Collecting mushrooms from the zebra paddock

[urbpan]

"First thing every morning, Harry and I would climb the fence into the zebra paddock and collect the velvety, dew-drenched crop of mushrooms that had sprouted there in the night. These Harry would cook in butter in a little saucepan, and we would devour them for our elevenses. They made a delicious meal, but the hazards involved in mushroom collecting with a couple of murderous zebra stallions in the paddock with you were extreme to say the least. We worked close together, with a pitchfork handy, and when one was bending down to pick mushrooms the other was watching the zebras. One morning there was a particularly fine crop and we had filled half a bucket and were congratulating ourselves upon the enormous feed we should be able to have at eleven o'clock. I was just bending down to pick up an exceptionally succulent mushroom when Harry shouted, 'Watch out, boy! The bastard's coming!'

I looked up and the zebra stallion was thundering toward me, his ears back, his lip pulled back over his yellow teeth. Leaving the bucket, I followed Harry's example and ran like a hare. We scrambled over the fence, panting and laughing. The zebra scudded to a halt by the bucket and glared at us, snorting indignantly. Then, to our extreme annoyance, he swiveled round and with immense accuracy kicked the bucket in a great swooping parabola through the air, scattering white mushrooms like a comet's tail. It took us half an hour to collect the mushrooms again."

From A Bevy of Beasts, by Gerald Durrell, 1973.