Sensitivity Training

The animals were fed up. He had crossed the line and this would be the end of his poor behavior. Ringo the Raccoon had long walked a fine line between sarcasm, ridicule, and humor. He was slightly more intelligent than the majority of the creatures who lived at the barn and he often exploited his advantage. His usual gambit was a quip or verbal  jab- directed at one more witless than he. Oft times, these remarks were like impotent shots fired across the bow of a ship- testing the waters, gauging damage or the skill of an adversary.

Today, however, Ringo had caused collateral damage with one of his warning shots. And he was about to pay the price for it. He closed his eyes and retraced the steps which had brought him to this fate. His mind moved backwards to earlier that morning.

It was an unseasonably warm November day. The sun rose bright and full of promise. Animals chattered quietly among themselves- the horses were anxious to go outside to the grassy meadow, the dogs were wondering if there would be a group game of "Fetch the Stick". Ringo glanced at the Motley Crew grouped in the barn from his perch high above them on the top of a box stall. From this vantage point, he could see them all. He shifted his bulky form and leaned backwards against the wooden post. Reclining lazily, he absently picked at the soft fur of his belly.

Rondo, the Standard Poodle bounded around the corner and exclaimed in an excited voice, "Hey sup! Yo yo yo, check dis out right here, is anybody gonna aks if we gonna play today?"

Jorge the Llama looked at Rondo in a confused manner and said, "Hmmmm?"

"Com on dawg, is anybody gonna aks if we playin stick today?" Rondo repeated.

"Por favor, Senor, I do not understand what it is you mean," the Llama said in a heavy Spanish accent belying his Hispanic roots.

Bobbie the tortoise patterned gray cat, spoke up just then in a thick Southern drawl, "Now ya'll know, Rondo was done raised up in the city. He ain't never had no schoolin to learn to talk like the rest of us. "

Ringo watched the interchange below him and uttered "Psshht," with obvious disdain in his voice. Under his breath he muttered, "Hillbillies, Ghetto...(unitelligible words)...go back to where you came from....(more untelligible words)...don't belong here anyway." his voice continued.

Suddenly, every pair of eyes in the barn were upon the Raccoon perched upon the stall top.

The Llama's quick fire temper flared at the slight. "Esscuse me, RRrrrringo," Jorge said slowly. "Was the Poodle speaking to you. I tink, No."

Tension immediately filled the empty space. Ringo bristled with anger. How dare the Llama speak to him so? He was, after all, an immigrant. In fact, they all were. Ringo was the only one born at the barn.  Everyone else had come to live in his home- coming with their strange accents, strange customs, strange food. This was his land and he didn't appreciate the strangeness that came with these creatures.

"I tink, I tink," Ringo mocked the Llama speaking in a mock Spanish accent. "Hmmmm, I think that you all need to learn to speak." the raccoon continued enunciating each word carefully.  Rondo glanced at the ground in shame, he was accustomed to Ringo's prejudice. He was a simple dog born in the inner city and he wished he could speak better. Ringo knew the barb would hit closely to Rondo's heart but he felt alienated from him and did not care.

"Enough," came a strong masculine voice. Chevy stepped into the sunlight near the front of his stall. He was the most beloved animal at the farm. No one questioned it. With the natural grace born of nobility, the stallion lifted his head toward the raccoon perched atop his stall. His golden mane caught the rays of the sun and nearly glowed with the brilliance of it. The raccoon receded slightly from the force of the stallion's gaze.

"Ringo, you call yourself a Native- born of this farm. These are your brethren. Every one of us is connected- created by the same Maker. We are all Natives, are we not? Of somewhere? You. Have. No. Right." Chevy said quietly, for he did not ever raise his voice.

Ringo snapped back to the present. Now, he was faced with an angry mob of miscellaneous animals gathered around him. He had surely insulted every one of them at some point. They glowered. They glared. They stood waiting for someone to decide how to proceed.

"Apology", someone shouted from the rear of the mob. He thought it may have been the goat.

"What if we have our own Sensitivity Training," Chevy suggested. Nods of approval moved throughout the group. "Then, Ringo will be more sensitive to the feelings of his brothers and sisters here," he continued.

The animals paused for only an instant, and then they began to administer Ringo's Sensitivity Training. One moment, they were surrounding him like an angry mob- the next, they converged upon him en masse. In the center of the ball of hair, fur, hooves, and toes, hey were hugging and tickling him. One after the next, they continued to embrace his surly form. Wooden at first, he resisted. Soon, however, he began to soften to their embraces. The hugs continued until he was overwrought with emotion. As quickly as the episode began, it ended. Abruptly, the animals drew away.

In the center of the pile of animals, stood the raccoon with his little arms flung around the Poodle's neck, crooning softly. Awkwardly, someone cleared their throat. Ringo slowly pulled his arms to his sides and smoothed his ruffled fur.

Rondo's laughed happily and his simple child-like smile widened. And he reached out and licked the raccoon with his long, wet tongue. A hush fell over the group, the Ringo of the morning would have launched into a tirade over such a blatent display of affection.

And then Ringo began to chuckle. First, a tiny release of air past his whiskers, "Heeeheeeheee." Then, it became a rocking belly laugh and he grasped his sides to contain himself. "Hawwhawwwhawwheeehee," he guffawed. And everyone joined in until the entire barnyard was sharing a collective laugh.