They Called Him Bruiser

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Meanest ass in the county. Devil without horns. Old hands swore up and down that he’d killed a guy, though the name changed each retelling.

He didn’t look like much. Just grumpy. More than usual for a mule, I mean.

Now, despite how they all joked, I wasn’t suicidal. And I didn’t strictly need a pack animal, though it’d be useful. Thing is, Bruiser wasn’t for sale - there was a reward for anyone who managed to lead him to the sale block. The mule hisself, plus four hundred crowns.

I prop my foot on the fence bar and watch him. He watches me right back. Standing smack in the centre of this barren-ass little paddock staring down a stranger without an ounce of hesitation or give.

Average size. Scrawny build. Eyes set in a permanent sneer. From how his skin’s rubbed raw by that harness I reckon nobody ever takes it off. Just leaves him tied to the post, his world reduced to a twenty foot circle.

I tsk to myself. His ears twitch.

“Sore shoulders. No shelter. No space to run. No wonder you bite people. Can’t spit in a man’s face and then wonder why he’s angry.”

Bruiser doesn’t comment.

“Lessee…” I scratch my chin. “You’ve got food ’n’ water. Can’t see salt, though. And I bet they only give you hay, no treats. You got a sweet tooth?”

Silence.

“Reckon you do. Bet you’d like a fresh sweet carrot. Hm-hm. Alright. I’ll be back.”

***

Next day I’m by the fence again, with a pail of loose salt and a pocket bulging with carrots and dessert apples.

“Gonna start with treats, ‘cause you’ll need to let me close for the salt.” I wipe my neck. Midday sun glares harder than Bruiser. Not the best time to be doing this, ‘cept while everyone’s taking shelter is the only time I can be sure nobody will come rile Bruiser up.

“Aright.” I take out a carrot and lop a round off. Bruiser watches closely as I lob it in front of him.

“S’alright. Take your time.”

I lean on the fence. Watch the sky. Out of the corner of my eye I see him lower his head to sniff. Then it shoots back up.

I haven’t moved.

A duck and swoop and the carrot is gone. Crunch crunch.

“You like that?”

Bruiser watches me though hooded eyes, as if to say ‘so what if I did?’. Doesn’t want me to think we’re friends.

I lob more carrot bites. Each goes down faster than the last.

“Aright. Do you like apple?”

Bruiser’s dubious at first. But he’s quickly a fan.

“Gonna stop here. Don’t wanna give you stomachache.”

I pick up the pail and slowly, smoothly let myself in. Bruiser lowers his head and plants his feet.

“Easy. Easy.”

He lets me walk to the feeding station, where I sprinkle a good handful of salt and leave the rest of the carrot, chopped up nice.

“Good talk. See you tomorrow.”

Prompt was “They spit in his face, then wonder why he is so angry.”

Part 2 here.