The Merrymade Hippopotamus: part 1

“Is there some function of a soul that you couldn’t perform with anything else?” Republic, 353d

Under the shade of his typical waterside lounge, the hippopotamus bellowed across the river to an intruding male. Rising from the matted grass, he lumbered into the water, nostrils flared in territorial rage. Arriving at the spot, the other hippo had already departed, so he thought, as hippos often do, that the best place to be was in the very place he found himself. To say it as we might, a hippo at most times possesses an idle disposition fitting the appearance it has with the behavior we expect.

Set was the Bull of the hippopotamuses in this sector of the river. He was fat, portly, and rotund; all the virtues which a Hippo ought to possess. Often he had to attend to his harem of cows or dispatch a bold, and foolish, antagonist. But he had no such luck recently, only managing in the last month to gouge a single challenger with the hammering pulse of his tusks. Furthermore, since there were no battles over the primacy of mating, the allure of the cows had diminished.

Set sunk down to the bottom of the river to relax in his favorite part of the muck. This was thoroughly more enjoyable to him than any non-hippo could understand. For a large hippo has, to everyone who knows, the largest toes of any around. To this we may ascribe the benefit not of merely dashing about in mud, but of having the greatest possible means with which to indulge in the dashing. He arose for his air, and bellowed loudly through the water and into the mute sky. The rest of the pod was frightened, and some turned toward him. Was he was again angry to act with action?

Set sunk down again, with as much reflection as a hippo’s circumstance and ability can agree on. Set could not smile, but he had the sense of an indeterminate happiness which would not bother him, either good or bad, for some hours to come.

To be continued