I’m just a donkey.
A patient and well-trained donkey.
I’m neither regal as a lion nor sturdy as a tiger, nor imposing as an elephant.
I cannot even compare myself to my cousins, horses.
They are adorned with coloured plumes and sequins, I only have my grey mantle, which is well rubbed down of course, yet still grey, anonymous.
I cannot even pretend to be as fierce as a bear, I could kick, of course, but I’m not allowed.
Nevertheless, in that small village circus I was the main attraction, with my long ears, my powerful voice and my personality.
I can see it clearly in the memories of that little girl who used to sit in the first row and at the end of the show, as befits a valuable artist, presented me with a carrot or a bunch of carobs.