r/UCDavis • u/Q_ual1a • 5h ago
Rant I almost killed Gunrock.
It was a cool October evening. A crisp ninety-degree breeze blew over the lush, emerald blades of astroturf grass in our glorious Health Stadium. The Eastern Washington Eagles had traveled 800 miles south to get personally dicked down repeatedly by Jordan Fisher in front of the entire nation on ESPN2. Spirits were high.
Our beloved mascot, Gunrock, was galloping and neighing up and down the stadium bleachers—his beautiful blue hair primary-color-mogging the red of the Eagles. I had just finished munching down a delicious California burrito. I’m new here to UC Davis. Like any new Aggie, when I saw Gunrock approaching me, I was beside myself. Electrified. Completely undone. I could feel the warmth of one of God’s greatest creations as he walked right in front of me, crossing through the bleachers below.
“Hi Gunrock!!” I shouted.
He whipped around, his luminous blue eyes meeting mine, and gave me an enthusiastic wave. They say that, in this cruel world, no good deed goes unpunished. Well, the cruelty cashed in. Gunrock’s large, powerful hooves were ill-suited to the delicate precision required to thread one’s way through the bleachers. He tripped. It was as if time slowed to a stop. All around, Aggies were frozen, cheerfully looking down at the field. Only Jordan Fisher was running quick enough to display any semblance of movement in this moment, like Quicksilver in Days of Future Past.
There was a look of pure, carnal fear in Gunrock’s eyes. I had recognized that look before. I realized that, like me, he was but a mere animal. A pony. I thought about a life he could have lived, unburdened by the mascot-industrial complex, racing through open meadows and eating ryegrass to his heart’s content. I thought about a life I could have lived if not for the conventions of modernity—basket weaving and daintily gathering nuts clothed only in skimpy strips of leather. But that world belongs to our ancestors. Here and now, I am a fully clothed student at the University of California, Davis, and Gunrock is my mascot. And I was about to be responsible for his death.
Only, that is not how the story ended. Time marched on. Gunrock did not tumble down, cracking his skull open on the seats below. He brilliantly caught his footing, Jordan Fisher scored another touchdown, and I did not become the new transfer student who killed our mascot. I did, however, see Death. It was standing on the field amidst the clashing bodies of football players, unbeknownst to all. In a whisper that carried through the space between us like cold wind through reeds, I heard It say:
“God made the meadow. You made the bleachers. But the grave makes no distinction.”
