more often I laughed.
The day that Simon first brayed, I decided to go on a short walk with him, out of his small corral and into the larger pasture beyond. There was tall grass there, a couple of apple trees, fallen limbs, and brush that ran along the road. The pasture sloped up a hillside, and was perfect grazing ground for donkeys.
Lulu and Fanny were still in the smaller pasture behind the farmhouse. It was much too soon to put all three donkeys together. Simon was still too frail to risk getting kicked or chased. And Lulu and Fanny were the royalty of the farm—imperious, coddled, and entitled. We had been warned that Simon would get a skeptical reception from these two strong and powerful sisters. They had had a very different life from Simon’s, bred on a well-run donkey farm, given fresh hay and cookies and shelter and pastures to roam every day of their lives.
After lunch, I put a couple of apples in my pocket and opened the gate to Simon’s pasture. He was so much better, but his fur was still raggedy and he was shaky if the ground was uneven. The farrier said his legs would hurt for a long time, and we had to be careful not to overdo his exercise. I walked into the pasture and stopped to say hello to Simon—his ears were up and he was watching me closely.
I patted him on the shoulders, said good afternoon, and then walked over to the corral gate, opened it, and stood on the other side. I’ve learned something about how to communicate with donkeys, and there is no equivalent for donkeys of the “come” command that trained dogs love to respond to. In fact, there is no command at all that works for the donkeys I have known. They are agreeable creatures, but they do not like being told what to do, and if you show that you really want them to do something that doesn’t involve food, you may be standing out in the sun for a long time.
The downfall of the donkey, his Achilles’ heel, is curiosity. They are intelligent creatures, fascinated by every movement or sound. If you put a watering can in the pasture and it wasn’t there the night before, each donkey will notice it immediately, approach it, and sniff it. They can’t help it. They have to know what is going on. Carol taught me that the best trick to get donkeys to do something—the only trick that works—is to make them curious and they will come.
I didn’t call to Simon to join me or give him anything like a command, or even look at him. I just took a carrot out of my pocket, started chewing on it, and walked a few feet out into the pasture, looking away. I must have shown too much eagerness, because Simon wasn’t moving. He was looking at me, trying to figure out what I wanted. But he wasn’t budging. The sun was getting warm, the flies were circling, and I was getting a bit restless. I do not have a fraction of the patience that donkeys do, but I am just as stubborn. We connect on that level.
Simon was chewing it over. I could see him looking at me. Every time I had seen him in the pasture, I had brought him food—hay, cookies, carrots, apples. He liked that arrangement and did not really see any reason to change the procedure. If he just stood there, I would probably eventually come to him. It was not his idea to take a walk into the pasture, so why do it?
There were two reasons, and I was confident both would work, if I stayed patient. One was the carrot he saw me chewing. He would have spotted the others sticking out of my pocket by now, and he wasn’t about to sit around watching me eat his snacks. Secondly, he had not been out of his little corral, and before that, his confining pen, since he arrived at the farm. There was interesting stuff to see out in the big pasture—cars on the road, fallen tree limbs, acres of green grass, and who knows what else.
I stood there, checking my cell phone messages, eating my carrot, drifting farther out into the pasture. Sometimes that worked with Lulu and Fanny, sometimes not.
It took about
The day that Simon first brayed, I decided to go on a short walk with him, out of his small corral and into the larger pasture beyond. There was tall grass there, a couple of apple trees, fallen limbs, and brush that ran along the road. The pasture sloped up a hillside, and was perfect grazing ground for donkeys.
Lulu and Fanny were still in the smaller pasture behind the farmhouse. It was much too soon to put all three donkeys together. Simon was still too frail to risk getting kicked or chased. And Lulu and Fanny were the royalty of the farm—imperious, coddled, and entitled. We had been warned that Simon would get a skeptical reception from these two strong and powerful sisters. They had had a very different life from Simon’s, bred on a well-run donkey farm, given fresh hay and cookies and shelter and pastures to roam every day of their lives.
After lunch, I put a couple of apples in my pocket and opened the gate to Simon’s pasture. He was so much better, but his fur was still raggedy and he was shaky if the ground was uneven. The farrier said his legs would hurt for a long time, and we had to be careful not to overdo his exercise. I walked into the pasture and stopped to say hello to Simon—his ears were up and he was watching me closely.
I patted him on the shoulders, said good afternoon, and then walked over to the corral gate, opened it, and stood on the other side. I’ve learned something about how to communicate with donkeys, and there is no equivalent for donkeys of the “come” command that trained dogs love to respond to. In fact, there is no command at all that works for the donkeys I have known. They are agreeable creatures, but they do not like being told what to do, and if you show that you really want them to do something that doesn’t involve food, you may be standing out in the sun for a long time.
The downfall of the donkey, his Achilles’ heel, is curiosity. They are intelligent creatures, fascinated by every movement or sound. If you put a watering can in the pasture and it wasn’t there the night before, each donkey will notice it immediately, approach it, and sniff it. They can’t help it. They have to know what is going on. Carol taught me that the best trick to get donkeys to do something—the only trick that works—is to make them curious and they will come.
I didn’t call to Simon to join me or give him anything like a command, or even look at him. I just took a carrot out of my pocket, started chewing on it, and walked a few feet out into the pasture, looking away. I must have shown too much eagerness, because Simon wasn’t moving. He was looking at me, trying to figure out what I wanted. But he wasn’t budging. The sun was getting warm, the flies were circling, and I was getting a bit restless. I do not have a fraction of the patience that donkeys do, but I am just as stubborn. We connect on that level.
Simon was chewing it over. I could see him looking at me. Every time I had seen him in the pasture, I had brought him food—hay, cookies, carrots, apples. He liked that arrangement and did not really see any reason to change the procedure. If he just stood there, I would probably eventually come to him. It was not his idea to take a walk into the pasture, so why do it?
There were two reasons, and I was confident both would work, if I stayed patient. One was the carrot he saw me chewing. He would have spotted the others sticking out of my pocket by now, and he wasn’t about to sit around watching me eat his snacks. Secondly, he had not been out of his little corral, and before that, his confining pen, since he arrived at the farm. There was interesting stuff to see out in the big pasture—cars on the road, fallen tree limbs, acres of green grass, and who knows what else.
I stood there, checking my cell phone messages, eating my carrot, drifting farther out into the pasture. Sometimes that worked with Lulu and Fanny, sometimes not.
It took about
Similar Books
