Mooby

It grazes the tough desert grasses through the cool hours, chewing placidly in a loose herd whose many eyes give early warning of trouble. It has almost no defenses of its own beyond a startled bleat and a clumsy scramble for cover, so it relies entirely on the herd and on breeding faster than the desert can eat it. It shelters from the noon heat pressed together in whatever shade it can find, a huddle of round, dozing bodies, and it moves on at dusk to the next patch of grazing with the untroubled, short-memoried calm of a creature that has never once had a plan.