I Married a Wildebeest

by Mary V. Kolar

I knew there was something distinctive about my husband during our honeymoon.  We stayed in a mountain cabin and it was during mating when he began to emit the sounds.  I was confused at first, believing it to be one of the many bullfrogs that hid in the cool muddy banks during the day, but sure enough, the deep frog-like grunts were coming from my beloved.  Over the years I have become accustomed to the guttural ribbit that the man of my dreams bellows in the throes of passion.

I'd never heard such a sound until we went to the Serengeti for our tenth wedding anniversary.  There we sat, holding each other close, with our safari hat brims touching, and watching a lion stalk a wildebeest.  The wildebeest looked up and made my husbands grunt--only my husband did it much better.  I looked over at my darling, who was digging into his shorts trying to scratch things usually scratched in private, and then I looked at the wildebeest again comparing the two.  The similarities were startling.

The wildebeest weighs in at three hundred and fifty pounds or more and so does my husband, yet in spite of the girth, they both possess pindly legs and slender hindquarters. Both have boxlike heads.  The wildebeest carries horns on top of his, my husband a baseball cap; however, both are horny, just in different ways.

The wildebeest is extraordinarily front-end heavy.  I reach over and affectionately pat the belly resting over my sweethearts' belt.  I wondered if the wildebeest had a secret stash of beer or if the grains they ate somehow fermented once ingested to provide them with the beer belly that they carry around.  My hat gets knocked off my head as my sweet man pecks my cheek responding to the affectionate belly rub.

He smells like sausage.  When he thought I wasn't looking, he had snuck a good handful of the breakfast sausage wrapped in a napkin into his pocket.  Just like the wildebeest he is constantly looking for food, and usually manages to find it.  I pulled out his po cket looking into it and discover nothing but an empty napkin.  His other pocket revealed another napkin, which I removed quizzically.  It was stuffed with oatmeal-raison cookies.  I smiled and returned them to the pocket.  Beasts need their sustenance.

The guide was informing us as to wildebeest behavior.  Once again, I discovered my one and only definitely resembled this wild beast of the plains.  All this time, I thought my man had terrible aim or just paced out.  Evidently wildebeests urinate on certain spots to demarcate property.  So much of modern man has been chiseled down because of civilization; little is left to them to adequately demonstrate the primitive need for dominance.  Why they choose to use the bathroom floor is beyond me.  I suppose it might be as a courtesy as it is much better on the tile of the bathroom floor than the shag rug.

When bull wildebeests meet for the first time, there is a ritualized challenge that occurs.  I have seen the rituals when a new man joins the weekly poker night.  The other bulls are going to see if the newcomer can hold his liquor, tell decent dirty jokes, and they gauge his manliness on how much he can eat and drink before he falls off his chair.  Younger bulls butt heads, just as younger men puff out there chests and often perform feats of reckless abandon to prove their dominance over other men.  Most of these will end up with hefty D.U.I.  charges and/or end up wrapped around a tree.  Whether old or young, it is common for them to brag about sexual conquests, whether real or imagined.

The young males form bachelor herds and travel together.  They roam on the fringe of the pack making their own way in the dangerous plains.  My own Casanova was quite something back in the days.  His herd and him went everywhere together.  He was described as brawny back then, a real

linebacker, mostly brawn that has all moved to his stomach.  He still hangs with his old herd, which have also caught themselves attractive gnu's to keep them warm at night.

Apparently, when fem ales appear before a wildebeest bachelor herd, the young males buck, gallop and rub heads, often spreading secretion.  They are a chaste group, those wildebeest.  Since the sexual revolution the young herds of our society do the same thing, they buck, gallop and rub heads during the spreading of secretion.  I suppose the wildebeest didn't have kindly uncles that informed them of the use of condoms.  Then, when they grow older, like my sweetie, the response to an oncoming female is the rapid intake of stomach muscles and standing up taller.

My darling has his cam era out and is taking pictures of the wildebeest standing nonchalantly as the lion leaps, grabbing it by his neck and ripping into its flesh.  It is not a pretty sight.  My warrior and protector screams, "Stop!" and I hold his camera and the binoculars out of the way as he rids himself of the sausage and cookies he swallowed whole just moments earlier.

The rest of the trip was enjoyable, with no more feasting lions.  Sugar-lips is doing much better now, having drank all the water we brought, and is thirsting for a cold beer, which is a sure sign of normality.

Back at the hotel that night, I tuck him in and he is soon fast asleep.  The final proof that I have married a wildebeest is that wildebeest bulls have an amazing array of loud vocalizations, from moans to explosive snorts and as my loving bull sleeps, he is making them all--loudly.  I crawl in beside him, and a spindly leg is tossed over my own more fleshy one.  We cuddle together, and I fall asleep safe in the strong arms of my wild beast, that is now drooling on my shoulder.  Yes, I married a wildebeest and I'm glad I

did.

Mary began writing seriously since she hit the hallmark age of fifty.  She is meeting with good success as many of her stories have been published. Visit her at www.MaryVKolar.com to learn more about her writing endeavors. Contact Mary.