A Meeting at Dusk

Sorry my posts have been erratic lately. I had to travel for work, and then I got food poisoning, so I've been out of commission this week. My in-box is sky-high. But I want to write about the donkey I met a few days ago.

I was wandering around in the twilight, feeling kind of out of place and sad, and found this farm with a pasture (actually more of a mud-pit). I leaned on the fence railing watching the inhabitants - a horse, a mid-size pony, a donkey, a mule, a Shetland pony, a Holstein, and a boar - sharing a pile of hay. I've never seen such a diverse group of farm animals housed together before. The Shetland was kind of a rabble-rouser, starting up play-fights with the pony and sometimes the mule. They would cavort around the pasture together, chasing each other and even rearing up on their hind legs. It was adorable to see this little pony, just a muzzle poking out from under a haystack of mane, charging playfully at the bigger animals and then racing away. All the equines and the pig came over to see me at some point, but wandered off when they saw I had no food.

Except for the donkey. She was a sad-looking creature (like all donkeys), spotted brown-and-white, with a swayback and terribly overgrown hooves. I noticed the hooves right away because she was stumbling with each step as she made her way toward me. They were so long they were starting to turn upwards, and she had to practically walk on her pasterns. I felt a lump of tears in my throat looking at her - her suffering was so apparent, and borne so patiently. She was very cautious about approaching me, she'd come forward a step and then just wait, watching me, so it took about ten minutes for her to get close enough for me to touch her. I started rubbing around behind her ears and scratching her shoulder, and she just leaned into the touch. Every time I paused, she would press her head against my hand, so I kept going. She seemed totally starved for affection.

It was getting dark, but at some point I decided, "I'm not going to walk away from her. Everyone else walks away from her, but I'm going to stay with her, until she decides to leave me." So I stayed there talking to her and petting her for an entire hour. I felt kind of a sympathy with her because she was the out of place one in her group, too (the other equines occasionally acted aggressive toward her, laying back their ears and snaking their heads as they passed her; each time she flinched and jumped away, then came back to me). Plus, we both have foot problems. She still had such longing for human contact, even though she's being neglected and crippled by some farmer who can't be bothered to give her the care she needs. Finally it was full dark, and I was kind of worried about being out so late, so I said goodbye to her, gave her a final pat, and walked away. She lifted her heavy head up and rested it on the top rail of the fence, rolling her big eyes to watch me go. It was a look to break your heart.

I don't even know whose farm it was, but if anyone had walked around the corner of the barn and offered to sell her to me, I would've bought her on the spot. It's so sad to me that now that she's at the end of her useful life, they're just going to ignore her and let her be crippled - when one visit from a farrier could turn her quality of life around. It's so wrong.