The Fable of the Rhino and the Oxpecker

by Barry J. Northern

One morning, a black rhino looked up from the thorny bush he was stripping with his hooked lips, for he heard the distant rumble of hoofbeats.
He squinted against the savannah sun and could see only a cloud of dust with a vaguely darker kernel, for his eyesite was poor.
He set his feet to the ground and charged off to meet this new threat, for the bush was good, and the females were nearby.

An oxpecker, who had been working at a tick near Rhino's ear, flew up above his head. "Charge, my tick-infested friend, charge well. Don't worry about your wounds, for I will keep them clean for you."
Rhino called back. "Thank you little friend. I will be back as soon as I have dealt with my enemy."
Rhino charged, and soon shortened the distance between himself and the approaching blur. The hoofbeats grew louder, until soon they were as loud as his own, and the distance closed so that even Rhino could clearly see his enemy -- another male, like himself.

He called out to him. "Begone, my enemy. There is no room for you here." Then horns collided, and huge pointed heads glanced across each other forcing the pair eye-to-eye for an instant. Then the energy of their momentum was spent, and then their heavy bodies pounded the hard dirt beneath them in a slow cycle of stand-off and head-butting.
The pair fought for several minutes, but Rhino was the largest, and so, before long, his rival backed away. "You are the better beast. Perhaps one day I will match your skill." Then Rhino's enemy turned and fled.
Rhino chuckled, but it was only as he ambled back to his bush that he began to feel his injuries.