Zebras don’t wear overcoats. That’s what I thought when a Zebra clip-clopped towards me from the outer door wearing an olive drab waterproof hooded overcoat that draped down to his knees. I stopped mopping and stepped forward into a missed manure spot to get a closer look. The Zebra shook his head until his hood fell back. Drops flew everywhere. I swear he grinned a sigh of relief. He clip-clopped past me, down the windowless concrete walkway and disappeared into the inside Zebra enclosure. I shook my head and grabbed a shovel to clean up the new hills of manure. Well, the meteorologist had said it would be sunny all day. But once again he was wrong. It’s raining.
