Baraka the Black Rhino

He had once been the crown jewel of the Ngorongoro Crater. The magnificent tusk of this gentle giant pierced the horizon of the tall grass every morning. He had a received Ph.D, he had been given hundred of accolades and awards. This was evident in the diplomas, certificates, photographs all piled high in the corner of his humble abode. Yet this did not stop him being stripped of his honor. That one thing that makes a Rhinoceros, a Rhinoceros. You see in the Bush Wars of 1978, Baraka had enlisted in the Loyal Ngorongoro Crater Front (LNCF). His Ph.D and other Honors had served him well as he was promoted General. So as the day arrived, he rode to the battlegrounds on his trustworthy Clydesdale, Lornah. This was Baraka's personal horse, one that he had owned and trained for many years. Though like any living creature that had a true heart, Lornah realized that war was despicable and completely unnecessary. In her rage,pain and anger she threw Baraka off her back. For this was a terrible time for Baraka to be thrown off his trusty stead. The Rebel Puffin Forces of the Drakeensburgs were flanking Baraka's army and quickly engulfing them. With Baraka being on the ground he was easily a sitting duck for the rebels. Before he could even get his bearings back, the Puffins had him at knife point. The Puffin rebel forces realized that this man was a prestigious,valuable and sought after man. Taking this valuable information into account, the Puffin's began to do the unthinkable. They stripped Baraka of his tusk. One by one they took stabs at his majestic,earthly ivory tusk with their florescent,painful orange beaks. After his cries had echoed through the entire crater valley and the horrible pain had been delivered. He arose tuskless. This was truly the end of Baraka. For he was already 82 at the time of the battle. He knew it was the end, the tall grass knew it was the end, the birds circling over head knew it was the end. He slowly stood up and walked for not even five minutes. The warm and passionate deep orange sun was slowly setting in the West. Baraka collapsed onto a warm, deep red patch of dirt. His body was slowly fading into the earth. His head rested every so softly on that red dirt, his breaths were becoming shorter and shorter. The only thing that could be heard on that warm summer dusk was the faint beats of Baraka's heart. Though very shortly dusk turned to night and life turned to death. So remember this as you are out there in the valley and take up that deep red dirt in your palms. That the dirt you clutching is intelligent,majestic, and everlasting. As quickly as you grasp the dirt, the wind kicks up from the West and the dirt flies across the planes once again.

My Latitude and Longitude: 51°13'N 03°13'E

The Manatee of Tibet

He sat indian style as the Dali Lama feed him fresh crumpets and mimosas. The Manatee had never been to the Himalayas before. In fact he had never even left the confines of his home up until that day. Home for the Manatee was an abandoned Dennys, located in the most northeastern community of South Dakota in a town called White Rock. Though as he sat there on the steps of Potala Palace and looked at the tip of Mt.Everest. He knew at that exact moment, this was his new home. You must realize the Manatee was not called to Tibet for a little vacation. The Dali Lama knew his reign was coming to an end. The Manatee would be his new successor. The cold winds rustled his whiskers, he took off his bi-focal and chiseled off the ice that had built up. Had he really been outside for that long? Is he really ready to be the Dali Lama? He rose from the steps of the palace, relying on his coral staff for support. The manatee himself was an aging creature as well. The prayer flags rippled in the heavy winds as he made his way back inside. Suddenly the crisp air was filled with the sound of the sacred gongs. The time had come, the Dali-Lama had passed. Would the manatee be ready for the burdens that would be soon upon his fins? How would this marine creature survive the long cold winters of Tibet? Could he really fill the golden slippers? Look to the West just before sunset and count the birds that fly south. Then you shall know the manatees fate.

My Latitude and Longitude: 51°40'S 59°51'W

The Otter that was a Beefeater

The Otter quickly fortified the garrison wall that was crumbling from the weight of the world. He scurried down the spiral staircase as fast as possible. Every fourth step he stopped at the windows. Scanning the horizon for the invading Peruvian Blue Lobsters that were armed with Soviet Kalashnikovs. The Otter was a young man who did not understand the horrors of war. His head was filled with dreams of exploring Colombian coffee fields or owning a fleet of Cargo Ships that could take on the toughest of pirates.

Those simple dreams would never be meet in the Otters lifetime. He fell that day in battle, suffering a knife wound that pierced his leathery armor. His body laid there in the freezing cold winters day on the once bountiful wheat field. It was December 8th when his heart finally stopped ticking. That 8th of December in the year of our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Seventy four, was Constitution Day in Romania. The festivities would soon be upon the town and it would trample this young legends death. His sacrifice would only be evident in next years harvest.

My Latitude and Longitude: 47°0′N 28°55′E

The Angolan Narwhal

The Narwhal's tusk pierced through that rainbow jell-O castle, almost immediately after popping out of the bowling ball size ice hole. The castle had appeared out of the thin air on that barren,quiet cold arctic Christmas day. The nearby arctic fox quickly trotted over and set fire to the jell-O castle with his flashy BIC lighter. This act did not enrage this malnourished Narwhal. For this Narwhal was a diabetic and could not consume such a sugary treat like the Jell-O castle. The Narwhal took off his black tuxedo and hung it on the coat hook that clinged to the deep abyss of the arctic gray horizon. He unscrewed his tusk and hucked it into a steaming kiddie pool of fresh made molasses. You see the Narwhal was an impostor and wasn't a narwhal, but rather a Manatee from Cocoa Beach. Inside the hole that held his fake Tusk resided a map. Two maps to be exact, one was the blue prints of the Pentagon and the other revealed the location of Walt Disney's body which was buried beneath the arctic ice.

My latitude and longitude: 08°50'S 13°15'E