Lion Rampant
by Glenn Muir
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: The forming of a friendship between erstwhile strangers, set against the backdrop of Africa's Serengeti.
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: The forming of a friendship between erstwhile strangers, set against the backdrop of Africa's Serengeti.
Dave yawned expansively and rolled ontae his back, opening yin ee tae check oot whit the neebours wis up tae. No much, wis the answer tae that particular question. The acacia scrubland o the Serengeti wis dry and dusty an the tree he wis restin unner gied hardly onie shelter frae the bakin African sun. There wis virtually nae game in the vicinity and an empty belly wis aa he had for company.
He sniffed and made disgusted “yech” noises. “Whit wis that?”
Something smelled really bad, aye that wis it, he mindit he had gien the total malkie tae a hyena the previous nicht when it had traipsed owre close tae whaur he wis takin his forty winks. Dave hated hyenas, tae his way o thinkin the onlie guid hyena wis yin that wis broon breid. He had briefly thocht aboot eatin it but that particular notion made him want tae boak, he wis hungry but no that hungry.
A cooling breeze frae the Northern hills telt him that the rains were aboot tae arrive and wi the rains the herds o wildebeest and zebra seekin oot the fresh gress that wid sprout up in jigtime.
Turnin his heid tae gaze skyward he saw aboot twinty griffon vultures circling on the thermals. He rose tae his feet, gied hisel a shake and padded aff in that general direction. Vultures circling wis a sure sign thit something wis deid but the fact that nane o thaim were landing meant that whitever it wis wis either no quite deid or it had been claimed by some predator or ither.
Dave meandered through the redgrass, passing scattered whistling thorn, strangle fig and the occasional sausage tree. His presence caused a bit o a stir amongst the locals, guinea fowl and sand grouse fluttered noisily oot o his path. He paused briefly tae drink frae a sma pool o standing water, the last remnant frae last year’s rains, displacing a pair o side-striped jackals wha scampered aff in the direction o the circling vultures.
Efter he had walked aboot thrie mile the vultures were almost directly abune him. The air wis filled wi the soonds o battle, whoops and yips frae a hale clan o hyenas mingled wi the defiant roar o ae lion determined tae hing on tae his share.
As Dave breistit a wee incline he quickly summed up the situation. A lion had taen possession o a an auld buffalo that the hyenas had gied the last rites the previous evening. The stranger had routed a dizzen o them but they had returned wi reinforcements and noo he wis sair pressed.
It is a weel kenned fact that mair lions are kilt by hyenas than by humans (in fact lions kill mair lions than either but that is by the by).
Dave gied a throaty growl somewhaur short o an actual roar. “Hullo, pal, onie chance o some o that buffalo if I malkie some o they bastard hyenas?”
“That wid be maist acceptable” came the reply.
Withoot further ado Dave gied a full bloodit roar and chairged. At this point twinty or sae hyenas simultaneously turned their heids in Dave’s direction an gied whit can only be described as a “double take”. This unexpected intervention tuik the wind oot thir sails big time. Dave managed tae grab yin o thaim roond the throat and kilt it wi yin swift bite. As luck wid hae it this particular craitur wis the matriarch o the clan, wi her demise the rest lost thir stomach for the fray and vanished like snaw aff a dyke, thir maniacal whoopin and yippin fading intae the distance.
Dave walked cautiously up tae the tawny stranger. They were aboot the same age (thrie, as it happens) baith wi a nearly full dark broon mane. They rubbed heids in greeting, the equivalent o a haun shake for humans.
“Dave’s the name, lately o the Riverside Pride,” Dave purred like a chainsaw.
“Shug at yer service, lately o the Swamp Pride,” replied the stranger. “Let’s eat.”
Efter a hearty feed the new pals lay side by side each gled o the ither’s company.
Shug wis the first lion Dave had come across since he had been booted oot his pride.
“Me an ma brither got flung oot the Swamp Pride aboot fower month ago,” Shug purred.
“How come yer on yer Jack Jones? Whit happen tae yer bro?” Dave speired.
“Och, ye ken how it is, his een wis bigger than his belly. He decided that we should try fer a giraffe yin day. I didnae really think it wis a great idea. Oor mither had warned us when we were wee but, naw, he widnae listen. Onie way, tae cut a lang story shoart, he muffed his stalk and got a kick in the heid. Puir Oscar,that wis him hyena bait.”
Dave sighed. “That’s a peety, Shug”.
Shug yawned. “ Whit’s yer ain story, had ye onie brithers yersel?”
“Nah,” Dave replied. “I did hae twa sisters (of course they are still in the River Pride). Life wis great. Plenty grub, Maw wis a guid hunter, she did hae some help frae her fower sisters and ma auld Granny. Buffalo, wildebeest, zebra, you name it, aa the best o scran.”
“Soonds braw,” Shug murmured.
“It wis, it wis, but then aboot a week ago it aa goes tits up. Somehow they had managed tae nab a wildebeest (aye ah ken they are nae due until the rains, must hae been a maverick). Onie way, I sauntered up tae whaur the pride were feedin, as usual, ready tae jine in as usual but naw they telt me tae bugger aff. I cuid see they werenae kiddin, it wis a shock tae ma system, ah kin tell ye. Maw telt me it wis time ah panelled ma ain gnu and ma twa faithers chased me oot o the pride territory. It his been shite in the past week, this buffalo is ma first decent meal since ah goat dinghyed.”
Shug rubbed his heid against Dave’s by way o a comforting gesture. “Nivir mind, son, stick wi me an ye’ll no go faur wrang. In a couple o years (mebbe less) we can tak owre a pride oorsels an everything’ll be hunky dory. But, Dave. ye must promise me yin thing.”
“An whit is that buddy?” Dave enquired.
“Nae bluidy giraffe hunts” Shug said.
“Nae probs, naeprobs, noo for some shut eye, eh.” With that Dave fell intae a contentit snooze. Everything wis gaunie be fine.
He sniffed and made disgusted “yech” noises. “Whit wis that?”
Something smelled really bad, aye that wis it, he mindit he had gien the total malkie tae a hyena the previous nicht when it had traipsed owre close tae whaur he wis takin his forty winks. Dave hated hyenas, tae his way o thinkin the onlie guid hyena wis yin that wis broon breid. He had briefly thocht aboot eatin it but that particular notion made him want tae boak, he wis hungry but no that hungry.
A cooling breeze frae the Northern hills telt him that the rains were aboot tae arrive and wi the rains the herds o wildebeest and zebra seekin oot the fresh gress that wid sprout up in jigtime.
Turnin his heid tae gaze skyward he saw aboot twinty griffon vultures circling on the thermals. He rose tae his feet, gied hisel a shake and padded aff in that general direction. Vultures circling wis a sure sign thit something wis deid but the fact that nane o thaim were landing meant that whitever it wis wis either no quite deid or it had been claimed by some predator or ither.
Dave meandered through the redgrass, passing scattered whistling thorn, strangle fig and the occasional sausage tree. His presence caused a bit o a stir amongst the locals, guinea fowl and sand grouse fluttered noisily oot o his path. He paused briefly tae drink frae a sma pool o standing water, the last remnant frae last year’s rains, displacing a pair o side-striped jackals wha scampered aff in the direction o the circling vultures.
Efter he had walked aboot thrie mile the vultures were almost directly abune him. The air wis filled wi the soonds o battle, whoops and yips frae a hale clan o hyenas mingled wi the defiant roar o ae lion determined tae hing on tae his share.
As Dave breistit a wee incline he quickly summed up the situation. A lion had taen possession o a an auld buffalo that the hyenas had gied the last rites the previous evening. The stranger had routed a dizzen o them but they had returned wi reinforcements and noo he wis sair pressed.
It is a weel kenned fact that mair lions are kilt by hyenas than by humans (in fact lions kill mair lions than either but that is by the by).
Dave gied a throaty growl somewhaur short o an actual roar. “Hullo, pal, onie chance o some o that buffalo if I malkie some o they bastard hyenas?”
“That wid be maist acceptable” came the reply.
Withoot further ado Dave gied a full bloodit roar and chairged. At this point twinty or sae hyenas simultaneously turned their heids in Dave’s direction an gied whit can only be described as a “double take”. This unexpected intervention tuik the wind oot thir sails big time. Dave managed tae grab yin o thaim roond the throat and kilt it wi yin swift bite. As luck wid hae it this particular craitur wis the matriarch o the clan, wi her demise the rest lost thir stomach for the fray and vanished like snaw aff a dyke, thir maniacal whoopin and yippin fading intae the distance.
Dave walked cautiously up tae the tawny stranger. They were aboot the same age (thrie, as it happens) baith wi a nearly full dark broon mane. They rubbed heids in greeting, the equivalent o a haun shake for humans.
“Dave’s the name, lately o the Riverside Pride,” Dave purred like a chainsaw.
“Shug at yer service, lately o the Swamp Pride,” replied the stranger. “Let’s eat.”
Efter a hearty feed the new pals lay side by side each gled o the ither’s company.
Shug wis the first lion Dave had come across since he had been booted oot his pride.
“Me an ma brither got flung oot the Swamp Pride aboot fower month ago,” Shug purred.
“How come yer on yer Jack Jones? Whit happen tae yer bro?” Dave speired.
“Och, ye ken how it is, his een wis bigger than his belly. He decided that we should try fer a giraffe yin day. I didnae really think it wis a great idea. Oor mither had warned us when we were wee but, naw, he widnae listen. Onie way, tae cut a lang story shoart, he muffed his stalk and got a kick in the heid. Puir Oscar,that wis him hyena bait.”
Dave sighed. “That’s a peety, Shug”.
Shug yawned. “ Whit’s yer ain story, had ye onie brithers yersel?”
“Nah,” Dave replied. “I did hae twa sisters (of course they are still in the River Pride). Life wis great. Plenty grub, Maw wis a guid hunter, she did hae some help frae her fower sisters and ma auld Granny. Buffalo, wildebeest, zebra, you name it, aa the best o scran.”
“Soonds braw,” Shug murmured.
“It wis, it wis, but then aboot a week ago it aa goes tits up. Somehow they had managed tae nab a wildebeest (aye ah ken they are nae due until the rains, must hae been a maverick). Onie way, I sauntered up tae whaur the pride were feedin, as usual, ready tae jine in as usual but naw they telt me tae bugger aff. I cuid see they werenae kiddin, it wis a shock tae ma system, ah kin tell ye. Maw telt me it wis time ah panelled ma ain gnu and ma twa faithers chased me oot o the pride territory. It his been shite in the past week, this buffalo is ma first decent meal since ah goat dinghyed.”
Shug rubbed his heid against Dave’s by way o a comforting gesture. “Nivir mind, son, stick wi me an ye’ll no go faur wrang. In a couple o years (mebbe less) we can tak owre a pride oorsels an everything’ll be hunky dory. But, Dave. ye must promise me yin thing.”
“An whit is that buddy?” Dave enquired.
“Nae bluidy giraffe hunts” Shug said.
“Nae probs, naeprobs, noo for some shut eye, eh.” With that Dave fell intae a contentit snooze. Everything wis gaunie be fine.
About the Author
West Lothian-born Glenn Muir is a fiftysomething postman working in Linlithgow. Previously a member of the West Lothian Song Writers Group, he is now with Quill, a poetry and writing group based in Bathgate.