There was something about this buffalo lying down, his legs tucked up underneath him, the gentle slope of his upper body, the wistful sideways glance, that took all the bluster out of a species considered one of the most dangerous if approached on foot.
Perhaps he’s a poet buffalo? I’m not sure why that comes to mind but when I saw the little oxpecker perched so delicately on his leg, I thought of a poet. He seemed sweet: the Ferdinand, perhaps, of the cape buffalo set.
I’m choosing to disregard the fact that he’s also foaming at the mouth.