Lance updated the easily fascinated public when the donkey took an exit off the highway that led into an upscale residential area with quiet neighborhood streets, decorative mailboxes, manicured lawns, and expensive homes. Lance would later regret providing specific details.
You felt your excitement grow as you entered the familiar confines of your upscale neighborhood. Your hooves clacked on the asphalt as you took the familiar exit off the highway. Your huge ears twitched in nervous anticipation as you listened to the sounds of children in a playground. A man on a jog looked startled as he passed you and looked back in disbelief.
Your mood crashed when the jogger frowned in distaste and continued his exercise. No matter. The impostor in your body would soon be unmasked and you would regain your proper place in the world. You lifted your head to judge the direction to turn when you saw the van.
"They're still following me!" You brayed loudly.
The moment the ugly noise escaped your brutish lips, you worried. Late in the evening, a few neighbors remained active outdoors. A couple of men were finishing pushing mowers over their lawns to keep the grass immaculately trimmed. The thought of all that lush grass made your stomach grumble? Oh no! You didn't need to wake the hungry ass at this critical juncture.
Ignoring the van, which idled and waited for you to start moving again, you headed toward your street. The journey was no longer distant, but before you reached your cul-de-sac, you had to pass a small community park. There you were greeted with pandemonium. More of the media had jumped on the little lost donkey bandwagon. A radio van played loud music for a festive location piece. Even the college student down the block with his own podcast stood with his phone out, ready to record. An aroma of grilling steaks and summer vegetables from backyard barbecues wafted in the air, as well, teasing your large nostrils at the tip of your wide snout as they flared to sniff out more of the strong scents.
"Look at that circus!" Lance groused in the van. "Trying to horn in on my story."
"I keep telling you, that stupid jackass is not a story," the camera operator argued, although his contrary opinion fell a little flat in the face of the small mob gathered at the edge of the park.
"Let's get out and get some footage," Lance said.
You heard the doors of the van slide open as the reporter and camera operator exited. You saw the camera swing in your direction. By now, everyone in the park had looked in the direction of your asinine form, which stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. You felt exposed and naked to prying eyes, unable to hide any of the more shameful features of your donkey body. You swayed your tail to attempt without much success to conceal the massive dark balls hanging between your back legs. The exposure and humiliation got to you. Your cock tingled in its sheath. "No! Not now!" You brayed in panic, but thinking of that organ's ludicrous dimensions only made its emergence more determined.
The loud braying sounded jarring and disrupted the suburban tranquility. You had to get away. You had to get to the impostor! Crashing through a neighbor's hedge, you tried to take a shortcut to your home and evade the ever-widening assembly of gawkers. You crashed through another hedge, feeling thorns and sharp twigs stab through your hide. You stood at your own mailbox with your name inscribed on the dark receptacle in gold letters that looked tarnished in your muted vision.
ClipClop! ClipClop! You heard your hooves make that odd noise as you walked up your drive. ClipClop! The sound was maddening.
"Well, who are you?" A female voice sounded in surprise.
The voice sounded familiar. You tried to position your head so you could focus both eyes on the sight of your wife, standing from her gardening chores. She wiped her hands on her denim gardening jeans before she reached down and picked up a carton of bedding flowers before she took a few steps toward you.
"It's me!" You brayed in triumph.
Her face reacted to the harsh noise. "Well, that is some voice you have." By now she saw beyond you and noticed the television camera, the radio microphone, and the podcast youth with his smartphone.
"It's me!" You brayed in concern. Your wife didn't seem to recognize you or the plight you found yourself in.
A hand gently took the reins of your bridle, which you had forgotten even wearing.
Oh no! You saw your former body standing next to you, the bridle now in his hands and under his control.
He tugged mildly and forced your head to turn.
Lance Prescott stepped forward. "Are you the owner, sir?"
"No," the donkey in your body answered smoothly. "I've never seen this animal before in my life."
You brayed in outrage. "Liar! Change us back! You have to change us back! Now!"
He jerked the reins. "Easy now, big fellow."
Your wife moved closer, but your inner donkey came alive and saw only the delicious plants in the tray she held in her arms. With a lunge, you pushed your huge snout into the tray and gobbled some of her pretty pansies and petunias before you could stop yourself.
"See?" Your impostor turned to the cameras. "I think he was just hungry."
Your wife swung the tray away from you, her expression showing irritation at the loss of the flowers.
You were making yourself look like a real ass in front of her.
"It seemed to make a beeline to this property," Lance said as the camera operator continued to film.
"Really?" The impostor feigned surprise. "Do you recognize this animal, dear?"
Your wife turned her eyes toward you. Her distaste at what she saw was written in her frown and the way her eyes crinkled. "Hardly," she laughed. "Why would I recognize a dumb donkey?"
"No! It's me!" You began braying anew. "Please, you have to recognize me! I'm not the donkey — he is!"
The impostor trotted you the short distance to Lance Prescott, where he handed over your reins. "I think you simply herded the poor animal here for no good reason," he said. "So now you can please see that it is removed."
You remembered the shiny medallion. "No! You can't do this! Change us back! Please! I beg you!"
The ear-splitting brays caused Lance to drop the reins and retreat.
"I think we should go inside now," the impostor said to your wife, who readily agreed.
"Wait! Don't leave me like this!" You brayed some more. More people showed up in the milling assembly behind you and listened in astonishment at the donkey that had shattered their residential tranquility.
"I called animal control," the camera operator said after he finally stopped filming. "We don't have to stay for that, do we?"
Lance Prescott, robbed of his anticipated happy reunion between owner and animal, frowned. "Just get in the van."
The camera operator laughed. "I did tell you that you wouldn't be able to turn that ugly, filthy jackass into a story."
You brayed again, more forlornly. "Not a jackass!"
What should you do now? The impostor refused to help you. The man with the camera had called animal control. You couldn't just stand and wait for them to take you away!
With the window down, the camera operator looked in your direction as you stood in the middle of the driveway. "Only thing it's good for might be to pull a plow."
"It!" The word sounded hateful to your ears. "It!"
The man who had been working the camera had just predicted your grim future as a beast of burden. You made up your mind...