I was 10 when I got a pet donkey. He was dark brown and a little on the slow side. My uncle had recently passed away, leaving his poor donkey homeless. I loved my uncle, so I decided to carry on his donkey raising legacy by keeping the donkey. I named him Don Juan Rodrigo, after my great aunt, and did my best to train him. All my efforts proved futile though, this donkey didn’t want to be tamed. He was too proud; he wanted to serve his country not live in the suburbs with a boy. So, I decided to enlist us in the U.S. Army. The recruiter instantly recognized him and promoted him to the highest rank a donkey could have, Donkey Class First Captain. This wasn’t enough for Don Juan thought; no he wanted to die serving. He wanted to gallop into the battlefield; head first, red and blue running in his blood and the sweet sound of freedom ringing in his ears. The only problem was that the donkey section of the army is all recreational now. The last time a donkey died in combat was in Vietnam, when the great 2nd Class Lieutenant Mister Jose Donkey died in the battlefield. There was no way to get to Don Juan overseas.

After receiving the horrible news Don Juan sunk into a dark depression. He wouldn’t eat or drink anything, except for vodka tonics (donkey love vodka tonics). I became very worried about him; I was convinced that he would do something stupid. I begged the army to let him go overseas. It wasn’t until things got rough in the Middle East that Don Juan was called up. He was being sent to the heart of Pakistan to perform a super-secret mission, kill Robo-Hitler 5000. This was received with outmost joy by Don Juan. He packed up his gear and left to fight. It was 2 months before I heard from him again. He had met a curvy camel, who “rocked his world”. He also talked about how close he was to completing his mission; he could “practically taste the cold, Nazi metal”.

We kept in close contact since then. Until the day that everything changed. I was 11 and had just started school. I was playing outside with my friends when a black Cadillac pulled up. The shiny black gloss sent us into a long trance that was abruptly interrupted by two soldiers. They were carrying a folded flag and walking towards me. I knew what this meant. My dear friend had died. Before they could say anything, I ran. I ran straight to my uncle’s grave, and cursed at him. He had left this donkey in my life. He had known that this donkey had the power to change lives. He had known that this donkey would bring me so much happiness and ultimately so much sadness. I later learned that Don Juan died carrying a pregnant women of the battle field. He died a hero; he died doing the best thing donkeys do, saving lives.
Written in loving memory of Don Juan Rodriguez, the greatest donkey to ever live.