Donkey

“It’s a fine day,” Donkey said to the barn cat. She was stretched out in the run-in, capturing the sun’s rays where they dappled across her soft fur.

“That it is,” Cleo responded. “You should be happy it isn’t raining.”

“I’m always happy when it isn’t raining,” Donkey said. “I hate getting wet.”

“I hate getting wet, too, as you know.” Cleo stretched out making herself as long as possible. She looked sleepily at Donkey.

“I know, but I hate getting wet more than you do,” he said.

Donkey moved slowly to the big gate, lifted the latch with his snout, and walked out past Cleo.

“I’m off,” Donkey informed her. “I can’t waste this sunshine. You shouldn’t either, tiny cat.”

“TINY CAT?” huffed Cleo. “I was the biggest one in my litter, and I’m sure I still am. Besides, look how

small you are compared to Cinder.”

“That’s not a fair comparison. He’s a Clydesdale horse. Beside him, even the other horses look small.”

“You’re both part of the equine family, aren’t you?” Cleo chirped, opening one green eye to look up at him.

“We’re the same, yes, but we’re different. Cinder is very big even for a horse. All the other horses agree with me.”

“Yes, yes, have it your way. But don’t call me TINY cat. I’m the perfect cat-size.”

“And I’m just the perfect donkey-size.”

Cleo and Donkey looked at each other. The corners of Donkey’s lips crept up, and Cleo saw his shiny big front teeth. She waited. When Donkey started his donkey smile, it was usually followed by his foghorn of a laugh. He bellowed. He brayed. The sound that came out of him was so mighty that he could be heard across the fields and all the way to the village church where the bell in the steeple would begin to ring.

“You did it again,” Cleo said. She raised her soft paws up to her pert little ears, covering them to drown out Donkey and the church bell. “The people are going to figure it out eventually. The bell should only ring at noon. It’s how they know what time it is. When you bray it’s like thunder booming, so they think it’s 12 o’clock and bring out their umbrellas.”

“It never hurts to have an umbrella,” Donkey thought aloud as his bray finally faded. “I wish I had an umbrella. Then I wouldn’t mind the rain so much.”

“I wish I had one, too,” the cat said. “I hate it when my fur gets wet. An umbrella would be dandy.”

“Why don’t cats and donkeys have umbrellas? Why don’t all our animal friends have umbrellas? Only the dogs who like swimming don’t mind getting wet.”

Cleo squinted up at him, then asked, “But how would we hold them?”

Donkey concentrated for a moment, furrowing his white brow and jiggling his long ears.

“Teeth,” he finally said. "I could hold the umbrella in my teeth. He smiled broadly, hoping Cleo would admire how shiny his donkey teeth were.

“That’s a silly idea,” Cleo retorted. “What if it rains all day and you’re stuck with an umbrella in your mouth? How would you munch your grass and hay? You wouldn’t be able to slurp up your mushy oats.”

“I could put the umbrella down when I wanted to eat.”

“But then you’d get wet. AND you eat all day long. You’d be either soaked or hungry.”

Donkey looked at his friend. “You’re such a wet blanket, Cleo.”

Cleo sat slowly and began to lick her paws. Donkey was thinking as he looked out at the beautiful day.

“Such a wet blanket,” he repeated.

“Blanket. Blanket! I know,” he said suddenly. “I could wear a blanket, a waterproof blanket. Why didn’t I think of this before?”

“Where are you going to get a blanket?” Cleo yawned.

“Some of the horses have blankets when it’s cold or raining.” He stopped. “I’m a horse. Why don’t I have a blanket?”

“You’re a silly old donkey, that’s why. The horses take the people for rides and look so regal with their long manes and silver-studded saddles. They have to stay dry and beautiful when it rains or their manes would get all soggy and they couldn’t wear saddles,” Cleo reasoned. “You don’t have a beautiful mane and you don’t go out on the trails with a human on your back. Come to think of it,” she said, “what do you do around here? At least I catch the pesky mice who like to steal your oats.”

“I like the mice. They’re cute and they squeak to me at night.”

“That’s fine for you,” said the cat. “I have to earn my keep. I have a job. What good are you to the people? All you do is eat and bellow…”

“Bray,” Donkey corrected.

“OK, you bray,” she agreed, “but the only other thing you do is eat. And, when you’re not eating in the field or having your oats for dinner, you just sleep.”

Donkey suddenly felt sad. His friend Cleo was right. What did he do for the people? He didn’t catch the barn pests like Cleo, and he couldn’t take them on the rides they enjoyed so much. He couldn’t pull the wagon like Cinder either.

“What good am I? How am I of any use to the people?”

“What’s wrong?” Cleo looked up at him. “You look really unhappy.”

“I think I am really unhappy,” Donkey murmured. “I never realized how useless I am. All I do is bray and eat and sleep. All the other animals have jobs. I must not be important.”

“You’re a donkey. You can’t be more than a donkey.” Cleo turned tail and strode out into the sunshine and warmth of the beautiful day.

Donkey stood still as he watched Cleo make her way across the paddock. He’d always been proud to be a donkey but, now, he realized he was JUST a donkey.

His head down, hoping the hens wouldn’t see if he began to cry, Donkey walked slowly out into the sunshine. Usually, feeling its heat on his back made him happy. But now he had a different feeling. He wanted a job. He wanted to be useful to the people. He looked at the hens and thought about the big brown eggs they laid for the people. He wanted to do something for the people. Like the other animals.

“But I’m just a donkey.”

He heard voices and looked up to see two small figures walking toward the paddock. It was the boy from the house and a young girl.

As they got closer, he could hear them laughing and chattering non-stop. Donkey turned to go back into the barn. He didn’t want them to see him. He wasn’t important. As he took his first few steps, he heard the boy’s voice.

“This is the best place on the whole farm,” the boy said. “When I come here it always makes me happy.”

“Why?” asked the girl, pointing toward the big chicken coop and the hens picking at the ground around it. “Because of them?”

“Well, they’re OK but it’s this guy I love the most.”

Donkey looked around to see whomever it was the boy meant.

The pair stopped right beside him. “You can pet him, Carlie” said the boy. “He’s really friendly. And he makes me laugh.”

The boy ran his hands along Donkey’s back, then into his mane. “Feel his prickly mane; it isn’t soft like the horses’ manes, but it’s the best. And feel his long soft ears. They’re kind of like velvet.”

“Wow,” the girl said, “they are so soft. Almost like my satin dress.”

The boy laughed as he lay his head on Donkey’s strong white neck. He wrapped his arms around Donkey’s neck.

“Isn’t he the best? And you should hear him bray. It’s amazing. He’s amazing, aren’t you Donkey?”

The boy smiled and looked directly into Donkey’s warm brown eyes.

“Amazing. I’m the best.” Donkey couldn’t believe his long ears.

Donkey began turning up the sides of his lips. He felt a smile coming. Maybe even a bray.

This tale is my homage to best donkey in the world, the boy I call "Donkey, Esquire." He's a proper gentleman with his shiny black hooves and ears so soft you can't help but rub them. Every time he sees me coming, he emits a very loud and impressive bray. I feel honored that he acknowledges our long relationship and I believe he truly returns every scintilla of love I have for him. And he has great teeth.