Donkey Business

1. Meet Petunia

Harold Jenkins didn’t believe in nonsense. He liked straight lines, black coffee, and hard work. A retired postman turned accidental farmer, Harold had inherited a small patch of land in Mudflap County, population: 638 and one very angry goose.

He also inherited a donkey.

Her name was Petunia.

Petunia had two expressions: “I dare you” and “I’m not moving.” She was equal parts fur, attitude, and demonic persistence. If Harold told her to go left, she’d go right. If he wanted to rest, she wanted to gallop. If he wanted to gallop, she wanted a nap.

She was, in Harold’s words, “a four-legged insult to the idea of cooperation.”

2. The Plow Problem

One spring morning, Harold had a brilliant idea: he’d plow the field with Petunia pulling the cart, like a good old-fashioned team.

He spent a full hour adjusting harnesses, greasing wheels, and muttering things not fit for polite conversation.

Finally, he stood proud. “There! Ready to work?”

Petunia blinked, yawned, and promptly sat down.

“Get up,” Harold growled.

Petunia didn’t move.

He rattled the reins. “Up!”

She farted.

Harold sighed, took off his cap, and fanned himself. “You listen here, you overgrown housecat with hooves…”

He tried bribery (apples), threats (loud voice), and spiritual negotiation (he whispered, “please” at one point). Nothing worked.

Eventually, Harold gave up and pulled the plow himself.

Petunia followed, tail swishing smugly, occasionally stepping on freshly tilled dirt just to spite him.

3. The County Fair Incident

Each year, Mudflap County held a fair. There was a prize for “Best Working Animal,” and Harold was determined that this year, Petunia would redeem herself.

He trained for weeks—or rather, tried to. Petunia played dead, refused to wear anything decorative, and once ate the scorecards.

Still, Harold entered her.

On the day of the fair, the announcer said, “Next up: Harold Jenkins and Petunia the Donkey!”

Harold strutted into the arena like a man with hope. Petunia waddled behind him, chewing on a carrot she’d stolen from someone’s picnic.

The challenge: carry a sack of corn across the field and return.

Harold loaded the sack.

Petunia took three steps.

Then she stopped, lay down in the middle of the path, and rolled over.

The crowd gasped.

Harold shouted, “You’re embarrassing me in front of the entire county!”

Petunia belched.

A small child shouted, “She’s my hero!”

Petunia won third place in the talent show instead—for “Most Dramatic Performance.”

Harold never entered again.

4. The Escape Artist

Petunia had an uncanny ability to escape.

She unlatch gates, climbed onto sheds, and once appeared inside Harold’s kitchen without explanation. Just strolled in while he was making toast.

“How—how did you even open the screen door?” he asked, holding a spatula like a sword.

Petunia stood on his rug, chewing a dish towel.

Harold put up a sign: “PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO DONKEYS.”

Petunia pooped on it.

Once, she got out during church and wandered into the choir loft. The congregation was halfway through Amazing Grace when she added her signature “Heeeee-hawww” in G-flat.

They added her to the Christmas pageant that year as the “Unholy Donkey of Bethlehem.”

She stole the show.

5. Harold vs. Technology

Fed up, Harold bought a “Smart Donkey Collar” online. It tracked her location, monitored her heart rate, and came with a setting called “Gentle Persuasion Mode,” which buzzed when she disobeyed.

Harold synced it to his phone.

“Now I’ll know where you are 24/7,” he said triumphantly.

Petunia looked at him, then at the phone.

That night, she stole the phone and buried it in the garden.

Harold only found it after his prize tomatoes started ringing during a thunderstorm.

6. The Turning Point

One winter evening, Harold slipped on ice and hurt his ankle.

He tried to crawl back to the house, but the pain made it slow going.

Then he heard hooves.

Petunia appeared out of the snow, dragging the wheelbarrow.

He blinked. “Is that… for me?”

She blinked back.

Somehow, she helped him into the cart and pulled him all the way back to the porch. Slowly. Grumpily. But she did it.

Harold was quiet for a long time.

“You really are a stubborn little miracle,” he whispered.

Petunia sneezed on his jacket.

7. A New Routine

After that, things changed.

Not dramatically. Petunia still refused to obey 70% of the time. But she started following Harold around the farm. She let him rest his arm on her back when he limped. She learned to bring him tools when he whistled.

Harold started talking to her more.

Not yelling—just talking.

“Thinking of planting carrots. You’d like that.”

Petunia flicked her tail approvingly.

She even let him ride her once, though she walked in circles for twenty minutes first, just for fun.

8. The Legend of Mudflap County

Years later, children in Mudflap County would ask their parents:

“Is it true that a donkey saved a grumpy old farmer?”

And they’d nod and say, “Yes. Her name was Petunia. She had the heart of a lion and the manners of a raccoon.”

Harold lived to be 89. At his funeral, they buried him with his favorite hat and a small sign that read: “She was always right.”

Petunia lived another two years, stubborn to the end. The town erected a statue of her outside the fairgrounds—mid-roll, tongue out, hoof in the air.

Tourists came from all over to see “The Donkey Who Couldn’t Be Tamed (But Saved a Man Anyway).”