The sound of a thousand donkeys

"Bolivian camels! Graham crackers and cheese! Constancy and deliverance!"  Carl had been bellowing for nearly an hour and he was making less and less sense as time went on.  How he managed to crawl out onto the ledge of the fourth floor and maintain his balance was anyone's guess.  But there he stood, in only his socks, and yelling.

Technically, Carl was not insane, but for all intents and purposes, the crowd who had gathered below, humored at the naked, yelling man, had officially labeled him a nut job.  One could only guess at what was taking place in the mind of Carl.  The path from his mind to his mouth was a short one and if his mouth was actually communicating what his mind told him, then it was a scary conversation.

As Carl stood upon the fourth floor, back at home, his donkey, Larry, waited.  Larry was generally patient, as he learned was in his best interest, as Carl was typically unscheduled, but four hours past lunch had exceeded Larry's limit of patience.  Now was the time for action.  Larry pushed open the aged, worn out gate and made his way across the backyard to the back door.  Gripping the door handle with his lips, he granted himself entrance and entered the kitchen, eating a small block of cheese, now room temperature, from the kitchen table.  Larry found a loaf of bread on the counter, near the toaster.  He helped himself and upon finishing, drank what remained off the dishwater, suds and all.  This would prove to be his most unfortunate move.  Moving toward the living room, Larry consumed a large bowl of apples from the entry table and lay down in the middle of the floor for a nap.

Larry dreamed of flowing water, he dreamed of mud, he dreamed of large mules and clover fields, but then he woke up, simultaneously, to a pounding on the door and a very warm puddle.  The officer, a certain Sgt. Mackelmore, had been told to go to Carl's house and speak with someone named Larry, as no one answered the phone at that address.  So Sgt. Mackelmore stood on the front porch knocking, loudly, but getting no response, tried the door handle.  What met him came as a surprise.  A large donkey peered at him over an old flowered couch, surrounded by an overpowering stench.  The officer retched, regained his composure and called out for Larry.  Larry, of course, hearing his name, brayed in response.

What happened next would be ingrained in Sgt. Mackelmore's memory for years.  After the initial shock of seeing a donkey in the living room, the police officer took a step in only to be confronted (and speedily approached) by a hostile and remarkably agile donkey named Larry.  Sgt. Mackelmore nearly lost his left hand pinky in the ensuing scuffle, but managed to draw his weapon and drop the over protective donkey.  Carl, in the meantime, was being "helped" into the back of a police car, naked and yelling about chickens in the mist.

Some say it was paint chips, others suggested excessive formaldehyde fumes at Carl's work, but regardless of the origin of weirdness, Carl would spend the next six months in observation with court order for an additional six months of counseling.  Carl considered moving to Romania but thought better of it.