The Ugandan kob (Kobus kob thomasi) is a subspecies of the kob, a type of antelope. It is found in sub-Saharan Africa, in South Sudan, Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The Ugandan kob is distinguished from other kob subspecies by its reddish-brown colour. It is similar in appearance to the impala but is more sturdily built. Only the males have horns, which are lyre-shaped, strongly ridged and divergent. Males are slightly larger than females, being 90 to 100 centimetres (3.0 to 3.3 ft) at the shoulder, with an average weight of 94 kilograms (207 lb), while females are 82 to 92 centimetres (2.7 to 3.0 ft) at the shoulder and on average weigh about 63 kilograms (139 lb). This photograph shows two Ugandan kobs mating in Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda.Photograph credit: Giles Laurent
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It is so terribly sad that I have to explain that the above is a JOKE
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!