Thus Spoke Chupacabra
Ed Tasca
There's an old Mexican tale that claims at midnight on Christmas Eve, the animals will kneel and lie in the barn and speak with one another.
Many a folk even tested the story, by hiding in barn lofts and hay fields. But there is no record of what they heard, just some rumors and two cases of Lime Disease.
But over the last few days, the rumors have spread with a wry, metaphysical speculation. Last Christmas Eve, somewhere in upstate Jalisco, hidden audio-visuals claimed to have captured this exchange:
Someone surprised himself and everyone else in the barn with, “Hey. How ya doin'” It was Goat.
“Tyger, Tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night...” That was Fat Cat testing his Christmas Eve magical power. He was about to go on when he heard:
“Knock it off. You want to recite poems, do it in your dumpster.” That was Rat. “And try something from this century for a change.”
Sow (also known widely as Big Sow) waddled up to Goat (a fellow so good-natured he was voted most likely to wind up in a birria). “Do you think veganism could ever catch on, you know, with the humans?” Sow asked.
“Yeah, we're all vegans,” Goat assured everyone.
“And yeah, we're so healthy we're all going to die of old age?” That was Rat, getting nastier.
“You joke. But nobody plucks you out of a sound sleep and roasts you on a spit!” Sow got indignant.
“Yeah, but do you ever hear, 'Let's test that brain-eating larvae on this little vermin?'” Rat replied.
“Veganism is good,” Goat smiled warmly, “you get all your vitamins and minerals... without the saturated fat... and with nice plant protein. Veganism gets a lot of us off the hook... excuse the expression, Pig.”
“Enough!” Ram shoved his way into the barn like the sheriff. “This isn't a focus group for human nutrition. And goat, that birria is getting closer and closer by the day.”
Rat was still fuming: “Reindeer are cute. Mice are cute. Pandas are cute, even though they'd munch your butt off like it's a burrito. Monkeys, the little leches, are cute. Rats are always disrespected.”
“So organize another plague!” Ram shouted. “These are the same complaints year after year.”
That's when one of Mexico's famous Laughing Falcons flew on to a barn rafter: “Hey, they're right. It's Christmas,” he pointed out. “And we're not good enough to get gifts. We're the gifts. And it's no laughing matter.” Laughing Falcon couldn't hold back his biggest laugh yet.
That's when Homeless Dog pawed up two rungs of a ladder to orate: “Yes, we are comestibles, all of us. Even Horse, one of our most industrious creations... despite all our defenders – Ovid, da Vinci, St. Francis, Ghandi...”
“Dr. Seuss.” Old Milk Cow found her tongue.
“Exactly, and he's a doctor!” Goat informed everyone.
“Just don't give me myrrh,” Fat Cat interjected.
“It's a perfume, considered worthy of royalty.” That was Homeless Dog.
“I'll take the myrrh,” Old Milk Cow appealed, stepping out from her stall.
“Yeah, goes nice with methane,” Rat cracked “They tell me it's you ruinin' the planet.”
Goat came to Old Milk Cow's defense: “Pay no attention. Just like human nature. Blame us for their mess.”
The discussion came to a fidgety quiet like a troop of actors who'd forgotten their lines. A thumping outside the barn reached the boom of a barrel of fish bounding over cobblestones. It was the foreboding sounds of Chupacabra approaching.
The barn door swung open with a growl on two big, black gluey eyes seeming to bulge out of the moon behind them. There was a gasp.
“It's him. It's him! Annual General Assembly can begin.” Ram jammed his head through Pig's barn stall and Pig claimed the evening's first maldición.
Chupacabra postured at the doorway, his hairless body and spiked spine amess with clinging forest-floor debris, mangy festers and patches of mold. The vile smell rushed into the barn like tear gas, sending all into retreat. Nothing could be more redundant than the name-tag he was wearing: CHUPACABRA.
“They name their cars after us, their sports teams, their gods and goddesses,” the blackish, hump-backed goat-dog-marsupial barked. “And they take our fur, fleece, feathers, flesh and bones, to say nothing of our land...”
“They never give in return... maybe some alfalfa or some--” Donkey tried to speak for the first time.
“Shut up! I'm talking. We don't have the time to listen to your drivel, Donkey.” Chupacabra raced on. “They respect us. They fear us. And they worship our resilience, adventure, freedom and power.”
Chupacabra lumbered about the meeting, eyeing each of his listeners “They just don't understand that a pig and a pork chop are the same thing.” Chupacabra guzzled some blood and it trickled down both sides of his purple mouth. “It's self-serving ignorance and arrogance. And so, abuse, epochs of abuse.”
Everyone nodded with vigor and duty.
“They're driving us off the planet and it's nothing to do with carnivorousness. Or disrespect. Or even their delusional supremacy.
“An existentialist siege that moves me to weeping,” Homeless Dog added. A gripping silence shrunk the barn to an intimate prayer meeting.
“My fellow creatures?” Chupacabra postulated, “The world's biggest problem is that humans don't respect themselves. How can they be expected to respect the turtle or the dolphin or the pigeon, when they hate like they do.”
“And they think because they brush their teeth and use words like imprecation and Sangfroid, that's they're better than us!” That was the Laughing Falcon, laughing and making the others laugh.
“My friends the rabbits,” Ram said, “They have low-testosterone... so I'm revealing for this for first time... their reproduction business... it's agonizing work for them. But they do it day in, day out for the love of country.”
“That's how scared they are of joining the Dodo.” Homeless Dog wrapped the great secret up.
“Think on this,” Chupacabra stretched his hands in front to their longest reach, “Man is a fraying rope tied between beast and what will later be - a rope over an abyss, a bridge and not an end.”
“But, with respect, Chupacabra, Homeless Dog said, “the dynosaurs are gone. Period. They had no bridge.”
“In truth, the dinosaurs are not really extinct,” Chupacabra answered. “They passed their ruthless, dominating behaviors on to man. So we must wait for what will be. If you must speak, pray. Pray for better in future's child.”
