The boy was fifteen, blond, and had a strong physique for his age. His sage green polo shirt hugged his chest, and a pair of clean white tennis shorts sat snugly around his tanned thighs and muscled backside.
"What the fuck did you bite me for?" he yelled at the donkey who'd nipped him - Paul, who had now trotted off and was snorting smugly in the direction of his mate, donkey-Andy. "I'm gonna give what for, you butt-ugly brute!" And so saying, he grabbed a broken branch that was lying nearby and clambered over the fence into the field where the donkeys were standing.
In his anger he was quite oblivious of the prickling of his skin and the beads of sweat which were forming on his forehead. Swinging the the stick menacingly, he crossed the patch of grass between the fence and donkey-Paul, his mouth set, his eyes glowering. But before he had chance to raise the weapon, let alone use it, a curious expression crossed his face...