For me, the spirituality of animals lies in their acceptance, in the instinctive and visceral understanding of the cycles of life, and the place of other animals in it. If Simon sees a dog, he charges to drive it off. He nearly killed Minnie when she rubbed against his legs while he was eating. But when chickens climb up on his back, he accepts it, and he will tolerate it for as long as the chickens want. The chickens are looking for food – bugs, debris, even manure from donkeys rolling in hay in the Pole Barn. Somewhere in Simon’s gene pool, in his history, is an experience of this. It perhaps feels good, and is part of an eco-system that removes bugs and ticks from places he cannot reach with his teeth.

Donkeys love to have their backs rubbed or scratched or brushed. This, I think, is the chicken’s role. And there are plenty of bugs and stuff on a donkey’s. Chickens are not taught this, and they surely do not have words to work it out. Yet the image of it is in their consciousness. This is, I think, the language of animals, the images that are the stories in their heads, the nature of their consciousness. You can tell the story as a cute friendship. Or you can look at it every day and wonder how it works. I’m on it.