Story: My Life As A Yak, Prologue

I never used to believe in reincarnation, but then I changed my mind after my death. Yes, it was a bad day when I was locked up in that safe, and dropped out of a plane at twenty thousand feet by mistake. Sometimes I still wonder for whom the three men in suits had mistaken me. It doesn't really matter though, as I'm a yak now. It's a far more relaxing lifestyle. I especially like the fields on a cool Autumn evening, with the Sun setting behind the mountains.

They told me at the sorting office that we're not supposed to remember our past lives when we're born again, but I do. That past life as a wooden leg salesman seems so silly now, now that all I need is a good supply of grass and an occasional visit from the doctor. Sometimes the locals, a Tibetan strain, come and get me to help with some heavy task, but mostly I'm a happy and relaxed lounger of the mountains. I only think about wooden legs occasionally in the middle of the night. Would that deal have gone through with the Albanians, I wonder until falling back to sleep.

It could have been much worse. Some of the other yaks, not great chatters but pretty nice despite that, have been recruited into some new novelty human sports like yak skiing and yak-polo, which look like far too much hard work! I didn't like polo even when I would have been the one doing the riding. Fortunately, my hoof was a bit wonky and they passed on to yak in the next field, who's a bit of a bully.

Last week there was a great festival, which I watched from the pasture. Apparently the great wise man (The Dalai Lama) has passed on, and they had identified his new body. He is very lucky that he didn't come back as a yak as well... Or maybe he has? I'm not exactly a believer in the way they are? Maybe one of these yaks around me used to be the Dalai Lama, and is now sharing the greens supply with a humble shmoe from Long Island?

Now, isn't that a thought?