Sheaffer

a reporte frum jack

2011-10-14T08:30:00.001-07:00

i got a lot ta tell ya, i bin so busy i hardly had time fer mi three naps a day. they couldint run this outfit with out me actin as boss donkey an its a good thing i got forty four years of experiunce cos i need all of it mos days.

i'll give ya the bad news first. poor old osullivan donkey had a long fite with the infections in his feet and finally asked sheila ta let him go on account he jest couldnt fite no more. this was the same time helen the sheep was tellin sheila she was ready to go on accounta the years pilin up on her and the arthuritis and what not. so the vitinry helped them both ta lie down for the big sleep. they are together in the groun, botha them got their own qwilt to lie on an helen is lyin smack between osullivans legs so the both a them took the journey together. and then doncha kno cory donkey who had helth problems forever went on the same trip. we were all feelin it pretty hard i kin tell ya.

then sheilas ole cat oliver who had twenny one years on him just slid away one nite. sheila was settin up with him and she felt overcome with a sadness so insteada sleepin, which she couldint anyways, she come out ta the barn jus as the sun was comin up. and there was a serprize waitin fer her.

the serprize come frum a donkey name sally who just got here. sally dont say nothin about it but it seme she bin runnin with some bad boys and got in a family way, she just dont tell nobody when the child is suppose ta come. well, it slipped into this world just as ole oliver cat was slidin out. the baby is a strappin big lad and they called him oliver acourse. that boy hit the groun runnin and we all bin tryin to manage him and edjicate him ever since. simon donkey what got the cripple back end was missin his buddy osullivan real bad and he appoint himselve minder to the baby and spen every minite fussin over him like an ole biddy. i take a turn mindin him and let me tell ya, hes a caution. what with chasin cats and sheeps and goats and runnin like a speed demon he make our heads spin. and i gotta run everthin else on top of babysittin.

i bin doin more electrikals with my human frend brian and he say he dont know how he ever got anythin done without me right there glued to his side. hes a nice human but he sighs a whole lot. i dont kno why. an im still givin tours tho sometime comin bak down the hill i git goin pretty good and cant always stop so a few guests haveta step lively to avoid gettin mowed down. they don seem ta mind too much. im sticking ta the ole sayin that with age come privilege.

my frend laurel passed on some piktures took by shari and susan an im puttin them on here fer ya ta see. you mite wanta admire my blak shiny summer cote. i put a lotta work inta growin it and now my winter layer is comin in good so the blak dont show so much. i loss three more teeth so my five squares a day are all what ya call porrige or gruel but i tell ya, i dont feel a day over twenny an that smart alec vitinry gal kno she bin in a fite when she git done doin my dentals. an i got mi bubbel room fer tha winter and mi blankit so i sa bring it on. thats all fer now but i wil reporte back when i got time.

Now Is The Season Of Our Deep Suspicion

2011-10-05T13:47:00.000-07:00

Yes. I mean autumn. When the leaves turn all sorts of brilliant shades and waft down from the trees, the grass loses it's ambition to grow and various insects become contemplative as the light and warmth disappears. And of course there are sunny days like these when the voice box in my barn suddenly announces that the first assault by frost will probably occur whilst I slumber this evening. The Woman avows she can see my winter coat growing but I know it still won't be enough to deal with the coming horror. She says I will wear a blanket this year. I say we'll see about that.

In preparation for the coming ssss, ssss, ssss, snow a new door arrived the other day and yesterday an unknown human arrived to install it. We inspected both human and door thoroughly, Molly grunting so loudly in his ear that he jumped a good eight inches off the ground whilst carrying the door. Molly felt that he was interrupting her lunch and carried right on eating as he hammered and sawed away. I supervised from a safe distance.

I have inspected numerous fuzzy tube insects, I believe called caterpillars, and their coats this year appear to be of a medium length. I hope this is an omen of a less abusive winter. The woman brushed against a wasp or hornet-type creature the other day and let out a dreadful shriek when it bit her leg. I don't blame it in the least - I feel the same way about the change of seasons.

Important Political Announcement

2011-09-29T16:29:00.000-07:00

Please visit my friend billie's blog at http://camera-obscura-billie.blogspot.com/ to read the details. A change is afoot my friends and not a moment too soon.

Here I Am!

2011-09-21T08:55:00.000-07:00

And I can assure you, it's been quite a struggle getting Herself firmly planted at the keyboard for more than five seconds. I've been following her about for a month, insisting that I have much to say, that my readers must miss me, that the universe is NOT unfolding as it should and what does she answer? She stares at me absentmindedly, looking very much like an even more distracted version of the White Rabbit, and says "yes, yes, I'm getting to it..." So this morning I stood gently but firmly on her left foot, until she agreed to apply herself.

It has been a long, hot and therefore good summer. Molly's ankle is doing very well although her slimming powder seems to have had no effect so far on her generous figure. Chester has moved in with a human called Shannon who has the same energy level as he does and who thinks he is utterly wonderful. Best of all, he now lives at the trainer's place and so sees him every day too. Molly is relieved that he is not here to pinch her bottom on a regular basis. We miss him but he definitely needed a broader canvas on which to paint his daily life. We are shopping for a replacement door for our run-in, to be installed before winter...

I have several incidents of near-abuse to report - I feel this should be in the public record. Whilst filling my drinking vessel one evening, the Woman became so distracted by a large insect that was removing approx. a quarter pound of flesh from her upper arm that she quite suddenly and violently sprayed me directly in the face with a stream of cold water! I have always despised those hose things and now have decided to never allow myself to be within a ten foot radius of one ever again.

Another evening, she forgot entirely to put my bed back together. This came about because she rummages in my room daily, removing any offensive substances, including wet spots. While engaged in this she babbles on and on about the dangers of ammonia and the importance of cleanliness. She then peers nearsightedly at the remaining damp spots on the mat and prodeeds to cover them with a beige powder which apparently exists with the sole purpose of battling the dreaded ammonia foe. I indulge her by listening with half an ear. On one particularly hot day this summer, she became so addled with the heat that she forgot entirely to put my bed back together! The result? I spent the night huddled at the side of my room, surrounded by piles of clean bedding and powdery bare spots on the mat, an uneasy, uncomfortable occupant of my own space. When she came to release us early the next morning, she immediately saw her mistake and apologized profusely but it was too late. I cannot and will not forgive this sort of incompetence.

There are many, many other lesser incidents -who leaves their riding head gear in the aisle in the dusk where a donkey naturally assumes it is a violent predator and knocks over an electric fan in an effort to escape? And who leaves a saddle cloth on the front of a donkey's stall where it can fall on his head when he is eating, making him think he is being taken captive by a band of kidnappers? Well. You take my point, I'm sure.

Thank goodness for my friends, whom I have dearly missed this past month. Jack even wrote to Herself demanding my voice be restored. And Billie (human to Redford and Rafer Donkey) published a link to an all-Haflinger display so Molly and Buddy could see quite literally tons and tons of golden horse flesh. I sincerely hope Herself has been shamed into womaning the keyboard once again.

It's True - Good Help is Hard To Find

2011-08-20T11:15:00.000-07:00

I must apologize for my prolonged absence, which is in fact no fault of mine but of the sub-standard level of "help" available to me. These days, whenever I way lay the Woman and announce that I have something to say, she replies "not now, Sheaffer, I have to mow the grass, weed the garden, run off to some lawn fete, visit with friends, do some "real" writing, harrow the sandy ring etc. etc. ad infinitum. One of these days (maybe after grass season) I will squeeze through the fence and simply disappear. I wonder how long it will take her to notice I'm gone. No doubt until she needs someone to blame for every little misunderstanding ( how was I to know her unattractive riding helmet wasn't a food bowl when I accidentally dribbled some puddle water in it?).

Molly's ankle seems much improved and they went off to the forest the other day and no doubt made tremendous nuisances of themselves. Molly came back very smug and bragged about the legions of admirers she met, her wallow in the pond and the rare vegetation she inhaled. So far her slimming powder has made no difference whatsoever but she inhales that as well. It's all grist to her mill.

Chester continues to "renovate" the place on an ongoing basis. He remains remarkably cheerful about any damage he inflicts on himself in the process. Yesterday he grabbed the handle of a cleaning implement, misjudged the weight, and whacked himself smartly on the side of the head. It bothered him not one whit. He went on to immediately become entangled in a long strip of fly paper, wash both front feet in the water trough and purloin a cannister of fly spray, which very nearly exploded in his face when he squeezed it. His favourite word is "cool!". I find the younger generation quite alarming.

The days are growing noticeably shorter and as a result my new winter coat is growing noticeably longer. One can't be too careful. The worst is yet to come.

Criminal Activity

2011-08-02T20:04:00.000-07:00

I want to assure my readers that I was in no way involved with any of the following shady goings-on. My record remains unblemished but the same cannot be said for the young Haflinger element around here. The swath of destruction continues to expand daily.

Although it makes him equal parts sticky and smelly, the heat has not affected Chester's energy level in the least. When the woman foolishly decided to change our routine so we were outside during the night time, Chester's energy level expanded even further. He spent the first night galloping around, snorting and splattering the barn with mud. The second night he spent digging under the trees - unearthing buried treasure he calls it - and the third night he outdid himself and tore the door off the run-in. I have included photographic evidence. After three nights we were switched back to our usual routine.

Molly's ankle is much better but still has a bit of a stammer when she trots, so she is not going to the trail riding get-together next week at my friend Smokey's establishment. She is furious. I know that somehow I will pay for this. Wait until she finds out she has to go on some sort of slimming drug meant for thyroid cases. Her test results are at the low end of normal and the vet has decided to help her along with a weight loss stimulator. This does not bode well.

I continue to pursue a balanced approach to the growing/shedding of winter hair. I always err on the side of caution - I do not, as some suggest, look like a balding buffalo lap robe. I include a photo of self so you can see exactly what I mean.

The Fan Man

2011-07-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

It hardly seems possible but yesterday the temperature broke a heat record. It seems it soared to over one hundred degrees, virtually eliminating the possiblilty that it may snow in the next day or so. This is fine with me. I don't care for the accompanying insects, which make a meal of my legs, but what can you do.

The Haflingers are so damp with perspiration they look black much of the time. To that end the woman has installed fans in front of their rooms. Molly is an old hand at the fan routine and stands, lower lip drooping, forelock blowing in the breeze. She is still wearing an ice boot in the evenings and she quite enjoys it.

And then there is Chester. He likes the whole fan idea but regards it as an interactive toy. He moved his pile of hay in front of it so he could enjoy the breeze and then had the brilliant idea of inserting some long strands of hay directly into the machine. The results pleased him immensely. The fan said "braaaap", particles of hay flew everywhere and the woman leapt into action. She moved the fan further back and gave him a lecture on the dangers of electrical devices. She had no sooner turned around than he was bouncing his Jolly Ball, which was tied to the front of his room with a rope, off the front of the fan. The woman removed the ball. Chester had to content himself with allowing the breeze to blow under his upper lip, which he extends upwards, letting his eyes roll back in his head. He has likewise discovered the great joy of turning his posterior to the fan, elevating his tail, and letting the breeze waft over his unmentionables. That boy is a heathen at heart.

Owing to the firey furnace in which we find ourselves, we have been moved to an altered schedule. The last two evenings, we have been brought in, the horses bathed, iced, fanned etc. and then put back out when it is dark. I was so shocked that initially I refused to countenance the change and had to be wheeled outdoors like a trolley. Chester was so excited that he ran around in the dark yelling and Molly just grunted and went off to graze.

Hot, Humid, Heavenly

2011-07-10T09:02:00.000-07:00

Yes. That describes the weather right now but frankly, I seem to be the only one appreciating it. I have shed half my winter coat, will shed the rest by month's end and will immediately begin growing next year's covering. All around me are wilting but I can be found in the sand ring, soaking up the blistering goodness.

Violet caught a striped tree rodent and set it free in the house. As a result my sunbathing has been disturbed by muffled shrieks and dull thumps for the last three days. Violet says they just don't appreciate the generosity of the gift and refuses to do anything about it. Penny has offered to rout it but the humans say the structural damage would probably be unfixable.

Molly is suffering from washerwoman's ankle and is having the next while off while she takes meds and has her leg soaked. My word she's a tough nut - she had twelve needles in her ankle region and didn't even flinch. Then she had to stand on wooden blocks while they photographed the area. She is taking beef-flavoured meds (apparently the canine version is the same as the equine but one tenth the cost). The medical woman was astonished that Molly inhaled the tablet with great gusto, smacked her lips and grunted out a request for more.

Chester is horribly smug as his lessons are progressing steadily and he receives lavish praise . He is very jealous of the ice boot and stole it off the front of Molly's room when the Woman draped it there. It was retrieved intact, but somewhat frayed. He also wants his ankle photographed but so far has been denied.

Jack Rules The Roost

2011-07-01T10:52:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to report that Herself finally got over to visit Jack and Company but not pleased that her hostess gift was a bag of vermifuge. Honestly, how embarrassing. Most people would think of a bag of apples or carrots as being a fitting gift but no, my representative takes parasite poison. All I can say is good luck trying to get any of it into Jack.

Jack of course remembered the humans from here and greeted them politely. Then he remembered his busy schedule and tossed the Woman aside so he could get on with things. They met his two lady friends, Molly and Maggie Donkey and they renewed acquaintance with Simon and O'Sullivan and many of the other permanent residents. Poor O'Sullivan isn't doing well and was resting with his head on a pillow provided by Sheila. Russell is feeling his forty six years and for the first time in his life is walking like an old man.

TJ (Virgil) and his mule friend Finnegan fill the role of resident hooligans very well and range far and wide, pestering, thieving and generally causing chaos. The Woman still avers that TJ is the cutest thing on four legs but if she could look inside she would see the black soul of a tiny pirate/brigand.

All is well here. Chester is progressing with his lessons but continues to exhibit a streak of youthful exuberance that is sometimes alarming. This morning he grabbed the hose out of our water trough as it was filling and nearly drowned himself before realizing he needed to drop the thing for the drowning to cease. He ran off to the corner, snorting, dripping and looking puzzled and hurt. Then he approached the trough from another direction and tried to drink with his lips extended as far as possible. Herself says he may need something called a straw with a bend in it. Pshaw. What nonsense. Let the boy sink or swim, I say.

My harness fitter is making extensions for the waist portion of my new outfit. Once those arrive I will be able to progress in a stately fashion through the newly-cut hay fields. I need to be ready in case royalty drops in - some of the younger ones are in the area visiting and after Dennis's brush with them, who knows what could happen.

Dougie, Dennis and The Queen

2011-06-20T09:34:00.000-07:00

My friend Dougie Donkey from Scotland puts in a very full day running his farm but he found time to send me a report on an occurance of great interest to me. His friend, Dennis the Horse, who shares the farm with Dougie, went to an event to raise funds for the British Horse Society, of which the Queen is the patron, and who do you think Dennis met? The Queen! Yes, the real one, HRH Elizabeth II. I am literally green with envy - though the woman says it's actually the same sort of algae that grows on sloths...

Dennis not only met the Queen, who graciously hosted the event at her summer place, Balmoral Castle, but she remarked that he looked terribly "keen". Dougie says this is code for somewhat barmy. Dennis's human wrote "Dennis the Menace" on his blanket to give the Queen an idea of the horse within. Dougie is a homebody and chose not to travel the three hundred miles in what he refers to as a tin box on wheels for a few moments of possible glory. I would endure virtually anything for the chance of a word from HRH, even to the extent of being bathed with water (there, I've admitted it in print).

Dougie, thoughtful lad that he is, sent me some photos of the occasion to admire from afar what I could not experience first hand. We are not to say a word to Dennis as Dougie feels his ego is already the size of the Hindenberg.

A Strange Week Indeed

2011-06-10T18:37:00.000-07:00

My week began when the Woman rummaged around, found the green cloth bag with my harness in it, opened said bag and pronounced a series of old Anglo Saxon words that made me blanch. It seems that mice had chewed a hole in the bag and made a vast homestead inside, using bits of material and leather to create a multi-family dwelling. The odour was rather overwhelming. She aired out the harness and, in her absent-minded fog, attached me to the cart with it. I felt like a hobo donkey. She said it was perfectly fine, just a bit rough around the edges.

She must have re-thought her rather foolish stance because next day she went off and returned with a quite lovely leather harness, complete with a stylish collar. It belonged to a donkey called Tiddles who regards pulling things with unabashed horror. This horror cause his human to decide that the best policy was to sell it to a donkey who enjoys touring with cart in tow. That donkey is me.

This afternoon they tried the collar on me and Herself opined that it seemed not to fit well. The male human suggested it was upside down. He was quite correct. And he is supposedly the non-equine expert in residence. You see the sort of thing I'm up against. I can only imagine where she will think the mouthpiece goes...

We had a diversion this morning when one of those large land fowls, (brown, small pointy head and rather vacuous look) wandered right up to the gate. I did my best to converse but all I got for my troubles was "guk buk ook". Chester glared at it in a fixed manner, hoping against hope that it would enter, whereupon he could pulverize it. It became distracted by something in the forest and ambled off. Not a very satisfying encounter at all.

Chester is now being ridden in the aisle and run-in, learning to relax and accept the pressures of steering without rushing forward in a panic. He was exemplary and is a tad too smug in my opinion. If he is still relaxed on Sunday he will go out toting saddle and human. Our feet were pedicured this week and Chester's finally look like horse feet and not large, ragged blocks of wood. His thrush is gone and the last of his dry winter coat coming out. Herself performed the bizarre ritual of rifling through his manure and bagging some up - this means the dreaded dewormer is in our future. I will endeavour to channel Jack and seal my lips firmly.

Chester's Busy Week

2011-06-04T18:54:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy week indeed for young Haflingers around here. Between lessons, exploring the paddock, bossing us around and tooth care, Chester has had hardly any time to terrorize the Jolly Ball.

He finds his lessons hard because he was told as a very young horse that he must pull things no matter how hard they might resist and the consequences for not doing so were dire. He has done something called logging as a two and three year old and says one must move said logs or suffer verbal abuse and physical assault. It all sounds barbaric to me. Thus, when the humans put him on the spinning rope, he pulls and keeps pulling, retreating into some place where he feels he can't be reached or hurt. They are teaching him to relax and bend his neck when he feels pressure and have finally convinced him that he will not be punished. He was quite hot and sweaty again but seems most pleased with himself. He receives lavish praise for his efforts.

Now that he is nicely settled in his true personality is beginning to show. He is obviously part terrier because he loves to dig and explore with his feet. I have spoken of the delight he takes in stomping on and otherwise abusing the bedding bags. Now, our paddock has been the dumping ground for household discards from the mid-eighteen hundreds until my own humans bought it. After the winter or a heavy rain, many wonderous things make their way to the surface. Shards of very old blue and white pottery, green and blue glass from medicine bottles, bits of crockery and more recently, automotive bits and pieces. The woman does a daily scan for rubbish and whisks it away.

The trees under which this debris surfaces are Chester's favourite playground. Yesterday morning he found a small piece of the dreaded plastic material embedded in a root. He dug and pulled and worked away for hours. When he had finished, there was a large sheet of very old crinkly plastic spread out under the tree. It looked like he was having a picnic. The woman was highly startled when she beheld his handiwork and beetled off to get a shovel to fill in the excavation.

Yesterday afternoon Chester's dental appointment took place. The medical woman arrived with her assistant and they set up a wonderous array of objects on a table. Chester, an innocent in the world of dentistry, was readily caught and led into the barn. He was given a needle, which bothered him not one whit, and quickly grew quite inebriated. His first dental tune-up revealed many points on his teeth, a tiny, deformed wolf tooth, which was extracted, and a canine tooth so sharp it had cut his tongue. Canine tooth? I have felt from the beginning he was part Golden Retriever (in addition to the terrier blood) and this would seem to prove my theory.

I stayed well away from the proceedings but Molly kept sticking her head in the barn, checking to see he wasn't getting treats. He wasn't. He was helped to his stall and told he had to stay there for two hours. Within a few minutes we could hear pitiful wailing and crying coming from within - no gnashing of teeth though, thank goodness.

He was back to his usual self in no time, running around the paddock in straight lines and generally making a nuisance of himself. Who know what he'll dig up next or what creative pastime he'll invent for his newly perfect teeth.

Jack Bulletin

2011-05-31T14:07:00.000-07:00

Jack is so busy running the entire "sandcherry" that he communicates infrequently but yesterday he sent me a bulletin.

i tooke miselve a tour of the big padduck yestirday when sheila wernt lookin mi way and i had i gud visit with the big pack a donkeys. i say hello howdedo to em and we get to eatin grass and i got molly donkey eatin there alongside me and a good time is bein had by all. then sheila notice im gone from my area and she hav a near heart attak. so she come rushin up the fiel and i decide i can put miselve bak in so we pass each other and i meet her bak at mi place. she come bak and say jack what the hek you doin scarin me haf to deaf.

she caint do nothin witout me and let me tell ya i put in a full day. chekin feed and personnnel and takin inventery and a billion other stuff. then if them piggs is in the isle i gotta roun em up and put em bak in there area - piggs should stay outta mi area at all time. then i get the sheeps and goat and herde em outside with simon an osullyvan and we wurk on some hay. then if visiteurs come i gotta tour em aroun and a course the voluntteers need watchin so by afternoone i need a shuteye. an before ya know it time for dinner and i start all over againe. sheila give me a big hugg and say she dont know how she ever manage without me. i dont know why shes laffin tho.

gotta go run off them pigges but i will rite soon.

Who Gave Chester This Infernal Sphere?

2011-05-26T18:32:00.000-07:00

The other night the woman was in Chester's room, shaking out one of those dreadful plastic containers of bedding. Chester, rather than being sensibly frightened, was delighted. He seized one corner of the bag and began waving it up and down, he held it with a foot and tore holes in it, he offered it to the woman to play tug-of-war. In short, he gave every indication of having a great need for childish amusements.

Yesterday the woman went off on a mission and reappeared with something called a Jolly Ball. This one is a pale green, enhanced with apple scent. Frankly, it is hideous and an affront to the senses. It was put in Chester's room where he discovered it when we were let in for our starvation diet. He was delighted and tested it with both foot and tooth. Then he got on with eating dinner.

I was jolted from a deep sleep by a series of thuds, snorts, stomps and the repeated crashing of a solid object into vertical surfaces. There was a loud splash, followed by a soggy squelching sound. I whuffled the alarm - armageddon had arrived. I've been expecting it for ages. An aggrieved and sleepy voice came from next door. "Geez, will you clam up and kid, will you stop playing with that damn ball!" Molly got right to the point, demanding peace and quiet.

It seems that no sooner had we all settled into the arms of Morpheus than the racket broke out anew. Dawn was breaking and a delighted Chester had rediscovered his new outlet for creative play. Honestly, who gives a four year old a ball? I cannot remain sane and healthy with absolutely no REM sleep. I am quite sure this constitutes psychological abuse, or possibly warfare. Chester says he feels fit as the proverbial fiddle.

Herself finds this all very amusing and was still chuckling when she removed the no longer-so-Jolly-Ball to give it a good wash this morning. It was scraped and dented and covered in filth. I will say this - I've never actually seen kryptonite but this ball may well be made of that very substance.

Penny Publishes a Post, Chester the Mud Man

2011-05-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

You may notice the previous post has very slim content - in fact none. It came about when Penny leaned her chin on the typing machine and published her very first work. I think it may be a silent protest against her Friday visit to the veterinarian. It is part of an annual health protocol wherein various needles are stuck in her person and various parts of her anatomy poked and prodded. She feels about needles as I do - she loathes them. I will leave the post as is to show my solidarity with her protest. Down with needles.

Meanwhile Chester's teeth await filing as the medical man is swamped with (what else) requests to stick needles in other hapless equines, emergencies etc. In true Haflinger fashion, pointy teeth haven't slowed down his caloric intake one iota. He has gained about one hundred pounds since arrival and is looking quite the prosperous young man.

In his four years of life he has learned various things but his ability to connect them remains understandably sketchy. Thus, a young human called Justin who specializes in horse education and tutoring has been called in. He worked with Chester in his stall last week, teaching him to turn when pressure is put on his side and not to prop himself, giraffe-like against the request. It's a very simple exercise, which Molly and I both learned at an early age, but one which Chester found difficult because it has never been explained to him properly. He became quite hot with trying but by the end had his head neck lowered and his hind end moving away fluidly. One can never overstate the importance of learning the abc's of communication before trying to write a novel. Chester and the Woman have been doing homework in this basic exercise in preparation for next week's lesson.

On the grooming front, Chester is a firm believer in mud baths, which he takes often, layering one coating of ooze over another. He looks and smells like a swamp creature. His sleep habits are equally as messy. He lies down and performs what look to be olympic swimming exercises in his bed before falling asleep. He usually picks a newly minted mound of manure as a pillow, and given the plenitude of green, grassy foodstuffs, his head is permanently dyed on one side. The Woman scrubs at him in vain but she avers that he looks the spitting image of someone called Braveheart who apparently went about with a blue face.

+

2011-05-22T09:29:00.001-07:00

For the Love of Donkeys

2011-05-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

Our friends at Morning Bray Farm have posted another happy Donkey story. This one is about how one lucky Iraqi Donkey left his old life in a war zone and found a new home in the USA as a Therapy Donkey for stressed and injured soldiers.

Here's the link: (which I can't seem to get to behave like a link, but if you copy it into your browser you'll get to the right page ... Sorry :-( )

http://morningbrayfarm.com/2011/05/16/for-the-love-of-donkeys-smoke/

Chester Is Given a Reprieve

2011-05-14T18:04:00.000-07:00

We awaited Chester's dental appointment with great interest - especially those of us not due for the gag and rasp treatment this year. Then the medical man called and said that owing to things like emergencies etc. the appointment must be delayed a week. Never having had his teeth filed, Chester is rather blase about the whole thing. He'll find out soon enought...

Finally, the grass has found some ambition and is growing with vigour. Of course that means the stinging wire went up. Chester was not familiar with the concept and somehow had an electrifying experience to the end of his nose that caused an out-of-body event. This resulted in his instantaneous transfer to the other side of the wire. It seems he's quite an accomplished high jumper because nothing was touched in the incident. He wasn't too fussed and carried on with power grazing. The humans arrived, scratched their heads, and took down a section of the wire so he could be reunited with us. Molly used the opportunity to try to barge through and was soundly reprimanded.

In addition to limited grazing we ran out of our winter hay and a top-up load was delivered. We don't care for it. It is wispy and bland. We pointed this out to Herself and were dismissed summarily. She says it is diet hay and good for our waistlines. We say it is a disgrace to subject us to starvation. Herself laughed raucously and said our waistlines remain visible from outer space. And on it goes...

The VET Was Here Today

2011-05-07T18:58:00.000-07:00

Yes, the "vitinrey" himself, that needle-packing, mouth probing, finger poking busybody. I should have known when we were dragged back in at 9am that nothing good would follow. I adopted a policy of trying to blend into the back wall of my room but unfortunately in addition to being an officious busybody he's also quite observant.

Chester went first, and being new to this operation, he didn't recognize the mad medical man for what he truly is. The veterinarian lavished him with praise and offered him a handful of treats. Next thing he had his hand is Chester's mouth, announced a veritable mountain range of sharp peaks on many of his teeth and pointed out some baby teeth that are still loitering about in there. Chester is not five years old, but four it seems. The appointment for filing will take place in a week's time.

Molly went next and her full figure drew a warning about the perils of overeating. She blew a raspberry in the vet's direction and rolled her eyes. She didn't even notice when he stuck the needles in her muscular neck. She gulped down the treats offered and lumbered back to her stall where she searched her bedding in vain for hay wisps.

That left only me...my adrenaline surged, my nerves jangled and every sense told me that the next few minutes would be tense indeed. I reared slightly a couple of times to indicate my willingness to set passive resistence aside, I snorted and stamped a foot and then I buried my head in the back corner. "Now, now," said the madman and offered me a treat. I snatched the treat and went back into ostrich mode. He patted my neck and paid me outlandish compliments and next thing it was all over and he was handing me more treats. To my amazement I survived unscathed but I'm still trying to figure out what sleight-of-hand was used. I must brood on this further. At least Molly and I don't need our teeth done this year.

I'm pleased to report that although Jack was attacked with the dreaded vermifuge he gave better than he got. It took three people to hold him and I hear they are still in recovery after he towed them around like so many rubber dinghys. Jack is fine fettle but highly indignant and is still muttering about "maniacks what attak a frale old man with poisin".

Various and Sundry

2011-05-05T18:04:00.000-07:00

First of all, I wish to state that a census form appeared in the mail box and the filling out of said form led to rather a lot of confusion. Amongst other things, it asked if there was a visitor from another country staying here, and if so which country. Then it asked if the visitor was a person of diplomatic stature. It was speculated that I was undoubtedly of foreign origin and probably of a diplomatic leaning, possibly even a spy. I am saying nothing. Let them speculate at their leisure, they'll get nothing out of me, including the nature of my mission here.

Chester will have his teeth checked on Saturday to see if he is harbouring something called caps or wolf teeth (how would one ever get close enough to relieve a wolf of his dentition, I don't know). I fear needles may follow. Chester was left outside whilst the Woman rode Molly today and he seemed quite relieved to see this was normal practice around here. He trotted over in a straight line, examined them both, and trotted back in a straight line to where I was grazing. "Seems fine, carry on", he said. He's a stickler for having everything unfold as it should. He even plays in straight lines, leaving ruler-like tracks in the grass. He does not believe in roughhousing but I have hopes of inducing him to frolic some day.

Molly looks like an orange yak. There is no other way to put it. Owing to a long, cold spring, she is relinquishing her coat very slowly. I am hanging on to my own coat until at least July. One simply never knows what horrors Mother Nature has up her sleeve. Speaking of horrors, the wretched blackflies are out so we are forced to wear our masks. The ends of my ear covers are mysteriously masticated - the woman says I did it last summer after rubbing the mask off on the fence. I have no recollection of the event.

Jack's Diploma

2011-04-29T18:07:00.000-07:00

Sheila sent me a photo of Jack receiving his diploma from his friend/mentor and one of the diploma itself. As the writing appears rather miniscule on the blog (or "blob" as Jack will have it) I thought I should fill you in on the actual wording. It says:

Jack has earned his "Jack of all Trades" Degree on April 27th, 2011

Apprentice Electrician; Sous-Chef; Feed Co-ordinator; Inventory Manager; Gate Keeper; Tour Guide; Goat Herd; Shepherd; Pig Wrangler; Dog Trainer; Major Overseer of all things barnyard.

My dear friend is quite a Renaissance Donkey. And a ladies' man, as you can see from the two lovely and astonishingly hirsute female donkeys he has drawn into his circle. Long may he reign over the sanctuary.

Much News - Some Of It Good

2011-04-28T19:22:00.000-07:00

The not-so-good-news is that owing to a perfect storm of chaos in the life of Emi (human to Mosby Horse), my birthday party/sanctuary fundraiser is postponed for the near future. Emi is in the throes of house demolition and rebuilding which is to my mind a thrilling and exciting undertaking but to humans apparently it represents a source of stress. Mosby says he isn't bothered at all by the impending excitement. My firefighter's hat, given to me by Dougie Donkey of Scotland, waits at the ready for when a new date is set.

The sanctuary news is good, except for the typhoon-like winds blowing three run-in shelters to smithereens. I will say no more about the current weather - it is cold, wet and unspeakable. Jack continues to thrive, running the sanctuary with a small iron hoof. In addition to his two bubble neighbours, Simon and O'Sullivan, and the goat and sheep, he has inducted two large donkey ladies into his herd. Their names are Molly and Maggie, the former described by Sheila as "big, bold and brassy". Jack is besotted. Molly comes from a Scottish family and Jack tells me she is vocal but incomprehensible. She refers to him as either "Jocko" or "the wee lad" and he spends a lot of time saying "eh?" and "what?" in response to her orders and observations.

Jack has spent the last weeks glued to the human electrical expert and has finally received his certificate. Unfortunately he thought it was vet-related and fled in horror at the sight of it but they hope to coax him around, possibly by coating it with molasses. I don't know how Jack finds the hours in the day to do all he does but if he keeps adding to his activities he will need to appoint an assistant manager.

Chester is nicely settled here and we are starting to see that at age five he really is still a young horse and somewhat innocent of the ways of the world. He is of a military nature and likes thing to be orderly at all times. His habit of guarding us all day leaves him exhausted and after dinner he begins yawning lavishly and soon keels over into a deep, flat-out sleep. This is quickly followed by rhythmic snoring noises. He has an infestion of songbirds in his feet, specifically thrush, and that is being dealt with daily. He had a saddle fitting the other day and the fitter warned the woman that he was still growing and filling out at a great rate. In fact, the hind end has risen like an elevator in the last month and is awaiting the arrival of the front end.

Dottie & Stanley

2011-04-19T10:20:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEexxI4HDfA

I thought you would enjoy this rather remarkable tale of inter-species friendship. Dottie is a most attractive lady donkey who saw a savage dog attack her friend, Stanley the Sheep. She sprang into action, pinning the dog to the ground until he released his hold on Stanley's face. Stanley was badly wounded but after intensive veterinary care, has made a full recovery. I'm pleased to see a donkey receiving recognition for a selfless act of bravery, especially when there are still humans out there who perceive us as unfeeling and stubborn beings. I also approve of the way humans and other species in this short film mill about together quite amicably. Very civilized, although I'm not sure why the reporter person seems so shocked and amazed at Dottie's actions...obviously a fish fancier or beetle trainer or something, with no experience of the world of donkeys.

Life In The Arctic

2011-04-17T18:41:00.000-07:00

I dictate this as I huddle in my room, windows rattling and snow pellets bouncing off the roof. Yes, it's a snowstorm, doing it's best to assassinate the budding greenery. Welcome to the innermost circle of hell, which has frozen over. We have been working at mowing the emerging grass, a task which Chester finds particularly appealing as he didn't previously have access to a salad selection. He has appointed himself our guardian and caretaker and fortunately is beginning to relax somewhat on that front. He still watches me like the proverbial hawk, standing over me whilst I doze in the sand ring, but at least he isn't within nose reach at all times any more. As you may have seen, my annual fundraiser is approaching and invitations are being sent out in various forms. I live in hope that the Royal family will send at least a junior representative but this year some sort of wedding event is taking place so no doubt they are preoccupied. In their absence I will do my best to preside in a royal fashion. Maybe by then it will have stopped snowing. Maybe...

THE OFFICIAL INVITATION

2011-04-15T09:36:00.000-07:00

The 2011 Sheaffer's Birthday Party Fundraiser for PrimRose Donkey Sanctuary will be held on Saturday, May 28th from 12PM to 4PM, rain or shine.

Location is Serendipity Stables, home of Mosby Horse, located at 15488 McCowan Rd., Whitchurch/Stouffville.

There will of course be food for humans, games for the younger set, and cake for all.

The Silent Auction will begin at 1 o'clock and end at 3 o'clock. I'm told there will be many marvellous items on which to bid. I have my eye on the Donkey Marionette.

Please join us, wearing your most magnificent headgear - the competition will be fierce.

Chester Settles In

2011-04-11T15:46:00.000-07:00

It seems that after much debate, that is our new friend's name. His previous name was the same as the male human's so of course you know who had to change their moniker. Not the human. Chester says he doesn't mind as long as the meals are regular and the room service prompt. It turns out he was previously best friends with a small donkey and they were separated when he (Chester) was sent to a notorious meat auction at the age of four. Thankfully he was purchased by Tabitha, his previous owner, who really didn't have room for another equine but who made the trip there and came home with Chester. It explains his rather obsessive behaviour when he saw me and announced "Mine, all Mine!" and proceeded to do an excellent impersonation of a mother hen. Molly was horrified and the two ended up arguing so much that I was forced to intervene and bellow at both of them to settle down. Herself went off to the Affaire thing and left the male human in charge, which is always an improvement. The male human is not nearly as calculating and suspicious as the Woman and we were able to express ourselves quite freely. Chester upset the wheelbarrow and I sidled into the tack room, Molly scarfed extra hay and Sally's friend came back and chewed a hole in the cat food bag. It was a good week. Herself returned, showed us a bag of peppermint snacks that she had gotten us, gave us one each and promptly put it away. Typical. Chester is a very serious young man who is studying our living arrangements and adapting himself accordingly. He still refuses to do any wrestling but I have hopes of reforming him soon.

Breaking News

2011-04-05T15:52:00.000-07:00

Sunday the humans went racing off at an ungodly hour and were away all day. Fortunately they left us well supplied with food and the sun was out, so it was acceptable. They returned eleven hours later, and what do you think? Yes! They brought us a horse and he's the correct gender. He is five years old and from the same strain as Molly but approximately half her width. And he loves donkeys. I will have to wait to tell you more because Herself is back on the road tomorrow, off to the annual Equine Affaire thingy and she won't return til Saturday. I hope she finds the Stud Muffin booth and spends freely. How intensely annoying of her to flee the country just when I have so much to tell you. I will attach an image of his first few minutes Chez Sheaffer.

I'm Exhausted

2011-03-31T13:47:00.000-07:00

We haven't had a minute's peace lately. Herself is on a ridiculous spring cleaning binge and is frantically raking and sweeping and hauling and generally shoving us out of the way every two minutes so she can clean under our feet. She refers to this annual ritual as "Cleaning the Augean Stables". Both cats, the dog and Molly and I are supervising every move, but is she grateful? Hah! She merely glares and asks why it is that one species out of five is doing all the work. When we try to help she "throws a connipshun" (Jack's words) and tells us not to chew on implement handles. Penny skulked off and ate something disgusting that she found in the ditch and Sally fell out of a tree chasing a beige, striped rodent but other than that things are rather quiet today. Jack has become the Renaissance donkey at the sanctuary, lending a hoof in all matters and acquiring all sorts of useful skill sets. He has helped the electrical man so diligently that he is making him a certificate that reads "Jack of All Trades". We have been promised photographic evidence of the presentation. Jack got his blue winter coat off yesterday and had himself such a vigourous roll in the dust that he looked like a dervish flipping from side to side. Then he went off to instigate some rasslin with the much younger Simon and O'Sullivan.

A Strange and Unpleasant Visitor

2011-03-23T16:13:00.000-07:00

Imagine our excitement yesterday when, as we were supervising the woman's paddock cleaning, a large brown box on wheels drove up and the side door flew open. The writing on the side said u p s - obviously some sort of code. There may be a counter-company somewhere called d o w n s, such are the mysterious ways of the world of commerce. Molly and I were delighted, assuming that a new equine friend waited inside. Molly galloped over through the mud, bellowing and gronking loudly. I followed at a more stately pace, making small huffing sounds of welcome.

A human, clad from head to toe in brown, leapt back onto the step of the vehicle. He somehow assumed that we had no braking ability and would crash through the fence, annihilating him in the process. The woman told him that we almost always got ourselves stopped in time. He sidled over, holding out a small cardboard box and a strange pad and pen device. Molly seized the side of the box and the woman had to wrestle it away from her. The woman used the pen-like device to scratch on the virtual pad and Molly seized that, the result being that the woman's signature came out looking like hieroglyphics.

I examined the brown-clad human's kneecaps through the fence. "Hey", he said, "is this some kinda donkey or goat thing? It has a weird shape." I was stunned. I didn't even know the creature and he was casting aspersions on my appearance and species?! Frankly, he was no conformation-winning specimen himself - toed-in, pig-eyed and a bad mover, amongst other flaws. Another of his plastic devices made ringing noises and Molly tried to grab that. As she gave him her classic Molly-lip-curl expression , he used it to take her photo "to show the guys back at the plant."

With that, he reinserted himself in the u p s conveyance and sped off. Such a disappointment on all levels. No new equine friend, no gifts for us, and a snarky stranger suddenly thrust into our sphere. How utterly typical. I wish we HAD crashed through the fence and trampled him underfoot.

Feline Doppelganger

2011-03-19T18:16:00.000-07:00

Things are begining to dry out somewhat but there is still a bite of frost in the air. Molly and I are trawling through the paddock in search of any hint of green. Nothing much yet so we are topping up our fibre intake with fence rails and the odd piece of leather that we can lay our teeth on.

Yesterday morning the Woman came into the barn to the sight of Sally's food container turned upside down on the floor, her bowls moved across the room and Kitty Temptation treats scattered everywhere. Sally's igloo bed had been squashed down and slept upon. The suspicion immediately fell on Violet.

Last evening we were witness to something resembling a Restoration Comedy, where the plot hinges on mistaken identity, one long lost twin and the ability of the cast to shift around unseen. Herself let us into our rooms and I began the tedious task of winnowing out the revolting supplement from the rest of my dinner. Sally was fed and woman pottered out into the run-in. We heard her talking to someone, asking why they weren't attending to their dinner and how they had materialized on the hay bales without her seeing them. She pottered back into the barn, saw Sally working away at her dish and ran back out to the run-in. An identical but somewhat larger Sally stared back at her with amusement.

He (we assume he is a he from his large size and broad face) calmly regarded Herself from atop the hay. He appears well-fed and heavily coated in plush fur so we assume he just dropped for a visit and is in fact not homeless. I find him very pleasant and hope he comes by often. Sally is delighted with the idea of a cat friend who doesn't attack in her in sneaky and underhanded ways. Violet is looking affronted and is attempting to work the false accusations from all angles.
Herself still looks baffled, so I am quite pleased with the outcome.

An early spring snow storm is expected on Wednesday, so this pleasant interlude will be rudely cast aside.

Insanity Prevails

2011-03-13T14:08:00.000-07:00

It's taken me a few days to absorb this latest information and it still strikes me as absurd. Doc has gone to live with a human called Janis and her donkey Tequila. This human lost her thirty one year old horse last month to the decrepitudes of old age. Both she and the donkey have been in mourning and came to the realization that another equine was needed to balance their lives. Doc does not care for all the gadding about on trails and in forests that the Woman is determined to do and Janis wishes to ride only in her own backyard, so I suppose the idea makes sense on that level. But good grief, why am I never consulted? The Woman can go and see him anytime but what about me?

First Jack and now Doc gone. I don't care for this one bit. And mud and ice everywhere. I am angry, indignant, outraged and soggy up to my ankles. The Woman has tried to plead her case - that Doc will be happier once he settles in there, that it wasn't fair for him to run and cry and scream the whole time she and Molly were away. That he can do all the fancy footwork he likes within sight of his own barn - blahblahblah. If she and Molly could just stay home like normal people none of this would have been necessary.

Jack, meanwhile, is putting in very full days. Other than perambulating about with his goat satellite, he has now taken charge of the rewiring of the barn. A human who is versed in the mysteries of all things electrical is working away at the sanctuary and Jack is right beside him, giving advice and impeding his progress at all turns. The human is rather bemused but Jack has acquired so much knowledge he's thinking of writing his exam and hanging out his shingle.

Herself did a massive spring cleaning of my room today and took down the divider that we had when Jack was here. I don't care how many overtures she makes, my fury will not be abating any time soon. You can't just ruin someone's dinner with gritty supplements and remove their best friends one at a time without consequences.

Mirage

2011-03-09T15:35:00.000-08:00

I looked out the door this morning and beheld a desert paradise. There was sand as far as the eye could see, trees with Stud Muffins suspended from every branch, and low tables with all sorts of edibles. There was a small pond of cool water for drinking and a platoon of quiet, service-oriented humans to see to our every need. Handel's Water Music gently wafted through the air (I know - an ironic choice for a desert-loving donkey, but there you have it). I sighed deeply with the greatest pleasure and set my foot out the door...

I came to with a terrible jolt. Herself was peering at me over the stall guard and asking if I was feeling quite sane and telling me to get myself out the door. Tragically, it had all been but a dream. By mid-morning a raw day had turned into a hideous spring blizzard, complete with flying ice pellets and slushy snow. I huddled in a corner of the run-in for the day. Molly stomped in and out, never quite settling but managing to rouse me whenever I slipped into a reverie of escape.

Herself gave us extra tidbits in our dinners but we do not care for the new vitamin/mineral supplement she has put us on. She tries to disguise but it remains the elephant in the room. It is brown, gritty and odoriferous. I carefully seperate the powder and leave it discarded in the bottom of the bowl. It is causing the Woman considerable consternation so at least that is a bright spot in a bleak season. I want sugary, oaty, molassesy food, not something that came out of an abandoned mine shaft.

About March...

2011-03-02T12:37:00.001-08:00

It really isn't much different from February so far. Early days, I know, but still...

This month is only two days old but it has already: exfoliated the fur off my face with blizzard-driven ice pellets, blown my hay down to the lower forty eight states, caused my lower lip to stick firmly to the handle of the water bucket and scoured out the insides of my ears with beads of swirling ice. Molly hasn't noticed a thing.

Herself has put Sally on a spring diet and it has not been well-accepted by the victim. Sally makes pitiful mewing sounds whenever she spies a human and leads them to her food bowl. She peers earnestly into the empty interior and looks up at them, head on one side. It does no good, of course. Then she follows them out into the run-in where she collapses dramatically on the floor. The routine would work better if she didn't suddenly start chasing bits of hay around. To date there has been no appreciable weight loss. Like myself, Sally is an easy keeper.

On a bright note, I have discovered that the McNasty spray the Woman has been using liberally on the fences is actually quite tasty. It's an acquired taste, granted, but quite addictive once acquired. This has not gone over well with Herself. I won't tell you what she said because the censor would be sure to shut down my entire blog. I can assure you it wasn't ladylike in the least. She said much the same thing when we ate an entire pound of cayenne pepper mixed with oil which she had carefully applied to the fence with a brush...

Book Review - Jane's Transformation, The Magical Pony School

2011-02-27T12:28:00.000-08:00

My friend Billie Hinton, human to Rafer Johnson and Redford Donkey is a prolific and accomplished writer/author. She has done me the great honour of asking me to review her lastest novel and I feel confident in saying I am the first donkey in history upon whom this honour has been bestowed.

The novel, Jane's Transformation - The Magical Pony School, is directed at the nine-twelve year age range of human offspring but having said that, it has an appeal that will be felt by any reader. As the tale unfolds we become acquainted with the four main characters, all of whom have come to the school for various personal reasons. Jane, the central character of the four, who is trying to deal with the loss of her father, soon discovers she has the ability to channel (or shapeshift) her form into that of a pony - and that's when the tale really becomes a hoof biter.

Billie has the knowledge of all things horse that allow the book to be more than just another thinly disguised coming-of-age tale. She also draws on her skill with using natural healing agents as well as her uncanny talent of making settings come alive. The winter solstice is pivotal to the tale and I'm told that she plans other books to take place in the other three seasons. Personally, I can't wait.

I must also add that Billie's own equines, Salina, and of course the donkey lads, make an appearance but you'll have to read for yourself to see what role they play.

The book is available at Amazon.com but I suggest you go to
http://www.camera-obscura-billie.blogspot.com and click on the cover of the book for more information. I am told it is a "virtual" book for now but will soon be coming out in a tangible paper variety. I plan on keeping mine with my trophy collection and will resist the urge to use it as a light snack.

A Nasty Surprise

2011-02-22T15:28:00.000-08:00

We are in the dim and drear dying days of February, which, like Lord Byron, is "nasty, brutish and short". The sun is finally shaking off some of it's torpor and at least now trying to make an occasional appearance. Molly and I must amuse ourselves as best we can - in her case, her need to launder me remains firmly entrenched.

This week we rediscovered the rather delightful sunning spot in the front paddock that is protected by a large wall of cedar. It has been inaccessible for months owing to drifts of snow and sheets of ice. Last week's thaw demolished most of that. Equally delightful is the collection of nicely dried wood rails that make up the paddock fence. We settled in for the afternoon, Molly gnawing on the top rail, self on the bottom. It's astonishing (and most satisfying) just how much wood can be shredded in a short time.

Of course we were noticed by the resident commander of this police state in which we are forced to dwell. She bustled over, tsk tsking all the while. Having examined the damage - I mean our handiwork - she bustled off to the barn. "Good", said Molly, "old bats gone". And she continued using her alarmingly strong and rodent-like Haflinger dentition on the rail thinning project. I wasn't convinced and sure enough, back came Herself, carrying a large black container with some sort of spraying device. The contents were labelled "McNasty". I didn't like the sound of it at all.

She went to work coating the rails with the spray: I sidled over to observe more closely. One whiff of the noxious fumes, let alone the liquid itself, sent me reeling sideways. Herself suddenly spun around and said "Sssssss, sssssss, shhhhhh, shaaaaa", very loudly in my face. I stared at her in utter disbelief. Her face was turning a rich shade of magenta. "SHEAFFER GET OFF MY FOOT", she bellowed. I glanced down. What I had taken to be a lump of ice under my left front hoof was in fact her right foot. A perfectly innocent and honest mistake, in my view. I stepped aside politely but she took the low road, as usual, and was rather short-tempered and peevish for the next while. She limped off to the house, mumbling questionable remarks about those of us with, and I quote, "feet like tiny tent pegs".

So, although our woodworking was cut short, the day was not without it's amusement - and a quite satisfactory and speedy karmic intervention. One takes one's satisfaction where one can find it.

Jack In Charge

2011-02-16T18:24:00.001-08:00

Jack is putting in long hours as sanctuary overlord (by his own choice, of course) and is working hard in the field of operations and at his headquarters (the Donkey Bubble). He wields a firm but fair hoof over all species, human, donkey and other.

Sheila sent us some photos, one of which shows Jack washing the resident goat. The goat seems slightly unsure about the prodedure but Jack is adhament. I wonder where he got the idea of washing another species...? He likes the sheep as well but finds their coats impossible to launder properly. As for the pigs - he does not care for those at all and does an abrupt about turn when they waddle into his sphere of operations. He marches off at high speed, looking neither to the left nor right, until he is well clear of any porcine influence. He considers them unspeakable and unwashable.

Jack has also stepped up his supervisory role in the feed room. He glues himself to Sheila while she prepares seventeen different breakfasts and dinners, sticking so close that she can barely move her arms. He inspects and samples all foodstuffs, both before and after cooking. When everyone has breakfasted and gone on their way, he patrols the aisles and checks each stall and food bowl. Then he goes to the various gates in the barn to ensure he knows the whereabouts of every resident. He is a very busy old donkey. He takes his breaks from his self-imposed career with Simon and O'Sullivan, where they stand and munch hay in the sun. They think he is as mad as a hatter.

He continues to astonish and astound, and sometimes even alarm. He has no intention of slowing down and regards retirement as something suitable for the elderly, which he is convinced he is not. Long live the King, I say, and long may he rule.

Buddy sent along this link for Jack to peruse. Jack has completed his perusal and has announced that he plans to beat this record by several decades. I don't doubt it.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1350017/eeyore-54-worlds-oldest-donkey.html

I have included some images of Molly and Sally, who have declared themselves BFFs, whatever that is. As long as Molly is washing Sally, she isn't washing me. Somewhere in the Carolinas donkeys are crafting this year's dust baths and lounging in the warm sun. Sigh.

Buddy, Buddy, What Have You Done??

2011-02-12T16:16:00.000-08:00

As if being constantly laundered by the mad Haflinger Washing Machine weren't bad enough, yesterday an envelope with Molly's name on it arrived in our mailbox. This is not good.

It proved to be a valentine from her beau, Buddy in Nevada, and it has completely gone to her hard-as-granite pony head. She is opinionated and bossy to start with but now that she has received valentines from Buddy two years in a row, she is beyond insufferable.

The front of the card says "For Someone SPECIAL". Inside the verse reads "Today is a day for celebrating the people who make our hearts happy like you! Happy Valentine's Day." It is signed "Love, Buddy."

Buddy, I want you to know that this has resulted in Molly bellowing at me "You have to stand still while I'm washing you because I'm SPESHUL!" Or "Give me that carrot - I'm SPESHUL..." or "Let me roll on your lunch hay - I'm SPESHUL..." I think you get the picture. This has not been good for an ego that is already bursting at the seams.

Last year she began to forget about THE CARD by the time early spring grass distracted her. Given our unusually harsh winter, with no hint of spring in sight, my only goal is to survive the terrible onslaught of being Haflingered. It's not easy living with a pony who is worshipped by a long-distance boyfriend.

Parasailing Donkey Update And Donkey-nomics

2011-02-09T09:55:00.000-08:00

You may remember the tale of the poor, frightened jenny who was sent aloft by idiots in Russia last year. It seems she had some peace in her final months, especially once they figured out she needed donkey company to be truly happy. She may be gone but we will not forget her - or the cretins who perpetrated the cruel and unpunished "prank". From the St Petersburg Times
http://www.times.spb.ru/index.php?action_id=2&story_id=33521

To balance this news, I have a story told to me by Sheila, which perfectly illustrates the inate sensible and intelligent nature of donkeys. It seems that in Switzerland there are (or were) donkeys who worked on the farms high up in the Alps. On Saturday, market day, they were loaded with all sorts of produce, cheeses etc. and sent on their own, down to the market square. They went to the same spot every week and shoppers would choose items to buy, putting the money in a container carried by the donkey.

When all was sold, the donkeys made their way back home, delivering the money to their humans, who trusted them to do the same highly competent job every week. Now this, to my mind, is an eminently sensible arrangement. Humans who treat their donkeys as trusted equals and family members and donkeys who play a pivotal role in running the farm finances. How civilized and how unusual.

Power To The (Old) Donkeys!

2011-02-03T13:11:00.000-08:00

Well, Jack has undergone dental treatment at the sanctuary and as he predicted, he gave as good as he got. It took four humans, three rounds of stupefactants and a pitched battle but he is three teeth lighter and tartar-free. I'm relieved I wasn't there to witness the event.

As he has gained strength and condition over the last three years his vendetta against all "vitinries" has likewise gained strength, so when the sanctuary vet showed up it took him only a short time to realize that all her flatteries and kind words hid the heart of a dental demon. He fought her, he fought the assistants, he fought the anaesthetic and he came to early and in a state of outraged fury. His murmer-y heart survived the battle and he has vowed to fight on in his war against the medical profession.

Jack has taken his role as sanctuary overseer very seriously and has gathered the sheep, goat and pigs under his umbrella of animal husbandry. He manages Sheila and the volunteers most carefully and nothing they do goes unseen by Jack. When he feels the need for attention he simply plants himself in front of a convenient human and exacts the correct toll. Though sometimes exasperated, they always ante up.

And here in the wasteland of winter? Life is tedious at best, what with the snow storms, sharp winds and permanent state of dampness caused by Molly's non-stop bathing of my person. Someone remarked that I look like a cat who has been forced into doll clothes by an evil little girl - resigned and hopeless. The days are slowly growing longer but winter isn't done with us yet. By the time spring arrives I will be nearly denuded of all my winter coat and Molly will have an enormous fur ball in her stomach.

A Micro View of Winter

2011-01-26T09:02:00.000-08:00

Being thirty six inches tall limits the overall view of things within my orbit. I thought this would be a good time, given the idiocy of the weather, to show you some of these things and let you try to figure out what they might be.

On another note, Jack is doing very well and seems to have taken over running the sanctuary. He involves himself in all activities, from food preparation to visitor tours. He dislikes being on one side of a closed door so the humans have learned to leave all doors open where possible. Sheila holds his breakfast bowl for him and she tells us that by the time he has finished smearing it on her and then licking it off, her coat looks like a plaster cast.

She has been working on trying to get him to eat soaked cubes, an effort the Woman laboured at without success. Jack saw Russell Mule eating his dinner of soaked cubes and indicated he would like some of that. So. Sheila made him up his own bowl and - that was unacceptable. He only wants cubes that have been scooped directly from Russell's bowl into his own. For someone with compromised vision, he oversees all with an eagle eye, missing nothing.

This week has had brutally cold temps, the lowest being -29 degrees. Jack, who has the run of the barn with O'Sullivan and Simon, told Sheila that he was cold and she escorted him back to his room, which is now called the "donkey bubble". He had his lunch in there, bedded up to his knees in fresh straw. The temperature in the bubble remains toasty and warm, even on the coldest days, and Jack has quickly figured that out.

For all this we are most grateful. I simply cannot imagine how he would have coped with this cold snap in our much chillier barn. I know he misses me and I miss him sorely but he is where he needs to be. I am glad he has such a hectic social schedule at the sanctuary to keep him busy. Meanwhile, I can only count the days til spring and show you my world from a donkey's eye view.

We Are Not Amused

2011-01-22T15:24:00.000-08:00

The woman stumbled across this supposedly humourous photo and was appalled, as am I. We fail to see the mirth to be derived from a large, young, male human riding a small donkey and wielding a broom.

This sort of thing plays to the notion that donkeys are inherently funny, deserve to be ridiculed and can be used and abused at will because, well, because we are only donkeys. The public buys into it because most have never met an actual donkey. They can't be expected to do otherwise until images like this are considered to be a testament to the gruelling and often short life led by many working donkeys - not some sort of clever joke.

The link to this image can be found here:
http://pictureisunrelated.memebase.com/2011/01/22/wtf-photos-videos-modern-day-don-quixote/

Please note that there is an option at the top of the photo to vote on whether or not your find the offering amusing. The Woman has already voted a resounding "no" on my behalf. If you feel as I do, please join me in letting them know what you think by using the"thumbs down" option - unfortunately there is no "hoofs down" choice.

I know this would have been better delivered from a soap box but Herself says soap boxes no longer exist. Pity.

An Award Softens A Savage Season

2011-01-20T16:54:00.000-08:00

Imagine my surprise and delight when one of my new readers, Calm, Forward, Straight at http://transitiontoharmony.blogspot.com/ , saw fit to recognize my scribblings with an award. It is called a "Stylish Blogger Award" and is a particularly civilized award because I in turn am invited to pass it on to my favourite blog authors.

The first stipulation is that I must share seven things with my readers which they may not know about me. These are as follows:

1) I would like to visit each and every corner of the world that houses donkeys and to report back on their situation. The interviews could take years, especially those in the warmer climes.

2) I would dearly love to visit each and every one of my readers and linger over a cup of Orange Pekoe and a plate of Stud Muffins, while we get caught up on each other's news.

3) Don't laugh, but I think I would like to try those things called hair extensions. I have always fancied myself sporting a long and luxuriant tail, not the least because I feel it would have a slimming effect.

4) I would like to experience the wonder of having opposable thumbs, even if only for a day.

5) I would like to make Jack young again.

6) It seems quite unbelievable, I know, but I sometimes wake myself up with loud snoring! I always manage to blame Molly, however, as her snoring is legendary.

7) I have amassed a collection of rather impressive expletives which I may one day unleash on Herself. For now I bide my time and never use anything stronger than "pshaw" or "gadzooks". The time will come...

As far as passing on this delightful award, my first candidate of course must be cameraobscura, the creation of donkey admirer billie http://camera-obscura-billie.blogspot.com/ , followed by the wonderful morningbrayfarm with its special "For the Love of Donkeys" page http://morningbrayfarm.com/ , Fenway Bartholomule who holds forth at braysofourlives http://www.braysofourlives.com/ , the7msn blog http://www.the7msnranch.com/ which whisks me out of Siberia to the donkey paradise of New Mexico, and of course my favourite non-equine blog, bumblebearies http://www.bumblebearies.blogspot.com/ , where my friend Vee gets up to all sorts of crafty magic.

Thank you very much to Calm, Forward, Straight for providing a bright spot in a dark season.

A New Era Begins

2011-01-17T09:24:00.000-08:00

And by new I don't necessarily mean better. I have not spoken to the Woman nor let her touch my person since Jack was whisked away before my very eyes. AND, oh the infamy! They used the beauteous PrimRose as a femme fatale, her mere presence distracting both Jack and self so we couldn't think straight.

Herself has felt his absence keenly as well but there will be no detente any time soon. It's all very well going around looking downcast and sniffling occasionally but honestly, I'm the one who has suffered the greatest loss and she knows it. In protest, I refuse to even look at my hot dinner until she has vacated the barn. I am certainly not accepting bribes in any form even if fed by hand.

Last night I nearly softened my stance - nearly - but managed to remain aloof. She stood next to me in my room and draped her arms around my neck. She launched into a long speech about how wonderful I have been with Jack and what a good friend and how caring etc. I felt compelled to bend one ear to her ramblings. And she may be right. I knew when Jack was cold so I would press my side close into his to keep him warm through his blanket, I know he sometimes gets confused so I would lead him into his room and show him his hot dinner and, not touching it, quietly slide into my own room. I know he has trouble seeing sometimes so I always went ahead and told him what to expect. I went first with the foot man so he would understand that it was not an unpleasant experience. And I always let him win our "rasslin" matches. I had no idea that Herself had noticed any of this. She is not known for her powers of observation (she once tried to put a young masked bandit in the motor vehicle, mistaking it for our tabby cat).

She told me his needs have grown greater recently and that it will take more than one set of human hands to see to them. Honestly, couldn't she just have hired a team of Jack minders? I admit, the idea of him being in a toasty warm room last night when the temperature plunged off the bottom of the thermometer gives me a warm feeling deep inside (not my exterior - the barn could be an ice storage facility these days). But why couldn't we have both simply moved into the house here? She's incapable of seeing the obvious solution.

She reiterated that I was a stellar donkey and begged my forgiveness. It's a start but I am still debating accepting a Stud Muffin directly from her traitorous hand. Meanwhile, Molly's reaction has been to smother me with even more slobbery affection. She insists on pinning me against a wall and washing me thoroughly. Needless to say, like Sally, I have frozen spikes down my back that Herself refers to as the donkey/dinosaur look. Women. Pahh.

I hear that Jack is adjusting very well which makes me happy but it will be a good long while before I stop sensing his presence beside me. I fervently hope they aren't thinking of sending that young hooligan TJ back here...

mi new advenchures an kareer

2011-01-15T09:16:00.000-08:00

this here is jack speekin an i got some storee for ya this time. ya wont beleeve it but i move bak ta the sandcherry with sheila.

i bin reel cold all this wintur on account of the tempirature don't never fully get motivatid ta move up anywhere near warm. some days i been shiverin pretty good tryin ta keep miself heated sufficient. the woman got the blankut on me a while bak and lef it on and she give me a big deep bed and some heatid water but lansakes, the cold just dont wanta quit. sonnys ok on account hes young and got a good layer a blubber on im. but that jus fer your ears cos he dont like bein called fat.

there also bin a lota talk about mi teeth and i got the young vitinry so skeerd a touchin me he gets the shakes jus thinkin about it. i got a thing call a hart stutter or murmer or somethin that i don feel until i gotta clim a hill but it sure as shootin skeer him pretty good. also i got a good ripe smell comin outta mi mouth these days - i dont mine at all at all but it makes the humins bak up pritty quick i kin tell ya.

anyways it seem the woman bin talkin ta sheila and they decide between em that its time fer me ta have what they call more intense care. so yestirday sheila show up with that metal box a hers an a bunch a humans i seen before and who do ya think was in tha box? onlee the best looking lady donkey in the histry a the donkey world is all! an holee jumpin criminy shes a looker! sonnys descripshun dont do her justice. its primrose herselve and she sashay out in her pink blankut and announce to the world she have arrive jus like the qweene. me an sonny go nuts and tear up the padduck callin her over. molly goes to yellin and hollerin cos she want to go in the metal box. no surprize there she jus a joy ridin fool.

nex thing i kno i follow the primrose inta the box an thats ok cause i got her ta look at all ta miself. she mosly ignore me tho bein royaltiy an all. we stop once fer the humans ta take on food and drink and i git to pawin and kiking and hammerin on that metal box til mi ears ring. i tell ya they know jack has hit town! primrose jus look disgustd.

we arrive soon an mi word sheila got a whole room for me all insulate up cozy and a heatir if i need it. the laurel woman made me mi own ear warmers fer reel cold days and i look pritty slick in em. i got the run a the barn so i don got ta go out in the bad weather and i got three other guys with me that need speshul care. we got a big roun thing a hay the size a small automobile. the woman send mi bukit feed pan food snaks and a course that stoopit wormer stuff with me. she evin cook my evenin meal an sen it so i feel at right at home. an this mornin i git another hot meal which i lik jus fine. sheila is trying to get me ta eat soaked alfalfer cube but i tole the woman and i tole her no sir i onlee like em broke up real fine by hand.

sheila tole the woman that i wok in my new room las night like i own it and thats exakly how i feel. onlee bad thing is sheila got the sandcherry vit comin nex week an she aint skeerd ta look in mi mouth. well we see who wins that one - im 44 year old which is a few more than her an i gotta life time a tricks up mi sleeve.

mi stars i miss sonny tho. hes the one what got me bak in good shape and he bin a true and loyal fren to me. i wil think on him every day and i will nevir fergit what all he done fer me.

In The Nick(olas) of Time - Another Happy Ending From PrimRose

2011-01-09T14:06:00.000-08:00

The PrimRose Sanctuary is the scene of many, many donkey tales; some involve humour, some sadness and some evolve from sad to happy over the course of time. The tale of Nicholas Donkey - who arrived with the rather unattractive appelation of Nipper, is one that began with abuse and neglect and ended with the happiest of circumstances.

Nipper was acquired as a very young donkey by some extraordinarily ignorant humans who thought they could protect their poultry by locking him in a stall while said poultry ranged around loose in the barn. I can only presume they thought his mere presence would prove a deterrent to invaders. For two and a half years the poor donkey literally did not set foot outside.

A neighbour heard of Nipper's existence and somehow managed to convince his jailers to sell him to her. The rescuers had to shovel their way into the stall to free him, as the jailers did not believe any sort of cleaning was necessary. Nipper had "brain surgery" and had his feet done, probably for the first time. He was a wild man. He was angry and confused and tried to kick and bite anyone who came near. And for that we cannot blame him one iota.

His rescuer realized he needed the sort of help and facilities only Sheila could provide and so he moved to the sanctuary. He was sadly lacking in social skills, with all species, and remained rather short-tempered with the world in general. Enter a young lady volunteer named Stephanie, who made it her job to convince Nipper, now named Nicholas, that life really wasn't that threatening. He reluctantly and slowly came around to realizing that humans were not only excellent scratchers of donkey itches but reliable dispensers of treats and affection. He vowed loyalty to his new friend for life. And her mother, being a kind and sensible woman, said of course he must come and live on their farm, where they have two horses, sheep, another donkey and various types of poultry.

Nicholas was amazed and pleased with his new home but rather confused about where he should spend his time so he made his way to the sound he had known his whole life - the reassuring clucking and bokking of the chickens. His human, Stephanie, wished he could form a bond with the other equines but he remained apart and on the periphery.

One blizzardy day last month, Stephanie returned home in a conveyance called a school bus. On disembarking, she could make out the shape of Nicholas in the middle of the field, standing over a small black form. Puzzled, she rushed over and discovered a newborn lamb whose mother had gone off to seek shelter and food and left him alone in the storm. Nicholas had taken charge and was carefully standing over the lamb, licking him constantly to keep him warm and reassured. We donkeys do not care for this sort of weather at all, so this was rather a large commitment on his part.

Both were taken back to the barn, the lamb reunited with his rather casual mother, with Nicholas hovering in worried attendance. He has appointed himself official uncle and minder of the lamb and they are as close as two brothers. We have no idea how he figured out the lamb was in trouble and how he decided what needed to be done. He certainly had no experiences in his former life that prepared him for anything like altruism toward another species. And yet he did just the right thing.

There are many lessons to be learned from the short life of Nicholas but I think the most important is that of forgiveness and openness to new beginnings. It is remarkable to see someone deprived of any sort of life from such an early age become a happy and well-adjustred individual, capable of a great act of kindness and caring to another species. Blessings upon young Nicholas and all the humans who helped him find happiness.

Photo: Nicholas at PrimRose Sanctuary

Doc At Winter Camp

2011-01-07T14:04:00.000-08:00

He has now been there a week and is having a thoroughly good time. He loves the activity of a large barn and, given his sociable nature, was greeted warmly by old friends and is making lots of new ones, human and other. The first day in the large indoor riding room he put on a display of leaping and air boxing when the Woman put him on the spinning rope. She said he looked like an orange salmon trying to spawn. Since then he has settled down and is hauling Herself around in there almost daily.

Meanwhile, Molly remains peevish because she knows exactly where Doc is and would like to be there herself. She spends her days commandeering whatever hay pile Jack and I are are working on. She has grown a goat-like beard this year and, coupled with her habit of grunting, she is looking and sounding like a Sasquatch pony. We are all dreading shedding season, when it finally comes.

Jack is struggling with the cold this year, in spite of his heavy winter blanket. The woman has plans to install a fleece lining in it. Given her seamstressing skills, which are nil, and her complete lack of fine motor skills, we can assume she will do as usual and sew it to herself.

Sally is almost permanently in her heated bed, and owing to virtually no exercise, she has grown to fill the whole thing. Getting in and out requires much concentration on her part or the whole bed becomes wedged on her hips. She is a simple soul and requires only sustenance and regular patting to remain perfectly happy. Molly grooms her daily so her fur is arranged in spikes all down her back.

And I? I persevere. That's all I can say. My mind is in warmer climes but my body remains resolutely stuck in the snow drifts.

Happy New Year One and All

2011-01-01T09:27:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are, another year having whistled by like the proverbial bullet. Odd how the winter months trudge and the summer ones travel at the speed of light. I have a few news items to report on this first day of 2011.

First of all, my dear friend Mosby Horse (senior equine to Emi Human) turns 36 years old today. He is in fine fettle, still leaping and frolicing about his paddock and still very much in charge of his harem of older horse ladies. He is receiving lots of congratulatory cards; ours features a fortune-telling ape of some sort and was chosen by Doc. Doc was driven over there yesterday to use their large indoor riding room for two months and he was chanting "Partaaaay, partaaaay, wooooo!" as he drove away so I can only hope Mosby is prepared.

Our friend Laurel, who volunteers at PrimRose, took some photographic imprints of O'Sullivan and Simon in their new and colourful coats so you could see just how stylish they look. We believe Simon's to be a Black Watch pattern and O'Sullivan's to be a window pane design. They are both inordinately pleased.

I wish you all a very happy and healthy year to come, with lots of empty calories and warm sunshine, free of burrs and full of Stud Muffins.

This, That and A Happy Donkey Story

2010-12-27T09:03:00.000-08:00

I have been somewhat incommunicado, owing to the revolting and ongoing illness of Herself. She has been in the grips of a plague-like flu for over a week and we have had the great pleasure of seeing much more of the male human. He is a very liberal hand with the foodstuffs and of course presented us with a large container of Stud Muffins on Christmas day.

We saw nothing of the Woman for three days and when she appeared it was not a sight for sore eyes but a sight to make eyes sore. She looks overcooked, underwashed and even worse dressed than usual. Her breathing sounds like a wooden sailing ship in full flight before the storm. She crackles and pops and wheezes, often far too close for a donkey's comfort. I am trying to remain civil but the strain is beginning to tell.

Meanwhile, we have heard that Gazelle, who is my assistant here on the blog, has officially become Simon Donkey's sponsor at the sanctuary. Simon is very pleased to have his own person to see to all his needs and his first move was to acquire a tartan blanket. He and O'Sullivan have been honoured with the gift of Tabi's stall for shelter on cold winter nights and they appear to be suitably awed. O'Sullivan has his own tartan blanket and they look like two old Scottish gentlemen imbibing their bowls of haggis when they go in at feed time. Hard to believe where their lives are now compared to a year ago...

Sharing Some Christmas Spirit

2010-12-21T12:01:00.000-08:00

Presenting some videos to get you into the Christmas Spirit:

First from our good fren Buddy, three equines frolicing in the snow. Why they'd want to do that I do NOT know ... and yet it does look like they're enjoying themselves. How extraordinary !

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2BCVoaZgww&feature=email

Next, Sally asked that this one be shared with all her friends.

http://www.simonscat.com/santaclaws.html

And finally, not to be accused of speciesism, here's how some other friends celebrate the season:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4_EdJ-XkUA

ENJOY !

Alternative Mouse Catching

2010-12-14T13:48:00.000-08:00

Herself is adhament that whatever the weather we must go out to receive the benefits of fresh air and exercise. Yes, I know we have a run-in, but nevertheless the temperatures are such that our breath nearly freezes mid-air and falls to the ground before we have taken the next breath. If Dante's Inferno can be frozen, then we are living in it.

We were lined up at the door this afternoon, listening carefully to the sounds of our dinners being cooked within, when a terrible thumping and crashing burst forth. The woman seemed to be moving large pieces of furniture and exhorting Sally on to greater efforts in...well in what undertaking we didn't exactly know. Finally the woman appeared at the door, out of breath and blotchy of visage. Sally was sitting in the doorway of the tack room, doing some heavy breathing herself.

We filed in in the usual order and got down to the serious business of calorie intake. The woman was busy allocating our hay pittance when she suddenly rose straight up in the air and said "Wahhhh yerrrrgh waugggh"! I assumed she had suddenly begun speaking in tongues - something entirely possible around here - and carried on with ferreting out the peppermint and apple bits in my dinner (more molecular size than actual bits, you understand).

Sally was in the process of standing up and this revealed a rather plump mouse, upon which she had been sitting. It was said rodent's tail that the woman had observed moving as it stuck out of Sally's fur on one side. The mouse took a deep breath, shook himself and stalked off in an offended manner, no doubt to continue his predations on whatever he had been working over when he was rudely interrupted by a gigantic, furry posterior squashing him to the floor.

The woman became even more animated, imploring Sally to chase the escaping criminal but Sally merely watched her with great interest, waiting to see what new gyrations might be forthcoming. Sally then yawned, stretched, and went to the shelf where her Kitty Temptation Treats are stored. "Mmmmmm mmmmmeow?" she said. Which means, treats, please, in feline.

This caused the woman to become quite indignant and to trot out her old lecture about her being the only one doing any work around here. Completely unfair, of course, as Sally had caught the mouse just as the woman had demanded. Surely it was up to Herself to take over once he had been released from Sally's ingenius holding technique.

There's simply no pleasing some people. I speak from experience.

And So Begins The Seasonal Insanity

2010-12-08T06:55:00.001-08:00

Picture this. A small grey donkey, on an icy grey day, staring into the grey distance, chewing thoughtfully on some insufficient forage. The snow is accumulating, the winter looming long and cold before him. He sighs and retreats to warm thoughts of spring fund raisers and days of lying on the hot sand, baking himself to perfection.

Suddenly, a hideous visage appears not two inches from his and a terrible screeching assaults his sensitive ears: "I WANT A HIPPOPOTAMUS FOR CHRISTMAS...ONLY A HIPPOPOTAMUS WILL DOOOOOOOO..." After the initial shock, I fled into the trees, the odious lyrics and caterwauling still ringing through hill and dale. "I DON'T WANT RHINOCEROSES, ALL I WANT'S A HIPPOPOTAMUS". Why? Why would she want a large, river-dwelling denizen of darkest Africa to appear under the festive tree? Why? And why the prejudice against the perfectly inoffensive rhinoceros? It made absolutely no sense, even by her standards.

"That's it",I said to Jack, "the apocalypse is upon us, the harpies are announcing it's immenent arrival. Save yourself if you can." He gave me a strange look and carried on eating. The Woman herself looked somewhat surprised and had the good grace to wonder out loud how the frightful verses had become lodged in her tiny brain. I can only conclude that it is a result of listening to the all-Christmas-all-the-time station on the radio box. She promised not do it again but no more than five minutes later was warbling "Saaaaaanta Claus is comin ta townnnnn"along with some faceless entity called "The Boss". She is posessed. I recommend her immediate removal to what Jack calls "the loony bin". They have the training and skills to deal with this sort of thing.

I don't know. The season is just beginning and my nerves are already in tatters. Next comes the seasonal headgear and red bows everywhere. Then there is the terrible fight with the tree that they insist on dragging into the house. My only faint hope is that the male human remembers our bucket of Stud Muffins. These are hard times indeed, my friends, hard times.

A Good News/Bad News Report

2010-12-05T13:34:00.000-08:00

It's windy and snowing - that is always bad news. Apart from that I have information on the Foot Sore Five who were rescued and as is often the case, the reports are mixed.

Juliette, the quite charming pony, had her first foot trim and was discovered to have one very twisted back foot and leg. It was thought that with time this could be, if not fixed, at least made to be comfortable. Shortly afterwards, the vet performed a complete physical on her and the news was uniformly both bad and sad. Over the eleven years she had been incarcerated in the weedy paddock, her health had been severely compromised. She suffered from such extreme malnutrition that her teeth had rotted away and, in spite of a misshapen round belly, her health had been damaged beyond repair.

The vet felt that given the coming winter, coupled with Juliette's failing health, the kindest thing to do would be to help her slip off to be with Tabi and the others who reside on the other side. And so, because of one human's arrogance and ignorance, Juliette left us long before her time. I hope she has found peace and comfort. She knew unending love at the sanctuary for a short while and that must count for something...

Now, some good news. Lillian Llama has been adopted into a home that already houses a llama named Cinnamon and the two lady llamas have become inseperable. Lillian had her coat of burrs clipped off and the halter that was growing into her face removed. She is being pampered and cossetted and is loving every minute of her new life. There are some horses and an alpaca there as well and the two ladies can survey the scene and tut-tut to their heart's content while ingesting the best of everything.

Simon and O'Sullivan Donkey have both had dental care and the raw wounds on their tongues and the insides of their mouths (from years of pointy teeth rubbing) have begun to heal. They are both, after some fairly heated discussions, now wearing cozy winter blankets. They reluctantly agree it's much more comfortable than shivering away the calories they need to grow healthy. Simon arrived with a broken tail and spine damage but the vet feels that as he is young it will probably heal within the year. O'Sullivan's shocking feet are beginning to come around and may even approach a reasonable state of normal some day. He is standing and moving about much more these days. And now neither is dropping wads of food as they try to eat. In fact, Simon is doing his best to frolic, in spite of his handicap, and is being soundly told off by the much senior O'Sullivan.

Peter Donkey was found to have two abcesses and a huge crack across his bad foot. The farrier cleaned out the abcesses and allowed them to drain and packed the crevice with some medicinal material. Peter is feeling much more comfortable. Once again, his situation was completely preventable and was due solely to the shocking lack of care at the inhuman human's. I join the llama ladies in tut-tutting at the insanity of parts of the human race. And thank Sheila for trying to balance the damage they do.

Our Respite Is Over

2010-11-29T14:09:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's true. Herself has bustled back into town, undoing all the zen-like goodness that the last week with Jamie has wrought. I can only assume she was unceremoniously escorted over the border after annihilating their food reserves for the next year.

I did hear that she was harassed regarding the importation of a plum pudding (with hard sauce) on her voyage over but of course she had her way and it was finally delivered to the American cousins along with a jar of chutney. I suppose the authorities thought the pudding was some sort of incendiary device disguised as a curling stone. They professed themselves highly perplexed that anyone would consider the object a fit ending to a celebratory meal.

And what, pray tell, did she bring us? Hah! NOT. ONE. THING. I should mention that amongst other activities she visited the Peabody Essex Museum in the venerable town of Salem and returned with various items from the gift shop. I had hoped for a small souvenir of the place - perhaps a replica of a cudgel for striking witches or a copy of the original documents from the famous witch trials of the 1600's - but no. Either would have stood me in good stead in my daily dealings with Herself.

We are most certainly back to what passes for normal around here. We were thrown out into the elements at the crack of dawn, with a few scraps of hay to share amongst ourselves. I made my way into the hay storage area to forage and was soundly told off for my resourcefulness. Ditto for trying to ease my hunger pangs by chewing on the fence. I know how poor old Ivan Denisovich felt out there in the wastes of Siberia.

From The Fog

2010-11-22T16:07:00.000-08:00

It's probably best that I'm not able to speak to you live - we wouldn't be able to see each other. The fog and rain are as thick as a winter blanket. Of course the woman keeps lurching up behind me and scaring me half to death. Someone should install a fog horn on her... or she could just use her normal speaking voice.

She and the male human are going off to America for that nation's version of Thanksgiving, where she will no doubt proceed to annihilate their turkey and pie reserves. The good news is that we will have the admirable Jamie catering to our every need. He requires nothing of us except that we eat the delicious food he prepares. No exercise, no nagging and no critiquing of body shape. He also bats Sally's toy mouse around to perfection, allowing her to play the role of a large, predatory feline. The toy mouse contains a pleasant smelling herb that encourages her to ever greater feats of stalking and pouncing. When it's effect wears off, she retreats to her plush igloo to recover.

To the United States of America, I send you my heartfelt sympathies, but rest assured, it's only for five days. However, I also thank you for this respite from a tongue "sharper than a serpent's tooth" (at least on the subject of random wood chewing). Our rail fencing may be prove to be surprisingly remodelled when she returns.

Foot Sore Five Update

2010-11-18T14:34:00.000-08:00

What a difference a few days make. The four assorted equines who were rescued by Sheila from their wretched, footsore existence are now looking like shipwrecked sailors who have washed up on a magical isle. They can't quite believe it and they fervently hope it isn't all an illusion.

Timothy, the mule with the elf slipper feet, has had a first trim done and is considerably more comfortable. The farrier is confident he will make a full recovery. He desperately wants to be sociable and though he has a few misgivings about the intentions of the human race, he has let the volunteers deburr his tail and legs, which were a solid mass of itching, scratching misery. His resemblance to the much larger Russell Mule is startling.

Stuart Donkey attaches himself firmly to anyone who will let him and is proving to be an affectionate and loving soul. He believes himself to be a donkey version of one of those lap dogs. His feet are looking, if not exactly normal after the first trim, then at least like underpinnings which have a bright future.

Paula Donkey gave Sheila a bit of a surprise shortly after her arrival. She demonstrated a stance whilst, uhhhm, micturating, that indicated clearly that SHE is a HE! A long and tangled winter coat, coupled with a low, shuffling gait brought on by aching feet kept the detail of gender a mystery. Now renamed Peter, his feet have not fared so well. One back foot is so contorted that an x-ray will be done to determine the level of damage. He is receiving pain relief until the vet can assess his condition further.

Juliette Pony likewise has one back hoof and leg that are permanently twisted as a result of years of neglect. Unlike Peter, she seems to have developed moves to compensate for the handicap and although her leg will never be right, she is not in pain.

And poor Lillian Llama - what of her? Well, progress is being made. She is taking her meals in the trailer and recently began to sleep in there as well. A kind vet tech delivers her warm meals twice a day. It has been decided that she will be happiest with her colleagues at the sanctuary and her move will take place very, very soon.

Shadow the goat, now renamed VanaRose, made clear to Laurel the volunteer that her ears were feeling the chill and so Laurel has made her several sets of ear covers, in varying thicknesses so she can weather the winter chill in comfort. They match her tartan winter blanket, giving her a stylish air not usually seen outside the larger fashion houses.

Billie, human to Rafer and Redford, has declared November 18th to be International Donkey Day. What a wise and considerate woman and what an excellent idea! I have yet, however, to receive gifts or even lavish praise from Herself. The status quo is obviously alive and well around here.

Quadriplegic Donkey Walks Again

2010-11-17T08:40:00.000-08:00

Buddy in Nevada has sent this along so everyone can enjoy the happy ending. It's a long read but well worth it. Thank you Buddy.

www.thoroughbredtimes.com/national-news/2010/november/15/horse-health-quadriplegic-donkey-walks-again.aspx

Ssssss, ssssn, sssssno....It's Coming

2010-11-14T15:21:00.000-08:00

I can't bring myself to say the whole word; it's simply too traumatic. I prefer to picture my nephews, Rafer and Redford Donkey, frolicking through a southern autumn. How civilized, how warm, how snow-free.

It has been quite bearable here lately but even as I write, the weather gurus are predicting a light dusting of sn...., well, you know. We had a surprise ambush of the wet stuff a week ago and Jack was so incensed that he had a massive attack of the screaming squitters and refused to leave the run-in all day. Very messy both inside and out. Whenever he saw the woman, he expressed himself loudly. He would prefer to live in the house but given his bathroom habits I believe it to be unlikely.

He liked last week better because the sun, weak and unmotivated as it is in November, made an appearance nearly everyday. He was able to bake himself in front of the barn, where he dozed and mumbled in his sleep and sucked on his loose front tooth. Doc has been very busy decorating his person with the bounty of fall, mainly mud, burrs and sticks. Molly has grown a sasquatch-like coat and is eating anything remotely chewable. I am brooding on the coming insanity of winter.

We are still awaiting news of Lillian Llama.

More About Feet

2010-11-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

I have been very busy this last week gleaning information where I can - mostly by sidling up behind the woman and monitoring her conversations with Sheila of the PrimRose Sanctuary. The discussions revolved around a group mysteriously referred to as "The Foot Sore Five". I thought it might be some sort of secret hiking and tour group, hence my intense interest but in fact it is a group of five assorted individuals who have existed in a horrible sort of Limbo for over a decade.

The setting is a gated property with two mansions on it. It has a weed and burdock infested paddock which cannot be seen from the road and in which two donkeys, a small mule, a pony and a llama have been incarcerated for eleven years. The incarceration came about when the "owner" of the animals, declaring himself to be destitute, asked his friend the mansion owner if he could park the group of five in the paddock. The paddock is large enough that the five were able to forage for food but there has been no health or foot care for the duration. The mansion owner seemed to feel that as these were not his animals, he should not expend any sort of energy or money on their well-being.

His sister, upon her return a short while ago, tried to take some action on the foot front and was banished from the family home by her brother, who was infuriated at her interference. The sister, many donkey blessings be upon her head, called Sheila. The brother was even more furious - it seems that even though he doesn't care for animals in general and these in particular, he felt no one should intervene on their behalf. The dust has settled, the four equines are at the sanctuary but the llama, who in her previous life was quite sociable, cannot be caught yet.

I have instructed the woman to post some photos of the shocking state of the collective feet. Paula the female donkey has one back hoof that will never completely recover, as does Timothy the small mule. Stuart, the male donkey, has a better foot outlook as does Juliette the pony. Sheila tells us that their comfort level with humans has soared since arriving at the sanctuary and she has hopes that all will eventually be well enought to find loving homes.

Sheila has llama expert friends, including a vet, socializing the llama, who is called Lillian. She is being fed a warm meal twice a day and is coming around to the idea of entering a trailer. I just hope the angry man who owns the property lets the process move forward. Lillian is missing her charges and needs a home that will care for her properly. I might add that all five, but especially Lillian, are liberally coated in burrs from nose to tail.

Jack and I have had intense discussions as to why so many angry and volatile humans become entangled with the unfortunate members of other species. I know it has something to do with control and power but still...I would have thought this one angry man would have welcomed the chance to empty his paddock. I will give llama news when I have some.

Autumn Sneaks In On Little Skunk Feet

2010-10-28T15:51:00.000-07:00

We believe the feet were attached to a fully-loaded skunk. We drew that conclusion from the highly fragrant state of our paddock yesterday morning. Evidently they like the idea of approaching winter as much as we donkeys. They're just better at expressing their feelings.

Jack and I have been snacking on a selection of nicely dried leaves but the horses insist on grazing over the spent pasture. They have very little imagination and a woefully primitive palate. Molly did debark a tree but that was in a fit of pique because the Woman was working with Doc. It garnered her some attention, even if it was in the form of bellowed threats.

The foot man came yesterday and thankfully pulled off Molly's steel shoes for the winter. It lessens her stomping ability by about fifty percent which chagrins her to no end. We had our usual hoof trims and although Jack had a passing bout of projectile manure expulsion, this time he missed the foot man's shoes. This caused the foot man to become even more cheerful than usual.

The corn in our front field is being processed by the huge machine, the observing of which is one of my favourite pastimes. Last night was even more exciting. We experienced a "weather event" which I believe to have been a small tornadic activity. There was a tremendous wind which sounded like a train, accompanied by intense rain and then the air pressure and temperature changed instantly and dramatically. We could see the lights on the front of the corn mangling machine and quite suddenly the corn whipped from side to side and then ascended directly up in the air, as if pulled by a violent, unseen hand. It was of great interest for someone who studies weather patterns as avidly as I.

The woman sank to her usual low level, repeating the facile "witticism" she always finds so amusing. "Sheaffer, if we have a tornado, we'll all hide under you and hang onto a leg." Ha. Ha. Ha.

a blak beeste

2010-10-20T12:51:00.000-07:00

this here is jack and i wanta give ya the true story of what happin here lass week.

sum visiters come over and when they git outta their veehickle out jumps this big blak dog thing that starts runnin aroun and barkin and yippin and carryin on like a maneiack. hes a good five-six hans tall with black curlee hair and beedy eyes and a haf a tale. well sir, i tak one look and gallup over all the while brayin and honkin ta beet the band and sonnys rite there behine me. the humins are quite amuse but that beeste knows what im sayin - come here boy, i wanta cleen yer clock fer ya. they tie him bak on his rope.

THEN they come in the padduck and mak for the barn. i tale the blak beeste right over, offerin ta kill him and leave no trace. he takes mi point and hides behin the humins. they think im jus proteckin penny dog an its true - he plays too rough fer her but i juss don like no canine strangers anywheres neer my place ATall. doc helps out by tryin ta reech him over the door and dern nere sukseeds but the humins bust up his plan.

one of tha humins which is call gazelle on here and which is auntie to bouncy dog which is the blak beeste visiter took movin piksures and they decide on account of its cold and windee and im fit ta be tied they will tak sonny out for a walk without me. kin ya believe it? no, me neether. i pitch a fit thet billie prolly kin here in them carolineas. doc an molly get rite in on it and we have quite a time runnin and screamin and tarryhootin aroun. sonny dont say nothin - he never do. hes what ya call a solitaire at hart tho i stik ta him like glue at all time.

anyways if ya go ta yourTube - what? oh. go to uTube - what? oh fer petes sake! go to that youTube thing and write in sheaffer donkey and you mite see me runnin aroun like a reel angry wild man. i look pritty good if i do say so miself. thers some picksures of the others runnin too excep sonnys climin a hill with whatsername. you dont gotta look at those. you could juss look at mee if you want.

Leon Moves On

2010-10-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

The first thing I must tell you is that Leon, the throwaway donkey that the Woman bought at auction, is now in his new home. He had his "brain surgery" and whilst recovering, he met the human of his dreams.

Unseen forces must be at work here because the thread that pulled his human to him was a thin but strong one. Sheila, who runs the sanctuary under PrimRose Donkey's guidance, found an injured Cooper's Hawk in the middle of the road one day. She bundled him up and took him to a nearby sanctuary that helps wildlife recover from various traumas. Helping out that day was a veterinarian who donates time whenever she can to giving medical assistance to the patients. There are two donkeys who live at the sanctuary and of whom this medical woman had grown most fond. Sheila arrived, bearing the towel-encased hawk, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The vet woman visited the sanctuary and was introduced to the residents. Her eyes met Leon's across the recovery paddock and that was that. The normally quite shy Leon rushed to her side and they proceeded to stare deeply into each other's eyes and to breathe deeply up each other's nostrils. They were mutually besotted. Plans were made for Leon to move to her house.

In preparation for the move, Sheila put the metal box on wheels in his paddock for a few days and placed food inside. Leon's three trailering experiences in his short life have not been happy ones and he firmly declined to enter. Sheila warned his new human that he might object strenuously to being moved. Enter the new Leon human with her rather posh wheels. Repeat deep breathing and mutual admiration exercise and cue Leon happily skipping up the ramp beside his new soul mate. Love apparently does conquer all.

He is blissfully ensconsed in his new home with three large draft horses who have become his boon companions. The new human took a week off work to strengthen their bond even further and Leon is feeling like a young emperor surveying his empire. I do like a happy ending.

A mere three months ago Leon was running loose beside a major highway, having been thrown out like so much trash by his worthless humans. He was captured, held at a livestock valuator's facility for several weeks and then put through the stress of a busy meat auction. No wonder he wasn't overly optimistic. With the help of an injured avian he found the path to the person and place he needs. Long may he rule over his new kingdom.

Two Gifts

2010-10-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

It's been a peculiar week. Jack and I each received a completely unexpected gift and our reactions were mixed, to say the least.

On Monday, Jack had just finished his shredded cubes and was beginning to sort through his hay. Suddenly, he snorted, flew to the back of his room and began trying to exit through his locked door. The woman looked suitably alarmed and rushed to his side. She examined his hay pile and found nothing. He remained adhament that something was terribly wrong. She sighed and rifled through the hay once more. "Oh", she said, "I see", and casually shot the object under the divider and right onto my hay! I trumpeted and retreated up the back wall of my room.

She picked up said object and waved it in my direction, laughing like a mad person. I refused to look. She climbed over my stall guard and continued waving the thing in my face. I opened one eye and beheld - Sally's toy mouse. Honestly, I appreciate Sally's generosity but I fear Jack and I can't stand much more of her thoughtfulness.

On a happier note, it transpired that while the Woman and male human were in Chicago, they did indeed buy me a gift. It is a small but tasteful poster bearing the motto "Keep Calm and Carry On". I believe it to be a British saying from the Second World War and very apropos in our barn. My understanding is that although it is displayed on the wall where I can see it, it is really a directive for the others. I pride myself on my sangfroide in stressful situations - unless a fake mouse is involved.

I Need Help...

2010-10-04T17:32:00.000-07:00

Well, that's what SHE says. SHE says I have a problem with "oral fixation" because I enjoy exploring the textures of anything mouth-sized.

I admit, there was that fine English leather bridle - it was exquisite on the palate. The soft, buttery feel, the essence of leathery goodness and the satisfying recoil off the back molars. My, how she carried on. Then there was the rubber currycomb and the wooden mounting block and the glove with the raised pattern and the book about horse ailments and the cord for the heater thing and the plush animal belonging to a small visitor...each unique and deeply enjoyable in it's own way.

The issue reared it's ugly head again (actually SHE, reared her ugly head again) when she had finished spinning Doc around on the long rope today and cast it aside on the ground. They rode off to practice their - whatever it is they do - so I naturally assumed she had no further use for the rope. I sidled over to assess the target - I mean to casually inspect the object. It was of cotton/leather construction and had a pleasingly pliable feel. In no time I had it clenched firmly between the back molars and was working away with a sawing motion. A feeling of complete and utter bliss swept over me.

SHEAFFERRRRRRR!!! It felt like a bomb had gone off in my ear. She glared down at me from her perch atop Doc. "Youmiserablelittlesneakyungratefuldonkeycriminal". I fled in terror, rope stuck firmly between my clenched teeth. I galloped around, trailing yards of rope until I finally remembered to unclench my teeth. Upon retrieval, it was discovered the rope had substantial - ahem - alterations, but had not been severed completely. She stormed off, muttering threats over which I am sure I could take legal action.

She is particularly peevish because she has purchased "toys" solely for our use and destruction. I simply do not care for them. They are either of an infantile nature or inferior design. The browbeating will continue, I know, but I will soldier on in pursuit of the finer things in life to masticate. As long as this remains a democratic nation, I shall exercise my right to chew freely.

You're All Invited!

2010-09-30T14:31:00.000-07:00

Gazelle, one of my faithful readers and a good friend as well, made an excursion to the sanctuary last weekend and fortunately took her photographic equipment with her. She has invited us to view the photos at her virtual picture gallery. http://picasaweb.google.com/gazelle600/PrimRoseDonkeySanctuary

She apologizes if the album is a tad Leon and Annabelle heavy. Since she, as Jack says, "sprung fer the dough ta spring em" from the auction ring, we feel it's quite understandable.

Dear Willy...

2010-09-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

Thank you for sending two of your humans over yesterday on a mission to improve our so-called lifestyle. You, and they, did your best but Herself is as immoveable as the Great Wall of China when it comes to our dreary, Dickensian, Gulag-like existence.

They walked us down the path, they brought us a whole tub of gummi worms (they thoughtfully brought the Woman flowers but she didn't even taste them). And then, in the most arrogant display of raw power yet, Herself forced our friend Jamie to assault Jack with the dreaded vermifuge while they looked on, distraught and helpless.

As soon as Jack was secured to a fence post, he twigged to the cruel deception and began rearing and body slamming Jamie into the fence. He pursed his lips and flicked the tube on the ground with his tongue. When it was done, he dragged Jamie down the lane in a fit of rage, adding in some impressive bucking and head tossing whilst continuing to body slam him. The guests offered gummi worms as solace and he spat them out with contempt.

Now, I have never minded the dreaded vermifuge and in fact have never even worn a halter for the event, but having seen Jack's violent display, when the woman came at me, as a show of solidarity I shied and backed up at tremendous speed. She pronounced it to be nonsense and before I could blink, I had swallowed the lot. I also spat out my gummi worm. Molly ate the rejected worms with no hesitation whatsoever and pronounced them delicious.

So, Willy, your efforts are appreciated and we very much hope your humans return often, but please don't hold out hope for improvements around here any time soon. She is forcing me to mention that we each got a few gummi worms in our hot dinners tonight but I mention it under duress. It was not any sort of thawing of the ice in her veins, I'm sure, just a moment of absentmindedness. The worm has not turned.

Facelift and Fruititarians

2010-09-21T17:42:00.000-07:00

You probably thought the facelift pertained to Herself - which is certainly understandable when you've seen her first thing in the morning but no, our barn is being spruced up before winter. A personable young woman and her dog, Abby, have been hard at work, scraping and painting away, with lots of supervision and advice from us, of course.

When we saw them arrive we rushed over and greeted them (the Woman says swarmed) and tried in every way possible to help out. Jack arranged her hair, I stared deep into her ear and Doc and Molly made off with her coat and gloves. Molly offered to drink the paint and Jack and I offered to kill Abby - nothing personal, you understand, we just operate that way. We two donkeys then spent the morning running the fence line with Abby on the other side keeping pace. When the Woman arrived and patted Abby, Jack burst into a chorus of outraged bellows, accusing her of fraternising with the enemy.

On the coyote front, the male human discovered the fearless duo from last week, this time at midday Saturday, tucking into the fallen and fermenting pears on the lawn like so many prime oysters. They regarded him with mild interest and stepped behind the tree in the belief he could no longer see them. He ran to get the noxious spray but when he returned, they were too far for him to take action. I don't know...when did the world become a place where carnivores round out their diet with fruit? It might explain why the rabbit population around here is still so high. Or maybe the coyotes, like the crows, have discovered the inebriating powers of decaying fruit. Yes. That sounds more likely.

Under Siege!

2010-09-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

Our adventures with wildlife continue unabated. These days it's nearly impossible to catch a wink of sleep around here.

The humans have returned from Chicago and no, it was not windy but was in fact sunny and warm. Ideal conditions for a donkey to stroll the Magnificent Mile of Michigan Avenue, taking in all the fine, late 19 century buildings. However, there were no donkeys present, including self. SHE knows how I feel about this so when there was a close encounter with coyotes the night after her return, I was rooting heavily for the coyotes, hoping they could find the strength to haul her off to their den. Unless they rent heavy equipment, I doubt it will happen.

Herself and Penny had just gone off to the house after installing us in our rooms with meagre portions of food. Darkness was falling quickly, as is it's wont at this time of year, when we heard the most awful roaring and shrieking coming from the front porch. Doc flew to his window and reported back.

"Holeeeee theres two kyotes chasin the dog on the porch and now dog is hiding behin the womin and them kyotes is just standin there starin at her. Shes yellin and screamin and wavin her armses at em and jumpin on one foot (it transpired that Penny had carried off one of her shoes as security when the coyotes were first spotted from an upstairs window). Kyotes look to be laughin and jest keep standin on the porch. Now shes trying to make em run and they wont and now shes real close. Here come the male humin and now the kyotes is starin at him and now they startin to walk away slow. Woman looks purpil in this lite and is hoppin after em but theyre still walkin slow down the driveway. Penny is yellin at em from behin the woman and her hair is standin up - aktully both has their hair standin up.

The racket was deafening and the next morning the woman had a grating and hideous tone as a result of the sore throat caused by her banshee behaviour. She went off somewhere yesterday and got a flashlight device capable of illuminating the Parliament buildings and a can of some spray substance. Also a whistle. So far she has deafened us by trying out the whistle and nearly blinded me when she came out for ten o'clock feed last night. Next she will undoubtedly see a shadow and blast all of us with the spray. The coyotes may simply die laughing or move away because they consider the area unfit for raising offspring.

This isn't over yet. Herself says the next step is for the coyotes to move into the house and take control of the remote (remote what, she didn't say).

I'm Hurt - Not Surprised - Just Hurt

2010-09-08T15:22:00.000-07:00

Why, you ask? Just as my budding career as a naturalist was well launched, off go the humans to that cottage place where they saw what? - all sorts of nature, that's what. On her return the Woman babbled on and on about how I would have loved every minute of it. A cottage made entirely of wood - inside and out (imagine the snack possibilities!), an indoor fire burning device, a lake with no motorized watercraft and six hundred acres of nature in the raw. She is a cruel, cruel woman.

I suppose I should get the subject of THE HAT out of the way. It seems that although generally overcast, the sun made a brief appearance and, having left her headgear behind, the woman decided to craft her own out of the local vegetation. Frankly, I would have been mortified to have been seen with her in that outlandish head-salad. I would have been compelled to consume the whole thing and that would have led to "words". But I digress.

She showed me the photos she took and I must confess, the unhatched loon eggs are my favourite. I don't know why they didn't hatch but surely she could have brought them back for my collectibles shelf. They saw the parent loons and just missed seeing a whole rumble? riot?assembly? of otters. And a beaver. They viewed assorted vegetation, including pitcher plants, which I would have liked to try out as a flask. We're not speaking for now but I have allowed her to post her photos. I mean, why should you be deprived as well? And I need all of you to bear witness to her unmitigated cruelty.

Today she told me they are off to Chicago for the weekend. I'm waiting for my invitation. I have long wished to do the architectural tour and to ascertain for myself if it truly is the windy city. She may not like elevators but I embrace the idea of a vertically moving box that saves all that calorie burning. I know I would adapt to hotel living without hesitation. Jack says that if we are invited he will take the stairs.

The Wilder Side

2010-09-01T12:35:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy week here on the farm. What with basking in the record-breaking hot temperatures, chiding Herself into womaning the keyboard and taking turns with Jack in removing each others fly masks, I'm on the go from dawn to dusk. Not too busy, however, to notice the other entities whose activities cross over into our lives.

The first is a young bear. I have not met him personally, yet, but our paths may cross as he roams the area in search of room and board. He ran into, almost literally, a friend of ours when said friend was driving to work a block away from here. The young bear ran up out of a ditch, clutching a fish in his mouth. Human and bear veered frantically in different directions as they tried to avoid each other. The fish was dropped and each of them staggered off, rattled by the near miss. I feel very badly for the bear. He's new to the concept of making a living in the wilds and who knows how long he had to work at it before he caught dinner. I hope this doesn't discourage him and drive him into the arms of the local garbage cans (wait, do garbage cans have arms?). One more thing for me to brood about.

Next we have a frog. We know it is a lady frog because she had her four or five thousand children in our water trough. Of course Herself discovered this as, without her spectacles, she was emptying the water preparatory to scrubbing the trough. OoooooooNooooooo she wailed in her usual grating tones. As she stared at the puddle on the ground, a handsome frog hopped out from under the tilted trough. Although I was a distance away, I spotted it immediately and made my way over. Meanwhile, Herself was apologizing to the frog for the misunderstanding about her extensive family and offering her a light misting with the hose. The frog looked unconvinced and lay flat on the ground but as she felt the water droplets she sat bolt upright, blinking slowly and gulping.

I eased over carefully so as not to scare her and sloooooowly lowered my nose. Imagine my surprise when she suddenly sprang upwards with a mightly leap, nearly lodging herself in my left nostril. I leapt backwards, sitting down with an abrupt thud. The woman made strangled gasping noises which might have been a crude attempt at laughter. I stalked off, my dignity in tatters. Since then, the frog comes out every day for a shower and the woman makes a large puddle in front of the trough for her to lie in. Herself has strict instructions to move any further tadpoles into a safer setting. I will keep watch.

The third new player is an arachnid with argyle-patterned hairy legs who has spun a web of such engineering genius in the run-in door that it will soon be blocked entirely. Of course, it's an ideal place to snare a fat fly or moth and the spider is growing stouter by the day. When an insect lands, the spider rushes over and snips the victim out of the web, folding it neatly and carrying it away. Later the holes are darned over and the integrity of the web restored. Now he/she is spinning out long guy wires that anchor the web even further afield.

Between the frog and the spider, my days are overflowing with scientific field work. I don't mind. Soon enough the landscape will be white and frozen, with nothing stirring but the wind. Jack and I have at least half our winter coats grown in in anticipation.

Now, Where was I...?

2010-08-30T13:30:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, I was going to tell you about a new arrival at PrimRose.

It happened this way. The woman saw a notice on some sort of bulletin board in the ether and it said a lonely donkey was looking for a home. She made contact with a very concerned woman who said the farmer next to her had received a herd of steers and there cowering in the back of the trailer was a bedraggled donkey with deformed feet. The farmer was surprised and far from pleased as he had no desire to be a donkey caretaker. It transpired that this was quite a large donkey who was in decent body weight but whose feet had collapsed and grown freakishly long from years of neglect. The donkey had survived by eating the very rich cattle food but it had taken a toll on his teeth.

Herself put Sheila in touch with the kind neighbour of the farmer and a pickup of the donkey was arranged for the next day. On arrival, it transpired that the farmer had locked the gate to the paddock and gone away for the day. Thus, the poor footsore creature was made to walk a long way around the back and down a rocky hill filled with holes. He was exhausted and in pain when he made it to the trailer. He was in such agony that Sheila, who has seen many sad cases, just hoped and prayed he could make it to the sanctuary.

He did, and was greeted by a bevy of volunteers who descended on him, handfeeding him treats, which were a novelty to him, and combing out some of his long matted coat, whilst allowing him time to look around and take his bearings. He was helped to a paddock with a run-in but as he had never been indoors in any sort of structure, he preferred to lie under a large, shady tree. His food and water was transferred over to him and he tucked into the hay and then lay down for a long rest. An emergency call from the farrier confirmed that his feet were indeed in wretched shape but she does feel he can be made comfortable. He has been named O'Sullivan after the quite wonderful human who facilitated his rescue. She deserves a big thank you for taking time out of her hectic schedule to improve the lot of a throwaway donkey that wasn't even her responsibility. I have researched the concept of karma and I devoutly hope a vast quantity of it is on the way to her.

O'Sullivan is improving daily, especially in his overall outlook on life. He is being pampered and loved by everyone around him and his coat is now free of mats and is the snowy white it should be. His feet have had their first trim and the vet estimates his age as mid-twenties. He is on pain meds for his feet for now but hopefully time will prove to be the best healer and allow him to lead the life he deserves.

Meanwhile, another rescue donkey, Simon, was taken to the sanctuary last week. He comes from a household where the male human detested him so much he threatened to kill him if the woman there didn't get rid of him immediately. Though equally bullied herself, the woman called Sheila and begged her to come and get Simon. Simon is quiet and shy - in no way a being who should provoke rage and hatred from a human, but there you have it. His tail has been broken and no longer works to swish flies away or to express donkey thoughts. Twisting tails and hoisting reluctant donkeys into the trailer is the preferred loading method of some and the results speak for themselves.

There are photos and I will chivvy the woman into posting them - they had to be scanned or scoped or serigraphed or something and so are somewhat harder to get onto the blog.

The "Ladies" Return

2010-08-24T15:48:00.001-07:00

Well. The two would-be mountain climbers are back, no doubt leaving the Adirondacks pulverized into gravel and all those cold mountain rivers drained dry. I can only wonder at the judgement of the authorities that let them return year after year.

Our in-house help was quite satisfactory and Sally had her convinced that her food bowl must be filled to brimming at all times. This woman is unfortunately a seasoned horse person and never let down her guard enough for us to slide into the barn or tack room unnoticed. Other than that, she was most pleasant. She did pronounce my body shape to be"astounding", which I choose to take as a great compliment.

The pears are now so over-ripe that the legions of crows - I believe it is rightly called a "murder" of crows - spend their days becoming inebriated and falling from the branches. Once on the ground the most terrible brawls break out, lowering the tone of the entire neighbourhood. Tsk tsk tsk. Where is the Ladies Temperance League when you need them.

PS I almost forgot to mention that our food supply for the year is being prepared, right here in our own fields, even as I write. Acres and acres of the finest hay, I assume all for me (I mean us). It is being packaged in small squares and large rolls and Jack and I have inspected each and every unit. The woman was quick to assure me that the large rolls are destined for cattle feed but we shall see, we shall see. I think one of those units would make for a sensibly-sized donkey breakfast.

I May Have To Fire Her

2010-08-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

Enough is enough. My transcription services have been shoddy this summer, to say the least. I thought I had things back under control, but no. Herself and Molly are off to stomp around the mountains again - hah, I doubt the mountains will ever be the same.

I have a story to tell you about another donkey rescue that has ended with the donkey in question now being safe at PrimRose. But of course it must wait...

Oh well, at least Doc is home to keep us well guarded while the female element hits the road. We have a new woman coming in to do our housekeeping. We met her today and so far she has my seal of approval. I will report on that as well.

I'm off to brood under the trees; I may take legal action against the Woman and need to build a solid case.

iam bak!!!!!

2010-08-10T15:57:00.000-07:00

this is doc speekin and i am bak home now i had a reeeely good time at camp once i remembereded to stop screemin at everybody. its hard keepin trak of some fortey horses instead of only threee so after day one i give up and just relaxed and chilled. i had my own padduck with some grass and lotsa buddies in the nex padducks. some trees for shade and some hay and water in there. i had a big room an regulur meels. woman came over nearly every day and when it wasnt tooo hot we rode a bit. when i got bak today my peeps were waitin and we did some yellin and runnin around and then i got down to some grass and rollin in the sand. i plan to visit the other place regular so they dont forget me though the woman say once i met anyone they never forget me.

Russian Donkey Now In England

2010-08-10T08:53:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Buddy in Nevada for the update on the poor, parasailing donkey in southern Russia. There was certainly no justice done in that country but at least the tormented soul has a lifetime of good care before her now. Heaven help the other hapless creatures who have the misfortune to dwell in that nation.

http://www.care2.com/causes/animal-welfare/blog/parasailing-donkey-rescued-and-offered-star-studded-home/

Sanctuary News

2010-08-09T09:57:00.000-07:00

My faithful correspondent, Laurel, she who is devoted to the mini-dervish TJ/Virgil, has sent us some news of the sanctuary happenings. The news is good.

First of all, it seems that little Annabelle is not with child after all, much to the relief of everyone. Sheila was correct in assuming the beachball effect was caused by an enormous load of internal parasites. Annabelle is blossoming under all the care and attention she is receiving and is following close on the heels of PrimRose in operating as a sanctuary PR donkey. In fact, so people-oriented is she that there is talk of her travelling along with PrimRose and assuming at least a corner of the mantle of office.

ChristinaRose, the lamb, has doubled in size and quadrupled in energy and has become the resident ovine clown/entertainer. All traces of shyness have disappeared and she has developed a talent for climbing - she can hoist herself up into the food cupboard so efficiently that I wouldn't be surprised if she transfers her stall sign onto that door and sets up office in there.

Leon has been put in a paddock with some other boys, having gotten to know them over the fence, and he, and they, are all pleased with the arrangement. His "brain surgery" is on hold until the cooler weather. He is a sensitive and intelligent soul who is beginning to emerge from his state of cautionary fear. One day he will go home with just the right human, someone who has been waiting for exactly such a donkey as Leon.

The newest arrival at the sanctuary is a three year old female goat who was raised on the bottle (Jack assumed that meant the liquor bottle but I imagine it was milk...). Her name is as yet undecided but the debate rages on, with Dorothy being one of the names put forward. She is still a bit timid and shy but ChristinaRose is showing her the road to becoming a newer, bolder goat. Poor Helen, the venerable and ancient ovine, is now outnumbered two to one. Her rate of "tsk tak tsking" has soared.

I'm Back - Finally

2010-08-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

I haven't exactly been away, except down the farm lane with visitors, but Herself has been so distracted by various things that I haven't been able to chivvy her into doing my transcribing. I obviously need more than one secretary.

We have had visitors from all geographic directions and every last one proved to be a donkeyphile. I have advised the Woman to keep a list of those who are coolish toward Jack and self and to subtlely allow them to slide off the bottom of the list. My plan must be working.

The first group of visitors was Sheila with volunteers Laurel and Christine and Margaret who ran the bake sale at my birthday party. As you can imagine, that was a most satisfactory visit. The only real downside was that we were not invited to dine "at table" with them. Our next group of donkey visitors consisted of two adult humans and Erin, my lifetime friend and her colleague, Alice. Erin is still the only human to have sat upon my back many years ago. They devoted their entire visit to us and when they weren't grooming us, feeding us tasty morsels or walking us down the path, they simply sat in the shade closeby and admired our sheer donkeyness. The Woman dubbed them the Donkey Handmaidens. How we wish they lived nearby. I do have one serious complaint about their visit - they went to Stratford to see "The Tempest", with Christopher Plummer as Prospero. I am bitterly disappointed to have been left behind - she knows I have committed all of Shakespeare's works to memory and I am outraged at the slight.

The next group of humans are some sort of relations to the woman - same breeding on the dam's side, I gather. These were micro-humans and what they lacked in donkey wisdom they made up for with enthusiasm. I should note that under a certain size, human offspring have quite sticky hands and are disposed to share any food substance in their possession - some of it is even edible. Most recently, Annie the Glamour Horse appeared with her human to accompany Molly and Herself on the 25km ride to battle cancer. I'm afraid Jack still has "feelings" for the beauteous one and am afraid they continue unreciprocated. On the brighter side, Susan, one of my human friends, designed shirts of a royal purple hue with my photo on the back (in my crown and sash) and those were the official "Team Sheaffer" apparel for the ride.

We have a few more herds of humans due before end of summer and although I enjoy the diversion, I could wish for better transcription service for the duration. I'm off to continue basking in the heat and humidity. Herself is off to lie like a beached Orca in front of the fan. Plus ca change...

Let Your Outrage be Known

2010-07-25T07:46:00.000-07:00

I checked the calendar and yes, apparently it is 2010 but somewhere in Russia they feel that animal torture and cruelty is not only highly amusing but a fine idea for promoting a business enterprise that depends on attracting tourists.

Here is what happened. Some emotionally and morally deficient humans thought it would be a grand idea to attach a terrified donkey to a giant wing/sail affair and to launch him out over the ocean. The shaking, crying, terrified animal was thus sent aloft where his cries could be heard by all who thought they were at the beach to have a relaxing day in the sun. The humans who perpetrated this "prank" were highly pleased with the result, not caring where the donkey might land or even if he would survive the landing. Miraculously, he did.

The film clip of this shameful event can be seen at: http://news.nationalpost.com/2010/07/21/parachuting-donkey-frightens-russian-beachgoers/
Please be warned, it is not for the faint of heart or for anyone who knows and loves donkeys.

In this country the Russian Ambassador can be reached at ambassador@rusembassy.ca
By all means, let him know your thoughts on this act of animal cruelty and how it reflects on the country as a whole. If you live in another country, please direct your thoughts to the Russian Embassy there. We can't turn back time but we can let it be known that in this age of omnipresent cameras, this sort of idiocy will most likely be seen by a world-wide audience.

Doc Is Gone! (For a Month)

2010-07-17T18:05:00.000-07:00

And it was all very spur of the moment, I must say. The woman came out to the paddock to fetch Molly for a forest ride and Molly, being quite naughty, demured and skipped around just out of reach. Given the heat and humidity, after a few rounds the woman began to have second thoughts. She looked like a boiled, frustrated tomato.

Throughout this drama, Doc had been shadowing the woman, pleading to be the one to be taken somewhere, anywhere. He does love his play days. So the woman snapped the lead onto his halter, groomed him, tacked him up and off they went in the metal box on wheels. Molly was dumbstruck. Served her right, too.

Doc and Herself went to Mosby's place and he was very excited indeed. So excited that he bellowed and cavorted and generally acted like a madman. He was so distracted that when Emi (Mosby's human) tried to ride him past Ben and Jerry Donkey's paddock, he spun and bolted - twice! The woman was utterly disgusted and embarrassed and dragged him back to the fence, whereupon his brain finally began to function and he said "Hey, donkeys, cool!" and tried to pull them through the rails.

The woman made an on-the-spot decision, asking if Doc could stay for a month to help him get over his lack of exposure to outside influences. He has stayed at Mosby's barn over many a winter in the past and it was felt he would soon be comfortable there. So. He has now settled in nicely and the woman is referring to it as his month at summer camp. I suppose he will come home with various crafts, including macramed pot holders, birch bark keychains and a name plaque with his name spelled out in sticks. Sigh. We'll never hear the end of it.

Molly is one very contrite Haflinger and is begging to be caught every time she sees the woman. I think she knows she was the initial cause of all this uproar. Jack and I are looking on the bright side - maybe she'll be sent to summer camp and we'll have the place to ourselves.

Dental Assault, But at Least It's Warm for a Change

2010-07-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

Jack and I feel that we have been having wonderful weather - 102 degrees last week. The others are moaning and staggering about and disolving into puddles as the day wears on. We donkeys have not even broken into so much as a light perspiration. Honestly, what a fuss. Herself has purchased an industrial fan for the run-in and a mesh style gate for Molly's stall front so she has more air circulation from the fan in the aisle. Just grazing in the field last week Molly was soaked from mane to hoof and even had some lather on her sides. These alpine types just can't take anything resembling decent warm weather.

I feel I should share my dental encounter with my readers so you can see how obsessed the woman is with causing me discomfort. My teeth are perfectly fine but every year she has the medical types look in there and decide if anything needs maintenance. Fortunately Doc and Molly went first so I had some time to strategize. They both behaved disgracefully, succumbing to the stupefying agent immediately - Doc even leaned his whole body on the wall like some boozy barfly on a bender. Molly lolled her tongue and could barely keep her feet under her.

By the time the veterinarian got to me, I was ready. I declined the needle in the neck quite forcefully but still got jabbed. He apologized but I detected an whiff of incincerity. I fought the damnable potion and managed to remain fairly alert. Jack was greatly distressed and hammered on the door whilst making a series of wild and dreadful noises. When he threatened to climb over the door to rescue me, the humans decided my teeth should be attacked in the run-in where he could see me but leave if he wished. He hovered like an anxious and ancient nanny throughout.

I confess, once the procedure was underway it proved to be not too terrible. Some filing here , some rasping there and it was done. The vet declared that I had the whitest, hardest, smallest teeth he had seen in ages. He doesn't know that I floss daily with a variety of twigs and never eat immediately before bed. Jack said the man was a hired asassin and wasn't getting anywhere near his teeth or in fact any part of his anatomy. Jack's dental plan remains flexible, with his remaining teeth left unmolested unless he shows signs of dental distress. He says they'll learn a thing or two about distress if they try to pry his jaws apart...

Further News on the Auction Three and A Half

2010-07-05T17:28:00.001-07:00

Sheila and the donkeys were interviewed by one of the major newspapers yesterday so hopefully even more humans can read about the good work she is doing at PrimRose. Many photos were taken and much written down and I look forward to perusing the finished work. When I discover the publication date I will let my blog friends know.

The three and a half newcomers are generally doing quite well. Little Annabelle has had a bath with Tea Tree oil after her delousing with powder and she quite enjoyed it's soothing properties. Jack had those things living on him when he got to Sheila's and he said they made him not only itchy but sapped his strength, which was already low. Annabelle will have a needle stuck in her person to ascertain if she truly is pregnant - good grief, can't they just ask her instead of treating her like a pincushion?? If she proves to be "with child" she will then have an ultrasound (which sounds much more civilized) to determine date of arrival.

Unseen forces may be at work because, as Annabelle was a complete surprise to the woman when she got to the auction, poor Elvira Donkey who has lived at PrimRose for awhile now, was diagnosed with a nasty abdominal tumour. She did very well for a time but is now withdrawn and disinterested in her surroundings. The veterinarian explained that Elvira is in increasing pain and would prefer to slip off quietly with her friends near. Carol, her personal volunteer, is understandably devastated but has pledged to help Annabelle through her troubles. It seems they will need each other for moral support and perhaps there is a serendipitous note about all this...

KristinaRose, the baby sheep, is settling in just fine. Sheila bought her special lamb food and she is taking meds for the cold-like symptoms she picked up at the auction. If Helen is the sheep equivalent of a one hundred and nine year old great granny, then the lamb is a fractious two year old who wants to be with Helen non-stop. Helen spends much time being scandalized by the infantile behaviour but KristinaRose cares not and simply does her best to be a mini-Helen.

Leon is quite well physically, except for his feet, but those will come round with time. He would very much like to interact with humans but his past encounters have left him nervous and wary. He has a strong fear that he will be struck forcibly about the head. The poor lad slowly makes his way over for a piece of apple or carrot (both completely unknown in his former life) but the stress becomes too much and he flees before the humans can touch him. His "brain surgery" will take place as soon as the vet has time and after that he can mix in with William, one of the other boys, for company. Maybe he will learn from William that he is in a safe place and can let down his guard.

So, all is progressing as it should and one day hopefully Annabelle will have a bouncing baby equine (father unknown as yet), Leon will finally learn to trust humans and KristinaRose will achieve her goal and grow up to be just like great granny Helen.

Gayle, who posts here as Gazelle, acts as my official photographer but she is also a life-long friend to all animals. She most generously offered to pay the cost of freeing the Three and a Half from the auction and even now a cheque for their purchase price is winging it's way to Sheila (well, not winging so much as trudging through the system). Thank you Gayle for quietly making a difference.

PS - If anyone knows a non-toxic way to get the last of those dreadful auction number stickers off the newcomers, please let us know!

An Update and Some Explanation of The Auction Photos

2010-06-30T14:52:00.000-07:00

First of all, thank you Gayle for making them viewable on the blog - Herself is not quite - well, she means well, but you know ummmm...nevermind, I'll say no more.

The jack donkey is now called Leon and is thriving at Sheila's. Turns out he's a real people person when overtures are friendly and no one offers to strike him about the head. His feet are terribly long but will come back with care. He is to have what I have heard referred to as "brain surgery" on his nether regions. Humans - just don't know their donkey anatomy. He has a festering sore under his chin, possibly from the too-tight halter he has been wearing for who knows how long and several warty growths. He is young, just six, and is rapidly coming out of his state of guardedness.

The small pregnant jenny is now called Annabelle and after a rough first night, she is settling in well. The farrier made an emergency call on Monday and best of all, though the jenny is horribly foundered, it is a "mechanical" founder (this does not mean her feet are mechanized in any way) but that it is strictly from neglect and none of the internal foot structures are harmed. The humans who consigned her sawed off the front of her hoofs in an attempt no doubt to spruce her up for the auction. She has been dusted with louse powder, has been wormed and will have a vet check this week. She is being doted on by a volunteer called Carol and spends much time with her head buried in Carol's arms.

Annabelle had a bay pony stallion friend in her pen (possibly the father of her unborn baby?), consigned by the same humans, and he too was foundered but no longer lame and had also had his halter taken away. He was extremely courteous with the jenny and the humans alike and knew how to pull a cart and carry children. He was only about ten or eleven hands high so you can see in the photos that Annabelle is truly tiny. The pony was sold for twenty five dollars - fate unknown.

The lamb is now called Kristina-Rose, after the young lady who helped load the trailer and who lent a pony halter to Annabelle (knotted twice at the crown) so she could be led. The lamb is still confused (she is only four months old but was one of the largest at the auction) and sometimes seeks the security of the carrier in which she was transported but Helen, the ancient sheep, is behaving like a great granny and bossing her around so all will be well shortly. Goliath, the small donkey who is self-appointed sheep guardian, is hovering like an expectant father outside their pen, making whuffling noises of assurance.

Laurel, the saintly volunteer who works with TJ/Virgil has offered to take some photos of the crew and send them tomorrow so we shall all be able to see them in the safety and comfort of their new digs.

Three And A Half Now Safe at PrimRose

2010-06-29T18:24:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago my highly-tuned senses began to pick up news of an abandoned donkey in our vicinity. The woman's brow grew more furrowed and she had many telephonic consultations with Sheila. I knew something was afoot and kept my highly receptive ears tuned for more information.

In brief, a young male donkey had been caught in the middle of a nasty family fracas and had been unceremoniously turned loose to fend for himself, near a highway, for two weeks. Finally, he was caught and turned over to someone who holds such foundlings for the town for thirty days until they are claimed or sold at auction. Sheila and the woman desperately tried to speak with the powers that be, offering to buy the foundling so he wouldn't have to endure another traumatic experience and would be assured of a happy future. No response was forthcoming and the wall of silence remained unbreached so the poor lad went off to a livestock/meat auction last Saturday.

Sheila was embroiled in a fundraiser at the same time and so Herself volunteered to go to the auction, on Sheila's behalf, in an attempt to purchase said donkey. She was joined by some other donkey rescue troops who formed a determined cadre, bent on emerging with donkey in tow. The weather behaved disgracefully, with the skies opening in a tap-like fashion and refusing to shut off all day. The auction site was a horror of mud and mire and crying animals.

And there they found the soaking wet donkey, along with four horses, in the only outdoor pens at the place. A short time later, a small, bedraggled female donkey was thrust into another pen. She was lice-ridden, pregnant and foundered and her consignors thought so little of her that they took her halter away with them. The group determined that she must somehow be taken to PrimRose as well.

The day wore on and it became evident that the donkeys would be the very last to be auctioned . The rain came down in buckets and the donkeys, without food for the duration and probably since the night before, stood forlornly in their pens. Finally, they were chased into the auction ring and the woman set to with some furious bidding. She said she only began breathing again when the hammer went down and the man wielding it said SOLD! in her direction.

Then began the process of getting the donkeys from the pens to the PrimRose trailer. Geographically, these are as far removed from the busy loading docks as possible. There was a moment of great concern when it was discovered the little jenny had lain down in exhaustion and defeat and didn't have the energy to stand. She was finally coaxed up and followed the young donkey lad to the trailer, reluctant to walk on the concrete because of her deformed and aching feet.

I must mention that a lamb had also been purchased by the woman as company for the ancient rescue sheep, Helen, whose equally ancient sheep friend died recently. It was felt that Helen would come out of her deep depression if another ovine companion was found. And that is how, at a meat auction, three and one half creatures out of thousands, found their way to the safety of PrimRose and not to ...well, somewhere else.

A Magnificent Gift from Scotland

2010-06-25T16:05:00.000-07:00

Thank goodness for friends near and far. My bitter disappointment at being excluded from last weekend's visit to Willy Donkey's place has been tempered by the generosity and thoughtfulness of Dougie Donk in Scotland. He sent me a large, mysterious box all way across the Atlantic Ocean. And what a gift there was inside!

We received a notice in our mailbox that a parcel had arrived at the local post office and the woman duly set off at her snail's pace to retrieve it. I watched her embarking in her vehicle and she said casually over her shoulder "Sheaffer, the notice has your name on it." My name on it? I felt that in that case her pace could have been a tad brisker. I waited by the fence with bated breath. Ages later she came trundling back and showed me a large box wrapped in brown paper. The excitement was almost unbearable.

After fumbling first with a kitchen knife and then a pair of ancient scissors, she prised the thing open and there in protective wrapping was the most magnificent hat I have ever beheld. A Fire Fighter's hat to be precise. It is made of the finest dark blue wool, with a peak and a band of black patent leather on the front. And...I could hardly contain my excitement...an official badge that says "Strathclyde Fire Brigade". I felt quite weak in the knees. Then the woman showed me the inside and it says "Bates Hatter, 21 Jermyn St., St. James S., London". I had to lean on the fence to recover my sense of equilibrium. I have long dreamt of having an offcial hat but to have one made by the finest hatters in London - well - words fail me.

Thank you Dougie. You understood my unease with year after year having plastic nonsense foisted on me as novelty headgear. My problem is solved. From now on I will have a most official and dignified presence at all public affairs. I understand you made a pact with the resident fire fighter at your place to not drag him about the paddock for at least a week in exchange for his hat. Please thank that kind soul as well. I hope he isn't put in a dungeon or sent to the Orkneys on a training course as punishment for donating his hat to me so selflessly. You are a good donkey and he is a gallant human.

A Gracious Invitation...And I Was Left Behind

2010-06-21T15:58:00.000-07:00

I've wrestled back control of what Jack insists on calling my "blob", and just in time, too. You won't believe what has happened. Actually, if you are a regular visitor here you won't be surprised in the least.

Saturday morning the woman came out to chambermaid our rooms and announced that she and the male human and Jamie (our minder when they are away) and Mosby's human, Emi, had been invited to Willy donkey's house for the day. Then she casually mentioned that I was also invited but that there was no room in the vehicle. Preposterous - I have a metal box on wheels parked right outside the paddock, and I prefer to travel solo in any case. She is simply mean-spirited and intent on keeping me away from any sort of situation that might provide a donkey with a pleasureable few hours.

Of course THEY had a wonderful time and were toured about and wined and dined and generally treated like honoured guests - of which I should have been one. Willy's place is called "The Moose's Roost" and is a superlative retirement facility for a small number of lucky horses. It is also home to Willy and his mother Roberta (Bert) and to Molly and Marble donkey. They toured the humans around their paddock and summer house and gave a rousing and sometimes physical display of how to extract treats from a many-sided ball thing called a Nose-It. Willy has it down to a fine art and forces the thing to expel treats in all directions. He is not terribly keen on sharing said treats. Occasionally his mother or one of the other donkey ladies fires off a hind hoof in his direction, Willy bellows and it begins all over.

Willy's human, Joan, and her friend Marlene were responsible for arising at the crack of dawn, motoring over to Mosby's and Emi's place on the day of my party/fundraiser and extracting considerable monies for the 50/50 draw. They were key to the success of the venture and I commend them for their stellar effort in helping the PrimRose donkeys.

I know THEY wanted me to be included in the visiting party. The blame must be laid in it's usual place - directly at the grotty feet of Herself, who wouldn't know a breach of etiquette if it bit her on the ankle.

a jack flash

2010-06-11T11:01:00.000-07:00

sonny is still thinkin about his partee and gatherin material fer his memoroars and what not so i thot i would get ya up ta date. i kinda hi-Jacked his writin, so ta speek. also the g 7 or 8 or 9 or sumthin is takin place in the citee soon and hes expectin them to ast him to speak at it and adress all them world leeders. i dunno...its like the queen showin up to his partee - mebbee it could happin and mebbee not. all i kno is i ain't goin to no citee.

anyways i'm doin reel good, sheddin plenty and mopping up my eight squares a day. i put a good run on sonny mornin and evenin juss ta keep him movin. he puts in toooo much brain work and not enough runnin. vitinary is comin to flile teeth nex week but i don have ta get mine done on account they ain't growin no more and i got no abcisses. i'll stay to a good distance and put the stink eye on him.

molly horse is clear cutting the paddock and is reeel mad at the electrik wire that keeps us off a the long stuff. she keeps testin it and goin OW, dammit. she's gettin a wide body saddle cos her reglar one is too tight in her sholders since she been climbin mountins. she feels superieur on account she gits to go with the woman to the foress all teh time an shes always sayin no boys allowd juss girls and then she flounce off on the metal box, all struck up like.

doc went on another play date and had hissefl a wunderful time stompin on fake briges and fake watter and i dont know what all. woman has ta do that stuf otherwise hes reel jealos and pitches a fit when molly goes out to the foress. woman call is qualitee time but i think hes juss spoilt gettin driven all over creation juss to go play with other horses.

cats is good too but violet cat keeps on ketchin baby bunnnnies and leavin the boddies at the house door - she keep the head for herself. sally couldn ketch nothin if she sat on it by akkcitent. she once find a drownded mouse and give it ta sonny but he dont appreciate it so much bein on his hay.

penny dog is good too and puttin in lots a runnin and jumpin an then bathin in our water tank which aint so good. that dog shed somethin fierce unner water and i dont got no teeth to strain dog hair with.

thass it fer now i jusst wanted to ketch ya up to date. goin back to chasin sonny now.

Party - Some Further Thoughts

2010-06-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

It has seemed awfully quiet the last few days and we are all beginning to lose that glazed look. I have thought deeply on the events of the big day and have some observations to share.

I have studied those porta-potties and I don't trust them. They are the size of a small standing stall turned on end, which is to say quite compact. Humans go in and seem to simply disappear. Perhaps I glanced away at a crucial moment but maybe they are just dematerialized. I have no scientific evidence to the contrary so for now I will avoid them. The woman calls them the "Tardis" - she is as mad as a hatter.

Russell Mule doesn't trust them either. Last year he had a terrible time convincing the humans that he had to answer the call of nature -they obtusely guessed at everything else until he practically dragged them into a stall. This year he was much more comfortable being at the party because he had good memories from last year. He discretely concealed himself behind a large shurb and used it instead of a stall. He says he wouldn't give those porta-potties the time of day. That is how a young mule gets to be an old mule.

PrimRose's new hat is the height of millinery elegance. I admired her from afar but didn't dare approach the distinguished lady herself. Last year I tried and she made a snorking noise and twitched her tail, so I must admire in secret and hide my unrequited love. Who knew that a middle-aged donkey bachelor could suffer such a "crise de coeur".

Speaking of hats, a young lady named Sabrina attended my party sporting the most magnificent salad-like creation on her head. She graciously presented me with a bag of donkey treats, hugged me gently and gallantly removed some small carrots from her hat and offered them as a snack. Too bad Queen Elizabeth 2 could not make it - I feel sure she would have rewarded such good breeding with a title -" Keeper of The Royal Hat", perhaps.

Carrot cake is an abomination. It has very little to do with carrots and appears to be coated with white vermifuge. The two large birthday cakes skulked on a table under an awning contraption and even though this year they did not arrange flames on the top (thanks to a brisk wind) I refused to approach too closely.

Those monkey cupcakes are the demon offspring of the carrot cakes.

The bake sale table contained no Stud Muffins.

Mosby does not feel thirty-five years of age and thinks a sign saying "Green, Rank Stud Inside!" was long overdue for the front of his stall. Emi, his human, agrees. Maybe if I had one of those PrimRose would give me a second look...

I was more than pleased to lend a hoof to such a worthy cause but relieved to finally retire to the quiet of my room. I confess, I was so tired that while the woman was cooking our dinner, one minute I was leaning over the stall guard giving her instructions and the next minute my nose began to brush the floor and my knees to buckle. I have a year in which to ruminate over all I have experienced and observed - I may have to write a book.

THE PARTY - Phase One

2010-05-30T11:52:00.000-07:00

I hardly know where to begin. My head is spinning, my hoofs are aching and I have indentations from my crown but we emerged victorious at the end of the day. The sun shone, meat tubes were barbequed, baking was sold by the tonne and the silent auction drew them in like moths to a candle. Tickets were sold for various contests and my army of volunteers kept smiling throughout. I think the woman may have been grimacing from a touch of navicular in both her trotters, but I will graciously call it smiling. And Primrose has such a fetching new hat creation that she won the hat contest!

Short of flogging Herself, I can extract no further typing from her palsied hands today but I just want to say we made $4,000. 00 for Sheila, so the PrimRose donkeys will be assured of hay for the next year. That is more than double what the humans were aiming to raise. The first pictures are rolling in, thanks to Gazelle, who tirelessly shot photo after photo for hours on end. She has graciously given us a link so I may share them with you: www.picasaweb.google.com/gazelle600

I have known Emi (human to Mosby horse) all my life and I cannot tell you how much time and effort she put into this event. She is a small person with a huge spirit and an even greater love of donkeys. Thank you Emi, for holding the fundraiser at your beautiful property, for all the organizing you did, all the money you spent, and for giving and giving and giving on all levels, always with a cheerful smile. You are much loved by your many friends and family of all species and greatly admired by this small donkey.

Two Reasons Why

2010-05-24T08:03:00.000-07:00

The woman and I are asked quite often how Sheila, who runs the PrimRose Donkey Sanctuary, keeps going day after day. She has seen every possible negative aspect of human nature at work in the guise of the neglected and abused donkeys who make their way to her farm. Still she smiles, never raises her voice and one by one, tries to help the sanctuary residents and educate humans on how to properly care for donkeys in general.

I know some of you have heard me speak of Tabi (Tabolinski), the mammoth donkey who luckily found himself in Sheila's care. He had worked tirelessly pulling logs from the forest, without benefit of footcare for ages. When he was sold, his new owner decided to "fix" his feet all in one go, and the bony structure inside dropped down to his soles, leaving him in agony. Sheila and her vet and farrier and the volunteers nursed him back to health and he was looking shiny and standing comfortably, soaking up the sun and finally leading a wonderful life. One day last week Sheila went out to prepare donkey breakfasts and Tabi had died in the night. She is devastated. We have no details as yet but I know there are many of us, human and donkey, who know how much Sheila's heart is aching right now. I hope she remembers that even though his life was short - he was only in his mid-teens - she gave a great soul the chance to know what loving care is all about. He will be greatly missed.

On a happier note, Theodore, the "dumpster donkey" is thriving in his new home. After having been nearly beaten to death with a shovel by a lunatic who tied him to a dumpster and left him there to die, Sheila was called and he was taken to the sanctuary. To say he had trust issues is a massive understatement. Sheila felt his nightmarish experiences would make him a liftetime resident. One day a teenage human and her mother went to visit the sanctuary. Theodore marched up to the girl and declared she was "the one".

He went to live at her home and from being virturally untouchable, he is now calmly having his feet done by the foot man, being brushed, haltered and led everywhere. Last winter, he and his group of horses came into the barn during a bad storm. Theodore and the humans realized at the same time that one horse was missing. Back out went Theodore, up a steep hill, in the blinding snow, where he moved in close to the horse and led him back down the hill with the horse's muzzle pressed into his furry back. His day wasn't done yet. The teenage human's father found a chicken out in the roadway in the same blizzard and brought it home, fearing it wouldn't last the night. The chicken was put into the warm barn. In the morning the chicken was found fully recovered, nestled on Theodore's warm back. Theodore does not take his new home for granted. He knows how truly terrible humans can be but has the judgement to recognize the good ones when he meets them. That farm is in good hooves with Theodore in charge.

Those are just two of the many reasons we want to make the "Big Day" a very big success. Thank you to all who are working so hard to help my donkey friends and thank you to Sheila for doing, day in and day out, what most of us cannot even imagine. She's a woman on a mission and I gladly lend my name to anything that will help her to keep PrimRose up and running.

The Party Approacheth

2010-05-22T18:38:00.000-07:00

I don't know how socialites do it. This party planning is exhausting. I have a team of humans labouring practically round the clock and still I'm worn to a frazzle. Just hearing about the preparations saps my strength.

They have rented some fascinating boxes called porta-potties for the guests, which seem to be a sort of equivalent to the box Violet uses as her washroom facilities. I must look into this further - but not too closely, if you take my meaning. The woman has told me not to stare at users as they come and go because it makes them uncomfortable. So many things for an inquiring donkey to remember. Especially as I like to stare for long periods of time.

Auction items are pouring in - art work of various schools, prints, jewellery, garden ornaments, books, food (for various species), gift cards, the two small, rare bears, purses, and many other wonderful things. The line-up of tables laden down with donated items should stretch nearly to the border at this rate.

There was a bit of a fracas between Ben and Jerry, which has resulted in part of Jerry's mane going missing. It remains to be seen how their humans will handle the situation. The boys aren't really too bothered - their party spirit is unquenchable. The woman has been combing away at my coat, to no avail so far. I refuse to shed a hair until the summer solstice arrives and that is that. Can't be too careful. If it can snow in May, anything can happen.

Herself may attempt some baking at the end of the week. This should prove interesting. She is famous for her misshapen cakes and geometrically challenged squares. I will report on her failings.

My Crown Has Arrived

2010-05-18T05:21:00.000-07:00

You may remember that at my last year's party I was forced to wear a tiara, though the woman protested mightily that it was really a small crown. Prevarication, of course, but I knew the truth. This year I insisted on a proper crown - gold, with rubies and emeralds.

It has arrived and on Sunday she and her crafty friend Brenda appeared in the paddock to fit the thing properly. Now, I'm not a jeweller by trade but frankly this object looks suspicious to me. Herself assured me it was pure gold with rare gems but I have my doubts. For one thing, it shouldn't be quite so floppy and for another I think those gems are fakes. AND, would a real crown have something called velcro fastenings? I think not. She wouldn't let me examine it closely so it's hard to say.

It has been whisked off to Brenda's workshop to be made a smaller size and I just wonder, can real crowns be sewn and stapled into shape? I think not. As with last year, I have invited the Queen to drop in for tea if she's in the area on the day and if she does, I'm rubbing this faux crown off on a shrub as soon as her carriage hoves into view.

A Brazen Thief and a Secret Tippler

2010-05-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

I've been robbed and assaulted. Jack and I were dozing in the front paddock, enjoying the sun after a weekend of snow and high winds. It's still quite cool out so there are no flies yet - in other words, a perfect situation in which to catch up on my rest in preparation for the big event. We dozed on for a while and Jack eventually got up and went to stand beside the fence.

I had my eyes closed, running through the speech I've prepared in case I'm asked to address the throngs, when I became aware of a certain disturbance in my tail. It felt as if it was moving on it's own, followed by a sensation like a pin being jabbed into it. I would turn around and - nothing, Just some birds fooling about in the distance.

Eventually Herself, who had been watching from the house, bustled up with her camera and said, "Sheaffer, does your tail feel...a bit odd?" How did she know? She pointed to a black avian with a sheen like oil on a puddle (one of those lower-class hoodlums who travel in gangs and steal things). It was in the very act of sidling up to my tail to pull out yet another hair! It seems the blasted thing was in search of house building material and decided I was some sort of renovation depot. Honestly. I'm not overly blessed in the tail department and here it was being removed a hair at a time. Can't even close my eyes these days without some sort of trauma.

On a happier note, I believe Jack and I have discovered that Herself is a secret drinker! I've always suspected her of having a weakness despite her protestations that half a glass of wine with Christmas dinner is her limit for the year. She was babbling away in the barn this morning, asking us what sort of champagne she should purchase for one of the baskets she is making up for the auction. It was a cover. She returned mid-morning with a bag containing a spirits bottle that may or may not have been empty, clasped firmly in hand. Jack and I peered through the fence and there she was, staggering toward the house. "Pie -eyed", said Jack gleefully. "Sloshed", I said. "Drunk as a skunk!"he said! " "Snockered! I said.

She noticed us and said "What are YOU TWO looking at?" She had obviously sped through the jovial and melancholy stages of inebriation and entered the beligerent phase. Either that or the large bag of Penny food and container of Violet washroom material, in addition to the suspicious spirits bag, was weighing her down and causing her to be testy and unbalanced. Jack and I are firmly on the side of inebriation rather than preoccupation with party planning and pet supplies. Jack wants to stage what he calls an "interference" (I believe he means intervention). Good luck, I say. Right now I'm just busy protecting what's left of my tail.

First Fundraiser/Auction Bulletin

2010-05-12T17:57:00.001-07:00

Such hustle. Such bustle. With the grand day only two and a half weeks away, things are beginning to pick up pace. There are many intriguing and interesting items for the silent auction and I thought it was time I told you about three quite special ones.

First up are two small and valuable bears. Last year Tuffy, a creation of the very talented artist Veronica Philion, took part in the auction. This year she is sending TWO bears, Otis and Sage. Otis is a veritable giant at three inches and Sage is a more petite two and a half inches, befitting a delicate and refined girl bear. Otis is crafted from natural, needle-felted Alberta Romney wool and Sage from New Zealand Romney wool of the palest green. AND, there is such interest in these two rare bears that there will be off-site collectors bidding as well. How exciting - my very own version of Sotheby's! Veronica's talent and award-winning figures can be viewed at http://www.bumblebearies.blogspot.com/

Next up is Brighty of the Grand Canyon himself, in the shape of a rare and now-discontinued Breyer figurine. He is a much-beloved character who was introduced in the book of the same name many years ago. He comes complete with his own film. It should be noted that he is sculpted in a sitting position, reminiscent of a tiny terrorist mini-mule who lived here for awhile. However, it is clear from his open and pleasant visage that he in no way resembles you-know-who. Thank you Gazelle for sending him to help raise funds for PrimRose.

I also hear rumours of a gigantic stuffed donkey that the woman says is a somewhat smaller version of myself. She says nothing equine is quite as well stuffed as I am; I will be the judge of that when I meet the plush donkey in question. Thank you to North York Farmers, who are purveyors of feeds and grains for equines, including my own family. It's not their fault that the woman chooses to follow in the footsteps of the unreformed Scrooge when it comes to actually doling the stuff out. Their fine emporium of all things farm and equine may be viewed at http://www.northyorkfarmers.ca/

I would also like to send a mammoth donkey-sized thank you to Gale and Mr. Gale of Olde Towne Farm in Mineral, Virginia for a most generous cheque. They have been blog followers and correspondents from the beginning and I consider it a privilege to call them my friends.

Attacked by A Sasquatch in My Own Room!

2010-05-07T16:52:00.000-07:00

This is how it came to pass. The woman was grooming Doc in the aisle one evening this week just after we finished our hot meal and what with his contented sighing and the sound of brushing in the background I must have slipped into a light doze. Next was Molly's turn but I knew from the sounds that a transfer in the crossties has taken place and didn't even bother to open my eyes to check. More sighing, more brushing, more dozing. A drowsy peacefulness settled over the barn.

There was some clunking and clomping and thumping as Molly made her way back into her room and I slowly opened one eye to survey the aisle. Well! Making it's way toward me on invisible feet was an enormous, hairy mass, approximately three times the size of Penny. It skulked sideways in an evil and stealth-like manner. Then it paused when it saw me looking at it and pretended to subside to the floor. I gave the alarm and Jack awoke, bumping his head on his gate, Doc rushed to his front window to scan the horizon and Molly smacked her lips and went back to sleep.

As usual the woman instantly questioned my sanity, Doc said he didn't see "nothin", and Jack demanded to know what in tarnation I was playin' at. The woman saw the source of my consternation and began to giggle in her inane way. "Sheaff, look, it's the mass of hair I combed out of Molly", she said. She prodded it with her toe and it collapsed. It seems that, ahem, it's levitation was a result of a breeze blowing through the back door. Honestly, I close my eyes for a nano second and the world goes mad. And by the way, what normal horse can shed that amount of hair every night for weeks on end? I need a holiday, especially as my party plans are gaining momentum. I don't want dark circles under my eyes on the big day.

A Donkey's Guide to Living Off the Land

2010-04-29T18:05:00.000-07:00

Jack and I have been walking the woman around the property, attempting to get her conditioned for the upcoming riding season. Uphill work, both literally and figuratively, and she still tends to puff and snort like a steam engine, but we nevertheless soldier on. It also gives us a chance to sample nature's bountiful buffet, which is now bursting forth on all fronts. I have compiled a guide to some of the basic florals and greenery should any of my donkey friends care to to imbibe.

I have included handy illustrations and also whatever information I could gather from the woman's babblings. I can tell you that the tri-part white flower is entirely off limits because the woman pulled me away violently as I tried to sniff it and said " Nooooo, don't touch that, it's a Trillium and you'll end up in jail if you damage it!" Good lord, she gave me such a fright that I'll never so much as glance at the things again! Now, those cheerful yellow flowers pop up everywhere in such quantities that she strongly encourages us to eat our fill. Both flower and greenery are delicious and we regard them as a spring tonic. Best eaten before the flowers turn to fluff and clog one's nasal passages. They seem to be called Dandy Lions or those ^%$*&^# weeds, depending on who is describing them.

We sampled two mauve flowers, one is quite fragrant and grows on a shrub, It actually has a sort of mauve-y taste and is slightly reminiscent of the soap the Herself uses to wash down our walls. The other is a darker purple and grows close to the ground in the shade. Very tasty and we consumed quite a few before she noticed and told us to leave the "violets" alone. They provide a light, aromatic finish to a full course of dried twigs or fence rail.

The last plant I cannot recommend, though Jack found it quite interesting. It cleverly disguises itself as grass but on further examination it proves to have a strong, herbal taste that the humans describe as "oniony". Jack sampled a few strands and then ejected them onto the woman's shoe. I took one sniff of the deceitful poseur and that was quite enough. Sally loves it and not only chews the wretched thing but also rolls in it. Cats obviously crave a whole other menu.

And so my donkey friends, and any humans who care to graze along with me, these are my horticultural findings for this week.

Orbs - Large and Small

2010-04-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

Molly's eye, the small orb, is progressing but not yet one hundred percent. She is back in work and thank goodness because she was downright testy about Doc being the only one to be ridden. She hammered on the door when he was being groomed, chased us, slammed the door to the run-in (breaking the string) and took the woman's jacket away when she put it on the ground next to the riding ring. There is nothing repressed about Molly.

The large orb is a gigantic, inflatable ball that resides at a friend's house. Doc went off in the metal box on wheels to have a workout session with said ball. On the way he encountered a work crew at roadside and gave them a loud and hearty greeting. They responded in kind, all eight or ten of them, giving a hearty "HEYYYYYY" in reply. Doc says the Flat Man was with them, off to one side, but he didn't utter a peep. And (I find this highly suspicious) he was in exactly the same position as when he was on the road in front of our place over a year ago! I just don't trust him.

Doc tells us the giant ball resides in one of those indoor riding rooms and that there is also an entire collection of objects called a "trail course". He tried them all but liked the ball best because he can herd it around and generally pretend to be a cowpony without having to deal with cows. He has a deathly fear of all things bovine.

He is invited back next week and I fear we will be the objects of the Wrath of Molly.

My Week Thus Far

2010-04-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to report that Molly's recalcitrant eye wound is finally consenting to heal. She is still having eye cream put in three times daily and is on some powdery pain killer but she is making a magnificent effort at keeping her caloric intake high. Hasn't lost an ounce and in fact is expanding due to spring greenery. Buddy sent her a get well card all the way from Nevada and she has it displayed next to her valentine, though she would prefer to wear it as a stylish eye patch. Molly the Pony Pirate - the mind boggles.

The woman saddled Doc up yesterday and they went for their first ride in the sand ring. She fastened him on the long rope to spin him around a bit before riding, in case he was full of what Jack calls the "heebie jeebies". He wasn't, but a few minutes in he began making truly alarming noises - a cross between gulping, sighing and gargling. The woman was highly alarmed until she realized he had the hiccups. She plunked herself down in the saddle and off they went - Doc making ungodly "hhhhuuuuunhhh" sounds that could be heard across the county and herself beset by a fit of the giggles every time he did so. It was such a shameful spectacle that I withdrew for fear of encouraging them.

I've been busy supervising those humans on the two-wheeled pedal machines that travel in packs down our road. I can't say why but I find them highly irritating. Maybe it's the infernal buzzing the machines make or maybe it's garish clothing that appears to have been painted onto their persons - I honestly don't know. I simply don't understand anything that travels at such a high speed with such a sense of haste. I stick my head through the fence and glare at them sternly, occasionally giving voice to my disapproval. That usually consolidates the pack and causes it to veer into the middle of the road.

That leads me to another important topic. The woman and I are reading a book called "Wisdom of Donkeys" by Andy Merrifield. It's about the Andy human walking through an area of France, accompanied by a tremendously dignified donkey called Gribouille. Of course, they travel at sensible donkey speed. No rusing about with the wind whistling through their ears, no wearing of shiny, skin-tight garments but lots of time to examine the miniscule details that make up everyday life.

I have asked my good friend Billie who writes the blog http://camera-obscura-billie.blogspot.com/ to share her thoughts on this book and she has graciously assented. I can't wait to hear her views! Thank you Billie.

Rural Ramblings

2010-04-11T08:01:00.000-07:00

First of all, thank you to everyone who has inquired about "the eye" - Molly's right eye, to be precise. It is improving but very slowly. The vet came again and this time gave her a stupifying agent via needle so he could peel back the lid and have a closer look. I can assure you it was quite a spectacle (unintended pun) but I observed for scientific purposes. She has no burr residue but the ulcer is a slow healer and still causing her considerable pain. She is not surprisingly a cheap and easy drunk, front legs sprawled across the aisle and back legs crossed like a podgy ballet dancer. And of course she snored the whole while...

Jack and I had a successful Easter walk, so successful that Jack balked at going back in the paddock. He sets a blistering pace on the farm lane and I am hard pressed to keep up. Greenery is popping up all over and we sampled freely, adding a few dried twigs from years past. Jack did a few head tosses to the side just to keep the woman on her toes and he even threw in some elaborate low kicks with his back legs just to show the shrubbery he's still boss around here.

The hay crop should be seeded into our fields this week so I have a busy schedule ahead of me. The equipment used is quite different from the potato planting devices so I will study those and add them to my "life list" of things mechanical. Like those clever Victorians, I do love a good bit of complicated, and noisy, engineering.

Strange Rites of Spring

2010-04-03T17:55:00.000-07:00

Jack and I are exhausted. There is so much spring cleaning going on requiring close supervision that by evening we fall into our beds (after a warm dinner, of course) and sleep the sleep of the hard working. Our unprecedented early spring has the humans running about like mad things, trying to tidy up before the greenery and insects take over.

Yesterday they appeared in our paddock with the hand-held tree mangling device. I have seen this device in operation from a distance and welcomed the opportunity to see it at work close up. I must confess that up close it is even more magnificent than anticipated. The humans were clearing what they call scrub trees from the fence line so I was able to stick my head through the fence for a clearer view. The beast springs to life, shrieking and growling in a deafening manner and shooting wood chips in all directions. I drew closer. As I was studying the thing in detail, I was seized by the neck and dragged away.

Herself babbled on about eye damage, hearing loss and general destruction of my person. What nonsense. I shook the wood chips from my head and stalked off. This mangling device is as impressive as the big red combine and it's only as big as a cat. I have not given up and will use every subterfuge to increase my knowledge on this front.

When they weren't mangling trees they were frantically coaxing the misplaced gravel back onto the drive. This process stirs up all sorts of dried leaves, and as the wind was blowing in our direction, we varied new grass shoots with crunchy tidbits. We also supervised them as they crept along the ditch, filling one of the dreaded shavings bags with winter refuse. I asked for permission to view the contents and was refused.

We are having a visitor for Easter dinner tomorrow and we have been promised the first donkey walk of the year. Jack says he feels "fit as a fiddle and near ta bustin with inergy" so it may be a more animated stroll than they anticipate.

This and That

2010-04-01T14:22:00.000-07:00

Good news! The first meeting regarding my party/fundraiser has taken place and plans are afoot. This year it is open to the public and I feel sure I will be called upon to address the masses. It has been decided that Jack will stay home, though many have asked to meet him. We feel it would be too long and stressful a day for someone who is such a homebody. Doc has volunteered to help but we feel that could be a tad too exciting. Molly is simply not invited. The food would not be safe.

Poor Molly has hurt her eye - the vet came and says she has an ulcerated cornea - probably from a burr fragment. Her eye is very sore and weepy and she has to wear the bubble mask. She is of a stoical nature and her good humour so far remains intact, in spite of the pain. Her appetite is robust. The vet also had a long talk with Herself regarding Jack's dental care and it has been decided to forego putting him through a dental exam this year. We all heaved a sigh of relief and Jack did a sort of hornpipe around the barn. The vet also pronounced him in fine physical condition for an elderly donkey gentleman and that's put an extra spring in his prance.

We are to have such warm temperatures this weekend that a Humidex reading will be added to the forecast. To think we could be in the middle of a blizzard. The weather gods are asleep at the switch and I for one am not planning to wake them. My ears are warm for the first time in months.

Spring Fling for Your Viewing Enjoyment

2010-03-25T16:26:00.000-07:00

My friend Gale has sent me another film clip that I would like to share with you. It's of a very large donkey and a very small donkey having an all-out rasslin match. The large donkey is a study in stoicism and patience, the small donkey is obviously part Jack Russell terrier and hounds his friend mercilessly.

I have a strong suspicion that the small donkey is a close relative of TJ (Virgil). Those ankle biting moves look awfully familiar.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjjEcq5eIl8&feature=related