I don’t often write about Donkey. He gets a passing mention
from time to time but unless he is living up to his name and being a real a**,
he doesn’t get any press. I think it’s time to change that. Let’s sing the
praises of Donkey. He is mischievous and stubborn but he does have a few
redeeming qualities.
First of all, he is never sick. He can eat just about
anything and never have as much as indigestion (that we know of, anyway). He is
hardy in all kinds of weather, chilling in the shade on a blistering hot summer
day and outstanding in his field (get it?) with a snowdrift on his back in
winter.
Donkey also seems to have a handle on self-maintenance. When
it’s time for his winter coat to come off, he just finds a patch of rough sand
or gravel and rolls on his back in it. The extra hair comes off in a cloud of
fluff and off he goes, his new shiny coat revealed for summer.
I’m glad Donkey’s constant traipsing over our glacial
moraine pasture and its many stones trims his hooves fairly well, because I
can’t imagine getting them trimmed. I asked Thad, the only person we know who
can trim our untrained Belgian Misty’s hooves and he said he did work on a
donkey once but the animal had to be placed in some sort of restrictive cage so
that he couldn’t kick the farrier. No pedicures for Donkey.
According to the Internet, Donkeys have been used as working
animals for over 5,000 years. I’m not sure how you get them to do any work as
they are so mischievous but they certainly are strong and they do like to carry
things. I never have any trouble putting the halter on Donkey; he stands stock
still, lowers his head and acts like he’s being adorned with a mantle of which
he is exceedingly proud. Like he’s the Mayor of Fisher Farm or something.
Usually when he gets the halter put on him it’s because he has been chasing
sheep and I need to dress him with the long gangsta chain that knocks him in
his knobby knees if he tries to run. He seems to like it anyway.
A female donkey is called a Jenny; a male is a Jack. I wish
I had known this when I was naming Donkey. Instead I was heavily influenced by
my most recent reference: the movie Shrek.
Much like a horse, Donkeys are social, people-loving
animals. They need plenty of mental stimulation because if they get bored they
get themselves into trouble. Donkey has very dexterous lips. He can open gates
and door latches with them. Usually this takes place because he can smell
something delicious on the other side of the barrier but often it is just to
get to the other side because he knows he isn’t allowed.
Misty is well aware of Donkey’s abilities, and shuffles
around anxiously behind him until he has flipped the lock, the switch or the latch
on whatever he is jimmying. And when they make their way into the shed without
our knowledge, Donkey flips open the lid to the storage freezer like it’s his
own personal lunchbox. The scent of molasses fills the air and Misty pushes her
way into the space beside him to get her share. One day I walked in and Donkey
had his head so far inside the deep freezer his front feet were off the ground.
I didn’t get my camera out in time.
If the sheep are ever in trouble, Donkey is the first one to
report to the house. He does this sometimes by braying but more often he does
it simply by getting in our line of sight, i.e. directly in front of the
kitchen window, and just staring at us. Then we know there is something wrong
and we go out to investigate.
Perhaps the most important purpose that Donkey fulfills on
our farm is as companion to Misty. When her sister died suddenly, she was lost.
Then she felt that familiar nudge by a soft velvet snout against her flank.
Donkey was there, and she let him fill the gap that her sister left behind. And
he’s pretty good for entertainment value too.
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