Alfred was a naughty horse, notorious for his antics and the pranks he played on those around him. For example, he always pooped outside the priest's house on Donkey Shit Lane. The priest had once kicked Alfred in the rear when he happened to block the entrance to the cathedral. A stallion never forgets such humiliation.

Alfred was famous for his pranks and being a bit chilly by nature. He was the only hoofed animal on Hydra who wore pyjamas at night. Initially, there was much neighing and laughter in the stable, but it soon stopped because Alfred was also known for his powerful backkicks. It wasn't the pyjamas that the others, both horses, mules, and donkeys, found funny, nor was it that Alfred's sleep suit was a baby model that covered everything, including hooves, but the pattern. With his pyjamas on, Alfred looked like a zebra. The zebra-striped pyjamas had belonged to a travelling circus that had visited Hydra.

Zebras were expensive, so a tailor-made full-cover suit transformed the circus's horse into a zebra that could perform various tricks. However, the Zebra Act became outdated and was replaced by an act in which the poor horse played a walrus, a more exotic animal for the Greeks. The discarded zebra suit was thrown out along with other worn-out props at Hydra's city dump, which Alfred's master often visited. While his master searched for items that could be sold with some cleaning up, Alfred found the zebra suit, which seemed the right size and suitable as pyjamas, made of soft fleece fabric and closed with Velcro at the front. Alfred believed he could open and close the suit using his muzzle and hooves.

Since it was early December and the nights were quite cold, Alfred inaugurated the suit that evening. Only a few on the island knew the Stallion's unusual nightwear, but it had caught attention on a few occasions. Once, a sleepy Alfred forgot to take the suit off and lined up with the donkeys and mules at the harbour. People genuinely thought Alfred's master had acquired a zebra, perhaps to attract extra interest among tourists wanting to ride around town.

The occasion depicted in my picture was when the youngest son in the house was ordered by his smoke-hungry father to fetch a packet of tobacco from the harbour in the evening. Instead of walking down on his own legs, the lazy boy fetched Alfred and rode bareback to the tobacconist in the harbour. That Alfred had already changed into his nightwear didn't bother the boy. Alfred's master got his tobacco, and within half an hour, Alfred was back in the stable, ready to settle in for the night. Perhaps he dreamt of another prank, which I have previously recounted. This is an excerpt from my novel 'Leonard & Marianne and the Tales of Hydra', but it deserves to be retold here.

Next to the wall facing the Vlychos road, a stallion stood and grazed calmly. I recognised him as the leader of a small herd running freely on the road. You see it sometimes, and the horses can enter and exit several places where gates are open, or the wall has collapsed. The grass is always greener on the neighbour's side of the fence, especially the grass that grew along the road to Vlychos. The grass on one side of a wall belongs to someone, while this one belongs to everyone. It was there for the taking. The Stallion stood on a particularly green patch of grass, gazing curiously at us.

"I've met him before, but always with his mares in tow, last time the other day," I told Leonard. "I wonder what he's done with the herd."

"Well, let's ask," Leonard said, pausing his donkey.

Leonard looked at the Stallion, and I could see how he communicated with the horse through telepathy. That's how beings converse among the stars. The absence of air renders vocal cords useless. The advantage is that all species communicate through thoughts, not words. Thoughts are universal and have no language; references and levels can vary between species. Consequently, everyone can talk to everyone or at least make themselves understood if they comprehend each other's emotions. Anyone who has had a pet understands this.

When Leonard spoke to the Stallion, he said the same thing with his mouth so I could follow along. Similarly, he simultaneously interpreted what the horse said.

"It seems you've met," Leonard said, pointing at me.

"Your friend I met the other day," said the Stallion.

"What have you done with your herd today?" Leonard asked, looking genuinely curious and leaning forward in the saddle.

"I left the family below the cemetery. Someone has spread straw there—delicious stuff and freshly pressed. My girls love it. My son, too." He nodded towards the chapel a little distance away.

"Beautiful foal," I said, and Leonard translated.

"Right! Like watching myself in a mirror," said the Stallion proudly.

"Doesn't he want to be with his father?" I asked innocently. "No, his mother and the other girls should care for him. They are good at it," said the horse and blinked intensely as some men do to others. They seek a consensus on sensitive issues. It went smoother than one might think when Leonard was a simultaneous interpreter. This is how it works when politicians meet in Brussels, each speaking their native language and getting others' translated with just a few seconds delay.

"Well," I said, thinking this is not how people talk today, at least not in Scandinavia. I glanced anxiously at Marianne's hall. Even though she was eighty-eight years old and lived on a star, she was a modern woman.

"And take care of things," the Stallion continued. "So, I can stroll around as I wish. If they want another foal, they can neigh and will arrive faster than a gunshot." The Stallion snorted a kind of filthy laugh, man-to-man. I could see how Marianne and her female donkey squirmed uncomfortably.

"Don't your women think you're a real male pig?" It's a stupid question because a horse cannot be like a pig.

"Impossible! If one neigh, you cannot be a male pig," was his obvious answer. Now, everyone, including Marianne and the donkey, laughed.

"I meant you might be a little too chauvinistic."

"Stallions have been like me for some million years, and I will probably continue like that," he snorted, annoyed.

"You do not follow what is happening in the human world. That our development will also spill over onto horses, and mares will have the same rights and opportunities as stallions," Marianne said, and her donkey stamped its front hoof resolutely.

"Do you believe in that yourself? At the end of the day, it is still a matter of strength. I'm stronger than my girls, and my owner appreciates that. That's how it is. For horses."

"Why are you wandering around right here?" I asked because it was useless to get deeper into the question of emancipated mares. Our positions seemed irreversible, and I could see how irritated Marianne's donkey was.

"There is always a gate open or a breach in the wall if I find something delicious in the fields. This time of year, there is more to eat along the roadsides. And greener."

Vlychos Road is a transportation route, not a pasture. The donkey owners are too busy to let their animals stop and graze by the roadside. As for myself, I'm also drawn to the view. It's unparalleled right here, with rugged hills and rolling valleys that stretch out into the sea. There's always something to admire. The sunset over Dokos can make any horse gallop with delight, and the sunrise on the other side is not too shabby either." The Stallion neighed affectionately at the island, resembling a sleeping princess on Dokos or perhaps a reclining mare.

"I call her 'The Sleeping Princess of Dokos,' but you're right, it could also be a mare," I said that mostly to be polite.

"Do you think that poor creature enjoys the view as much?" Marianne pointed to an old, exhausted mule in the field above, and the donkey below gave her impaired relative a sympathetic look.

"Gruesome!" The Stallion shook his head towards the fields above Ghikas' ruin. "A 'u-donkey.' That's what we call them, even if it's a mule."

"U-donkey?" I said in astonishment.

"Yes, when their lower back sinks so deep, their stomach almost touches the ground. That happens when you overload an animal year after year. They look like a 'u' from the side. Crazy! The result is that the donkey has to retire early. And you can understand that we animals are not complimentary. Once fully trained, it's a significant investment for the owner. It's important to take care of what you have. Aside from the animal welfare aspect, of course." The Stallion nodded with significance.

"Hee-haw, hee-haw," the donkey above complained bitterly from the barren patch of land. The Stallion neighed deeply, expressing sympathy, a sound that resembled a muted rumble. There was little more he could do.

"Poor animals," Marianne said, knowing that a Time Traveler couldn't intervene, only express sympathy.

"It's nice up here, far from the madding crowds," the Stallion said poetically, trying to dispel his dark thoughts. "Downtown, it's too chaotic this time of year. The port is filled with people getting in our way when fully loaded. We animals have our destinations from A to B with our cargo, while tourists run around aimlessly, some just standing in the way, causing collisions. The worst are those taking selfies with their noses constantly glued to their devices. They see nothing except a picture of themselves with something in the background that they want to remember. Fools!" the horse snorted.

"Aren't you afraid your family will eat all the straw?" I provoked.

"Not at all. There's another IKEA package, so there will be enough for me," the Stallion said, grinning crookedly and showing his teeth.

IKEA! Why do you call them that? And what does a horse know about IKEA? Horses don't buy anything there, do they?"

"We call them packages because they're flat and rectangular, and we must tear them open and spread the contents ourselves. Eating straws doesn't count. That part is voluntary," the Stallion chuckled, pleased with his one-liner. "Besides, how many packages do you think I've carried from that company? In the past, they used to load half a kitchen of flat packages on my back. Nowadays, the law puts an end to such abuse. It's about time," the Stallion snorted indignantly.

"Indeed!" exclaimed Marianne, informed by her donkey about the new regulations prompted by reports of donkeys suffering from spinal injuries and saddle wounds.

"Today, there's a maximum weight limit of 100 kilos. Hey, haw whinny!" the Stallion exclaimed, trying to imitate a happy donkey. "Or one-fifth of their body weight. This also applies to human passengers. Hydra's steep hills intimidate many out-of-shape tourists who would rather ride than trudge up the narrow, stepped streets. In the past, it was said that an adult donkey was equivalent to carrying three cement sacks weighing 50 kilos each. I've carried those back-breakers. But that was then. Now they weigh 25 kilos, and a well-built mule or a stallion like me can carry a maximum of four."

"Who taught you all this? Your father?"

"No, my mother. My father turned into a bratwurst last year," the Stallion said gloomily.

"That was cruel!"

"Indeed, bloody Talibans," the Stallion grunted.

"Taliban?"

"Yes, that's what we call the butchers," he snorted.

"I can understand the analogy."

"Yes, isn't it? Those who do the dirty work when you have to kill your old friends."

"Yes, it's disgusting. Everything comes to an end."

"But a bratwurst has two." The Stallion had a dark sense of humour, a gallows humour.

"You enjoy joking?" I asked, a little surprised.

"Yep, I'm quite good at pranks too."

"Oh really! Like what, for example?" I asked unsuspectingly.

"Like now. While we were talking, I was moving the whole time. And you've been following me." I sensed the Stallion's broad smile, even though I couldn't see it. His teeth were visible.

"You may not have noticed, but you ended up in a pile of donkey shit." Now that rascal was genuinely laughing.

"Yes, that was great fun," I said and stepped out of it. Fortunately, donkey manure is dry and doesn't stick to the soles of your shoes. Everyone laughed except for me; both donkeys and their riders found it amusing.

"What's the point of having enemies with friends like these," I thought, but that only made them laugh even more.

"Would you like to hear about my best prank ever?"

"Well, I can't stop you," I said, scraping the right sole clean with the help of my other foot.

"I have a rival. An adversary with a fancier name. A real ass, even though he's a horse. So, when I call him an Ass, read my lips because it means 'Asshole'. Sometimes, our owners force us to stay in the same pasture. And that Ass tries to flirt with my mares. The Ass's mares are so skinny you'd get blisters if you tried to bang them. But I put him in his place this spring." The Stallion grinned crookedly. Marianne and her donkey didn't know where to look. Not that they were particularly prudish, but perhaps a little surprised by the Stallion's language.

"Well, what happened?" asked Leonard, who for once hadn't said anything in a while. When someone told an anecdote, his thoughts usually wondered whether it could be turned into music.

"We stood grazing under an almond tree", continued the Stallion. "If you are lucky, some semi-ripe almonds fall, and below the tree grew Horta, resulting in a delicious salad. I assure you that neither oil nor squeezed lemon is needed for it to be delicious. Only humans make dishes complicated. However, I noticed that a donkey had been there before us and left fresh droppings behind. My rival is a messy eater and consumes his food too quickly. It was soon time for the Ass to relieve himself. I had a plan in mind."

"I hear you," Leonard chuckled, sensing the conversation's direction. The advantage of telepathy is that you laugh twice at the same joke. Unfortunately, the opposite applies to bad news.

"Once the Ass was finished, I kicked away his droppings and pushed the donkey's excrement into its place with my foot. After a while, the Ass checked what he had left behind. It is an instinct to ensure that everything is functioning inside. Humans do the same, I suppose. What he saw nearly broke him down. He was confronted with a real identity crisis. He couldn't let out a proper neigh for quite some time. He became a bit humbler after that. My mares laugh as soon as they see him. So, he no longer bothers them or me." The Stallion let out a long and satisfied neigh.

All laughed heartedly. If nothing else, I had to write down this peculiar conversation. A horse with a sense of humour and a knack for IKEA. What a thing! I patted him on his muzzle. In the distance, we saw his family finishing up the last bundle of straw. The foal was adept at removing the strings. Like father, like son. Perhaps the Stallion had misjudged their appetite.

If anyone thought that the storytelling was over, they were mistaken. Neither Leonard nor I took up the challenge, for the anecdote was unbeatable. It was perhaps the least expected member of our company, Marianne's donkey, the clever and prim old Louloú, who delivered it with flair.

She grunted and pawed the ground, and it took a moment for Marianne to realise that her donkey truly wanted to speak.

"Louloú wants to share a story she picked up on the island a few years ago. She has never told it before but feels it fits the style. Louloú called her story 'The Donkey, the Rooster, and the Rabbit.'"

"Exciting," said Leonard, although he probably didn't mean it. For a moment, he couldn't believe that Marianne's old donkey could match the cheeky Stallion. Louloú ignored the sceptical old coot, and Marianne could start her interpretation.

This is an extract from my novel 'Leonard & Marianne and the Tales of Hydra'.