I was the shortest in the family. What, for some, would be a problem, but for me, it was an advantage because I had always dreamed of being a jockey. Many farms in my family's region had pack beasts, but few of these animals were bred for racing. They were crude, stupid, and cheap animals, bred to work in the fields pulling carts and plows, carrying loads, or for slaughter and the production of meat and organs. My uncles were wealthy and had many of those beasts and let me and my cousins play races after Holy Mass on Sundays. It was on these happy family Sundays that I really developed my vocation and my pleasures. I could spend hours riding these animals; I was insatiable and tireless. I sought to discover to what extent these despicable and treacherous beings could be motivated by whips and spurs. My uncles really supported me in my dream; they didn't care if, on a single Sunday, I killed two or three of them from exhaustion or from whipping so much.
Those who died were impaled on skewers and served on barbecues for the whole family. I dreamed of being a real jockey on the racetracks in the capital!
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