I’ve lived with donkeys for nearly 15 years and have learned to listen and talk to them. They are astonishingly intuitive and know humans well or better than any other animals I’ve known, including dogs.
Lulu and I (and Maria, Lulu, and Fanny) have been communicating with each other in obvious and amazing ways for years. Maria is a natural at this, but Lulu and I have also learned how to speak to each other.
Lulu has a sharp, reasonably loud bray for Maria; she has a soft bray when she wants something like an alfalfa cookie.
Lulu has figured out the camera trick with me; she knows I love it when she sticks her nose at me through the top of the fence. I always point the camera at her and shoot when she does this. When I first started taking photos of Lulu, my cameras spooked her, especially when I told them to her. I reversed this by putting alfalfa squares on the camera and letting her come and sniff when I pointed it. She figured this out instantly – want a cookie, snick your nose out for a photo.
Her other trick was this soft bray used only for me, a clear plea for a treat. The bag of donkey treats is just a few feet from the fence in a trash can in the barn.
The minute I exit the house or the car, Lulu spots me and enters, her soft bray and pleading brown eyes. There is no question about what she wants. She wants me to go into the ban and give her an alfalfa treat.
She knows that soft bray gets to me.
Then she opens her big, black, beautiful eyes towards me and tilts her head, the brays staying soft and only for me. This has worked every time, every day, for 15 years. By letting myself think I was training her, she laid the groundwork for alfalfa treats daily.
I used to assume I was smarter than her, but no longer. She can read my intentions the second I come out of the house, and if I’ve tucked some medicine in my back pocket, she’ll be off like a shot before I take a step.
These big ears give her away. I can tell what each different placement suggests. They rise and fall and twist and turn. They go from “hi” to “Where’s my cookie?” to “Get lost; you’re not changing that bandaid or giving me a needle.”
This animal hears me when I say “Morning” to Maria softly in the morning. The soft braying begins, and those ears pick it up 30 years away.
There is the question of who trained whom. I am rarely that soft on the dogs, but Lulu knows how to get me to bend. Once you bend with a donkey, you are stuck for life. They do not forget or give up. That soft bray goes right to my heart. Lulu is more intelligent and patient than I am.
I used to think she brayed because she liked me. She likes me because I give her an alfalfa fit every time I hear it, and I have done it for 15 years. Once in a while, when I am hungry, I will run out to the car, apologizing to her and promising to make it up to her.
I can tell the dogs to get lost, and they will leave me alone. However, with Lulu, there is no way out; she knows how to train humans quickly and well.
