CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
Careful not to make too much noise as I crossed the gravel, I climbed the two steps up to the covered porch and grabbed the animal by the mane. He let out a bellowing hee-haw, then tried to turn around and nip at me.
I moved out of the way, only to get a hoof in the shin.
“Mannaggia!” I swore, not quite under my breath.
I got to the side of him so he couldn’t kick me again, and tightened my grasp on his short mane, tugging harder.
But that just made him angrier, and he hee-hawed even louder, then tried to bite me again.
I yanked harder than ever, not really caring if I hurt him at this point—well, I cared a little—and just as he let out the loudest hee-haw yet, the front door swung open to reveal a small boy with wild brown bedhead and a confused look on his face.
“Buongiorno,” I said, giving an awkward wave. “My donkey escaped.”
“Grandpa!” the kid hollered. “There’s a donkey on the porch!”
Like oncoming thunder, footsteps echoed on hardwood until a tall man with a gut hanging over the waistband of his striped pajama pants, and a bushy, yellow-tinged white mustache came to stand behind the kid.
His pale-blue eyes looked tired, and what hair he had left was a thin nest of gray and white on top of his head, wilder than the child’s—if that was possible.
“What are you doing on my property?” he demanded, hoisting his waistband up over his hairy bellybutton and then scratching at his stomach through his white T-shirt.
“My donkey escaped, and I found him here. I’m trying to get him to come home. He is a very stubborn ass.”
“Language!” the principal roared at me. “You are in the presence of a child. Have you no manners? No morals? Where are you from anyway? I detect an accent. Are you here legally?”
“Ex-excuse me? I’m from Italy. I live next door. And yes, I’m here legally. I have dual citizenship.”
The principal made a “Harrumph,” noise, but didn’t seem convinced that I was allowed to be in his country. “Get your … your creature off my property, now.”
“I’m trying to,” I said, dumbfounded by how this man was treating me. No wonder Danica and Cameron had nothing good to say about him.
The kid stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “I want to pet him. Can I ride him?”
Pinata lunged his big grimy teeth at the child, but I yanked him back before he made contact.
“You would come to my home, my property, and try to harm my grandson? I’ll sue you, I will.”
What was happening right now?
“Clyde, get in the house,” the principal said, shooing the child away.
“But I want to pet the donkey!” he screamed.
“In the house. Now.”
“I hate you!” Then the kid spun on his socks and ran away, screaming for his mother.
“Signore, I promise you, I mean no harm. He broke free of his stall and ran away from me. I came here as soon as I realized he was gone. I just need to get him home.”
“Took you long enough. Look at what he’s done to my wife’s tulips. You’ll pay to replace them, you will.”
I nodded. “Of course. Of course.” I tugged harder on Pinata’s mane, my anxiety over being in this horrible man’s orbit starting to take over. I was sweating and filthy, and my feet were squishing with every movement. I probably looked like a frightening forest monster at this point.
“Have to do everything myself, I guess,” the principal said, reaching into the house for a moment before bringing out a long, plastic shoehorn.
He raised his hand high in the air with it, and I was about to tell him to please not hit the animal, but it was too late.
He cracked it over Pinata’s rear end. The donkey made a horrendous noise, jumped a little, and took off down the porch, dragging me with him since I still had hold of his mane.
I landed hard on my knees on the gravel, having to let go of Pinata as he took off back into the forest.
“There,” the principal said. “You owe us tulips.” Then he slammed the door, leaving me to limp home through the trees.
Portia obviously knew something about the house and the people in it that I didn’t until they opened the door, because my princess pig had stayed in the trees, not following me onto their property.
She fell in line beside me as I trudged back through the bushes, both my knees on fire.
It was lighter out now, and I could see the barn in the distance.
Pinata’s figure had stopped running, and he stood in the field beside the fence he liked to destroy, chewing on grass.
“Would you eat him?” I asked Portia as we broke free of the trees. “I can’t. But if you would, then I’d consider calling the abattoir.”
She glanced up at me and grunted, which I couldn’t determine was a yes or a no.
We reached Pinata, who just stood there watching us approach like the last ten minutes hadn’t just happened. “Get in the barn,” I told him in Italian. “Now!”
Maybe he thought it was me who smacked his ass with the shoehorn, but either way, he actually obeyed for the first time ever and trotted toward the barn.
Then, he waited for me to open the door properly and let him in.
I quickly grabbed some spare plywood I had lying around, my screwdriver and some screws, and patched the hole he had made in the barn until I could mend it properly.
“I haven’t even had my fucking coffee this morning, you testa di cazzo.
” Which was “dickhead” in Italian. Just so he knew I was pissed, I gave the other donkeys and the miniature horses some attention and treats, but deliberately didn’t even look in Pinata’s direction, let alone give him some treats.
Maybe he’d react negatively because of it and kick another hole in the barn, or maybe he’d behave.
I honestly had no clue. What I did know though, was that I needed some fucking breakfast and a coffee; otherwise, I was going to take that donkey over to the principal’s house, and leave him there.