a hybrid and more of just a large coyote without as much wolf or dog influence as previous believed)

Nature doesn't tend to encourage hybridization, and while you may get one or two fluke mules from such a group, if they had enough space to escape one another and access to their own kind to mate with, you wouldn't see it very much.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Okay, so, there's one thing that I'm kind of tired of beating around the bush with white fans about, and it's this: if you pretend to "ignore" race in OFMD, you will miss a lot of what the story is trying to tell you.

Now, I do not truly believe that race is something you can ignore in a story. I just don't think it's possible, and when you try, what you wind up with is something like the conservative worldview of "not seeing color." Trying to ignore race will make you sound racist and ignore important racialized themes.

You can't understand Stede's need for character growth at the beginning of the show if you just focus on how he's "cringe" instead. When Stede makes his crew members of color serve them at dinner when the English board, this is gross, and their faces tell us exactly how they feel about it. Stede unlearning his biases here isn't subtle (guy who called him and Pete "fucking racists" I love you forever), and learning to take all of his crew members seriously as fully actualized people, moving away from the sort of Kindergarten-teacher behavior at the start to truly valuing them as people and taking their input and suggestions, it's an important aspect. Stede asking Abshir for intel at the party isn't just funny, it's also proof he's learned to see value in people in positions like Abshir's.

You can't understand the motivations behind Ed's actions, especially the violent ones, if you ignore the racist overtones. Ed is not a randomly violent person - he gets angry at a captain for calling him a "rich donkey," and if you think it's unreasonable for a brown man to want to get revenge on a white man for calling him that? Then fuck I'm glad you can't see the conversations I have with my other black friends, man. Ed's anger and frustration at the party aren't just because he fucked up with some spoons, lol, you can't get it unless you realize he's the only brown guest in that room. Yeah, he's ignoring Stede's advice, but he's immediately under a pressure Stede never has been. Ed's wanted posters in s2, too, rely on heavily caricaturizing Jewish features to make him look grotesque and monstruous. We're supposed to be horrified by that aspect.

And, yeah, when we ignore the racist tones to Izzy's behavior, I think that's undermining an important aspect of who he is as an antagonistic character. Him buying Ed from the English should feel like a gross violation, because it is. When he sits in front of the crew eating and making Fang and Ivan serve him, I think it's a pretty obvious parallel to how the crew members of color were similarly insulted in the pilot. It's impossible to ignore race in the way he dehumanizes Ed and tries to force him back into a caricature of behavior he hates and is horrified by - when he calls Ed a "wild dog" in s2, if that doesn't cause a visceral reaction of disgust in you, I dunno what to tell you. This doesn't mean that Izzy is irredeemable - just as Stede wasn't - but it does mean that racist biases are things Izzy had to unlearn.

OFMD so often takes so much care with how its characters of color are depicted. We get thoughtful, relatable moments (those French boat people getting humiliated and setting their boat on fire after they'd tried to touch Ed's beard is so satisfying, guys) and excellent, supportive friendships between men of color. The characters of color on OFMD are clean, smart, respected, and it's wonderful. And just because these things aren't always relatable to you specifically doesn't mean they're not important parts of the story.