I can never make up my mind about zebras. On the one hand they are the brightly striped horses of the plains, beloved of small children and effortlessly iconic in their barcode livery. On the other, they're stubborn, bad tempered beasts with a vicious bite, an iron hoofed kick and an antisocial tendency to break wind whenever they feel threatened. Which is often. Either way, as soon as you see a zebra, you know you're in Africa. And that, on balance, is usually a good thing.
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