are you doing?” she asked. I started to give her the lowdown, but before I could finish, she said, “I’m on my way,” and hung up. Priscilla was always up for an adventure, and what better way to initiate her into country life than to chase down a loose farm animal?
The August air was stifling by the time we donned tennis shoes and got ourselves organized. It was going to be a hot one. Accompanied by the deafening sound of cicadas overhead, Priscilla and I made our way to the pasture’s back gate, which had been ripped from its hinges by my precious little donkey. Mercy!
We walked farther to find a broken fence post, wires dangling. A little farther, and another broken fence. Dear me. I dreaded to see what kind of state Flash would be in after all this. We finally found him holed up in the corral next to his ladylove, beat up from his night of charging through barbed wire fences and foisting his affection upon her.
Just one look at him told me he was not going to come easily. He had the same hardened donkey stare as the first night we’d found him —“Make me,” it simply said.
So we haltered him up and started coaxing.
Flash would have none of it. And who could blame him? The leggy mare he’d fallen for was adorable. Chocolate brown in color with a black mane and tail, she was an exotic vixen, and he was a lovesick donkey-boy. He was hopelessly, madly, genuinelyin love with her. She, on the other hand, was not so much in love with him but clearly in love with being adored. With her head tossing and hooves prancing, she accepted this lopsided relationship with her body language. That was all Flash needed to see; he was fully committed to making the tenuous bond work. Now, with head low and blubbering lips pulled back, he sullenly brayed his opposition to our mission to move him.
Flash refused to leave his girlfriend, whom we now called “Maria,” after the female lead in West Side Story . At the prospect of being forced apart, she decided she’d make it work as well. Maria whinnied at him and paced back and forth in her corral as we inched him away from her. Hours of pushing, pulling, cajoling, entreating, and offering treats yielded only limited progress. We were still on the neighbor’s property, just halfway to the back gate, and standing at an impasse in the blistering sun.
“We’ve tried everything,” Priscilla said, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. “The only thing we haven’t tried is dropping the rope to see if he’ll come on his own.” She reminded me that, under normal circumstances, Flash follows us around like a puppy dog. He can’t stand to be left behind.
“True,” I said, unconvinced but willing to try anything at this point. “We might as well give it a go. What do we have to lose?”
So we dropped the rope and turned to head back to our place. We took teeny little pretend steps, glancing over our shoulders to see what Flash would do.
“And we’re walking away. We’re walking, and we’re leaving . . .” I narrated our movements for good measure, just in case Flash didn’t notice that we were leaving him.
“And we’re walking . . .”
To our amazement, he thought about it for only a moment,then picked up his small hooves and followed. On his own. No carrot, no stick. Just followed.
I guess as long as he thought it was his own idea, he was willing to cooperate.
Flash stepped nonchalantly behind us the remaining distance, as if we were out on a Sunday stroll. Perhaps he knew it was simply time to go home. Or perhaps he was plotting his return. Whatever the case, we hurriedly jury-rigged the gate in place behind us, and Priscilla stopped to admire the strength and determination it had taken to break it down in the first place. “Wow, that guy sure found his passion. He knew what he wanted and didn’t let anything stand in his way,” she commented. “I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
Like he knew we were
The August air was stifling by the time we donned tennis shoes and got ourselves organized. It was going to be a hot one. Accompanied by the deafening sound of cicadas overhead, Priscilla and I made our way to the pasture’s back gate, which had been ripped from its hinges by my precious little donkey. Mercy!
We walked farther to find a broken fence post, wires dangling. A little farther, and another broken fence. Dear me. I dreaded to see what kind of state Flash would be in after all this. We finally found him holed up in the corral next to his ladylove, beat up from his night of charging through barbed wire fences and foisting his affection upon her.
Just one look at him told me he was not going to come easily. He had the same hardened donkey stare as the first night we’d found him —“Make me,” it simply said.
So we haltered him up and started coaxing.
Flash would have none of it. And who could blame him? The leggy mare he’d fallen for was adorable. Chocolate brown in color with a black mane and tail, she was an exotic vixen, and he was a lovesick donkey-boy. He was hopelessly, madly, genuinelyin love with her. She, on the other hand, was not so much in love with him but clearly in love with being adored. With her head tossing and hooves prancing, she accepted this lopsided relationship with her body language. That was all Flash needed to see; he was fully committed to making the tenuous bond work. Now, with head low and blubbering lips pulled back, he sullenly brayed his opposition to our mission to move him.
Flash refused to leave his girlfriend, whom we now called “Maria,” after the female lead in West Side Story . At the prospect of being forced apart, she decided she’d make it work as well. Maria whinnied at him and paced back and forth in her corral as we inched him away from her. Hours of pushing, pulling, cajoling, entreating, and offering treats yielded only limited progress. We were still on the neighbor’s property, just halfway to the back gate, and standing at an impasse in the blistering sun.
“We’ve tried everything,” Priscilla said, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. “The only thing we haven’t tried is dropping the rope to see if he’ll come on his own.” She reminded me that, under normal circumstances, Flash follows us around like a puppy dog. He can’t stand to be left behind.
“True,” I said, unconvinced but willing to try anything at this point. “We might as well give it a go. What do we have to lose?”
So we dropped the rope and turned to head back to our place. We took teeny little pretend steps, glancing over our shoulders to see what Flash would do.
“And we’re walking away. We’re walking, and we’re leaving . . .” I narrated our movements for good measure, just in case Flash didn’t notice that we were leaving him.
“And we’re walking . . .”
To our amazement, he thought about it for only a moment,then picked up his small hooves and followed. On his own. No carrot, no stick. Just followed.
I guess as long as he thought it was his own idea, he was willing to cooperate.
Flash stepped nonchalantly behind us the remaining distance, as if we were out on a Sunday stroll. Perhaps he knew it was simply time to go home. Or perhaps he was plotting his return. Whatever the case, we hurriedly jury-rigged the gate in place behind us, and Priscilla stopped to admire the strength and determination it had taken to break it down in the first place. “Wow, that guy sure found his passion. He knew what he wanted and didn’t let anything stand in his way,” she commented. “I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
Like he knew we were
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