With the highway sign now some distance behind you, you feel better about reaching your destination until a large white van with the call letters of a local television station pulled onto the shoulder ahead of you.
A reporter with a microphone and a camera operator are disgorged from the interior of the van.
"Get some footage of the donkey!" Your ungainly ears twitched as you listened to the two humans.
The camera operator doesn't lift his equipment. "Are you kidding? Who's going to want to see footage of some broken-down jackass?"
The reporter frowned. "The public will eat it up. They love these hard luck stories of a poor abandoned animal trying to find its way home."
You flicked your tail in agitation at hearing the unflattering description of you by the man with the camera.
The camera operator looked dubious but got his camera in position and swung it in your direction. You stopped in your tracks, stomped nervously with your front hooves, and exhaled loudly.
The reporter stepped into the highway to allow him to circle behind you to insert himself into the shot. "This is Lance Prescott reporting from Highway North on a developing situation with this lost fellow."
Almost as if on cue, you brayed. Of course, what you wanted to say was an irritated "What the hell? Get out of my way, buster!"
The bored camera operator continued filming even as you resumed walking and trudged past him. "As you can see, the poor beast of burden's gotten himself lost and is now valiantly making his way home," the reporter intoned with feigned gravitas.
"You got that much right, you lowlife," you wanted to berate him but only produced another loud bray that made the camera operator wince.
"Will there be a happy reunion with his owner? We will keep tracking his progress for you. Check back with us for updates."
"Is that all?" The operator asked, lowering the camera.
"For now it is," the reporter said as he listened to the noise of your clopping hooves. "You drive and follow him while I work our social media platforms to drum up interest in the story."
"What story? It's a damn jackass!"
You brayed in futile protest.
"You'll see," the reporter predicted. "People love animal stories."
"They loved puppies, kittens, maybe little lambs," the photographer retorted. "Not smelly, ugly jackasses."
"Just get in the van."
You craned your neck back and saw the van, traveling slowly to match your pace, was following. Did they mean to follow you all the way back to your home?