Remove (Notevember 2023, #26)

Once upon a time on the savannah, Zebra got tired of always being hunted by Lion. He complained loudly to anyone who would hear:
“Curse that Lion! Every day I run away from her, and every day I just about manage to escape. Still, the next day she tries again to catch me. I’m exhausted. She’s exhausted. Why won’t she just stop?”
Each animal that heard Zebra whine would said the same thing: “It’s what lions do, Zebra. She cannot help chase you, just as you cannot help being a Zebra.”
“Hmm… What if I could, though?” thought Zebra. So he went in search of Baboon.

Now, Baboon had grown up in a travelling zoo. He was not as clever about finding food and water as the other animals, but he had seen the world and so knew many things that others did not. If anyone could figure this out, it was Baboon.
“Baboon,” began Zebra, “I wish to no longer be a Zebra. I need to become something that a lion does not eat. Teach me how?”
“That will be difficult,” said Baboon. He pondered for some time, then suggested: “Perhaps you could become a snake.”
“I’d rather not,” said Zebra. “Too much slithering. I’d still like to be able to run… when I want to.”
“What about a saddle-billed stork, then?” asked Baboon. “That way you could even stay black and white.”
“And eat fish and frogs instead of grass? No thank you!” protested Zebra.
Baboon sighed. “Very well. I suppose you could become a wild horse.”
“What’s a horse?” asked Zebra. He had never heard of such an animal.
“It’s like a zebra,” explained Baboon, “only without stripes. They live in Central Asia.”
“Ey-sha…” Zebra tried to repeat. “Where’s that?”
“Far away,” said Baboon. “There are no lions there.”
“Excellent! Then Lion won’t know to eat me,” said Zebra excitedly. “How do I become a horse?”
“Well, you will have to get rid of your stripes,” Baboon told him. “I can help… for a price.”
“What price?”
“Not far from here is a fig tree full of fruit, but I can never seem to reach the best ones. And by the time they drop by themselves, they are overripe. Perhaps you could kick the tree so they fall down right away?”
“Kick a tree? That will tire me out quicker than running from Lion!” exclaimed Zebra.
“That is my price,” said Baboon. “Take it or leave it.”
“Leave it,” Zebra said defiantly.
“Good luck getting those stripes off on your own, then,” Baboon dismissed him, and sat back on his naked behind.
So Zebra left, muttering “I’ll show him” as he stomped off.

Zebra tried every method he could think of to lose his stripes. First he rubbed his back on rocks in hopes of scraping the black stripes off. Then he rubbed it on a cracked blackwood stem, hoping to dye the white stripes black. Finally, he went to the river to roll in mud, thinking he might as well cover his stripes up. But the mud would dry and flake off. And in any case, it did not turn Zebra into a horse.
Oxpecker saw Zebra return to the river every few days, and saw how frustrated he was.
“I can help you get rid of whatever is troubling your skin,” proposed Oxpecker.
“What do you want in return?” asked Zebra. “I won’t kick a tree.”
This puzzled Oxpecker, but Elephant and Antelope had told him Zebra was a little strange, so he simply said: “I need nothing. Just to eat the insects.”
“What insects?” Zebra wondered. “My stripes are what’s bothering me.”
This was more than just a little strange, thought Oxpecker, but he had offered to help, so he would.
“Not my usual area of expertise,” admitted the bird, “but I will certainly give it a try.”
So Oxpecker set his beak to tugging at the stripes on Zebra’s skin, and to Zebra’s credit, he did not complain for the whole time it took to get all the black lines removed. He even thanked Oxpecker for his assistance.

The next day, Zebra paraded himself in front of Baboon.
“See, you old monkey? I’ve become a horse, all on my own.”
Baboon frowned at Zebra’s behaviour. “Oh, I see a high horse, that’s for sure,” he said. “But looking like a horse means nothing if you don’t sound like a horse.”
“What does a horse sound like?” inquired Zebra.
Baboon did his best to neigh, managing a fair imitation. Zebra, however, failed to make a convincing impression.
“Well, I suppose as long as you keep your muzzle shut, you might make it,” said Baboon. “But that would be a miracle,” he whispered to himself.
Zebra, offended, just snorted and trotted away.
Soon enough, he found himself being chased by Lion. So stuck in his life-long instinct was he that he ran for a good minute before he realized what he was doing. Then he froze and turned to face Lion head on.
“STOP!” he barked at Lion. It seemed to have worked, because Lion – no doubt confused about this unfamiliar behaviour on Zebra’s part – dug her claws into the ground and skid to a halt in front of her prey.
“You will not hunt me anymore,” decreed Zebra. “I am a horse, and lions do not eat horses.”
“You’re a what?” asked Lion, even more bewildered now.
“A horse,” repeated Zebra. “I no longer have stripes.”
“I can see that,” said Lion, “but you probably taste the same.”
“Doesn’t matter. Lions do not eat horses,” he insisted. “Ask Baboon if you don’t believe me.”
“Fine, I will,” agreed Lion, and – much to Zebra’s delight – sauntered off to Baboon’s den.

Baboon’s explanation supported what Zebra had told Lion, and while the predator did not like this new-fangled nonsense on the savannah, she knew Baboon to be wise. If the monkey said a zebra without stripes was a horse, then it must be so – at least, Lion did not know any better. It did not make her any less angry, though.
“What did you do that for?!” she roared at Baboon, who flinched and retreated a few steps.
“But I didn’t!” he defended himself. “I just explained what needed to be done. It was Oxpecker who pulled the stripes off.”
Baboon immediately regretted having told Lion this, because Lion loped straight towards the river with such speed as only anger can fuel. But before long, Lion came to her senses. After all, Oxpecker sometimes drank the blood of warthogs and giraffes, a thing which Lion greatly respected. Oxpecker was a brave little bird.
So it was that when Lion arrived at the water, she was no longer angry with Oxpecker – merely curious.
“Oxpecker, why did you help Zebra become a horse?”
“Is that what I was doing?” asked Oxpecker. “I almost wish I hadn’t, now. I couldn’t even eat the stripes.”
“What did you do with them, then?”
“Oh, I just left them by that fig tree Baboon is always hanging around under. You can have them, if you want.”
“What would I want with Zebra’s stripes? What do you even do with stripes?” Lion mused. Perhaps Baboon would know?
Lion found Baboon at the foot of the fig tree, collecting Zebra’s discarded stripes.
“I was wondering, Baboon,” said Lion. “Is there anything those might be good for?”
“Sure,” said Baboon. “You could use them to become a tiger.”
Lion had no idea what that meant. “What’s a tie-gurr?”
“A tiger is a lot like a lion, but it lives in Asia,” explained Baboon. This piqued Lion’s interest something fierce.
“And do they eat horses?” she asked.
“No reason they couldn’t, if they managed to get hold of one,” Baboon supposed.
“Pray tell, most knowledgeable and wise Baboon,” wheedled Lion. “How might one go about becoming a tiger?”
Baboon smiled. “First, one would have to get me a decent amount of figs.”

It did not take long before Zebra found himself being, once again, hunted. But this time, the predator not only appeared different – she had snuck up on Zebra in an ambush unlike any she had employed before.
“Stop, Lion, STOP!” yelled Zebra while the large cat descended on him. But she did not stop.
Zebra thought he must not be horse-like enough. He attempted to neigh as loud as he could, but all that came out was a whiney “Ee-yah! Ee-yah!”
“But I’m a horse!” cried Zebra as feline teeth sunk into his flesh. Blood was spurting out of Zebra’s neck onto his assailant’s new, black stripes.
“I know you’re a horse,” came the muffled response. “But I’m not a lion.”

Not far away, in the safety of his den, Baboon was happily munching on perfectly ripe figs. heard the struggle, and thought to himself: “Zebra may look like a horse, but he sure sounds every bit a donkey.”

So remember: It takes hard work to properly change who you are. If you’re just lazily horsing around, the only thing you’ll achieve is making an ass of yourself.

(Also, if a very large cat is bearing down on you, do not stop to ponder what species it might belong to. Run.)