The three donkeys were lying by the hay feeder, soaking up some Spring sun, annoyed that Jon and Maria had stopped giving them hay. “There is plenty of grass,” said Simon,” but I have to lean over and get it and there is plenty of hay in the barn if they would give it to us.”
“Yes,” snipped Lulu, rolling over in some manure, “I like to get fresh grass and also get hay, especially when the grass is short. They don’t think about all the leaning over we have to do.” Fanny yawned, agreed. “Maybe if we stare at the window, Jon will come out. He’s usually a sucker for that. He likes to rant on an on about animal attachment, not treating them as children, but who is out here at 6 a.m. with carrots and apples and oat cookies? Some hard-ass! Writers.”
Simon snorted. “I wouldn’t complain girls. You are both purebreds, raised by a donkey breeder. I am a farm donkey, and I can tell you it can get ugly out there –” Fanny jeered, “yes, we saw you when you came and you were plenty ugly.” Lulu stood up and ate some brush that was popping up. She nosed the chickens out of the way. “Well, Simon, you and Jon have your thing, reading stories to each other, taking walks. You have his number for sure. But you were not here before Maria came, and I can tell you, it was not all clover and cookies, for sure. That boy was very strange. It was crazy around here. All sorts of crazy dogs, crazy people, those dumb cows and loud goats. And he was so twitchy I got nervous just listening to him talk on the phone inside of the house.”
“Yeah,” said Lulu, “and he had that tough little monster dog, Rose, who bit me on the ass all of the time. Just because I kicked her once. She was always pushing the sheep around and I was always trying to protect them, like I was supposed to do, and what did I get for my troubles? My ass bit. I hate to see any animal die, but I’m glad she’s gone. I have to be honest.”
It was always thus, said Lulu. Whenever humans got in trouble, a donkey got kicked in the ass.
Simon nodded wisely, as donkeys do. “The thing is, we have to work on Maria more. She’s the key. She is like a little love and apple machine, that one. She is not twitchy, and she loves to cuddle. She knows how to commune with a donkey. Jon is always dragging that camera along, and he has that guy thing about being a bit standoffish.” So true, exclaimed, Fanny, you know I think women are just more open emotionally than men. I can smell her feelings, and they are right up on the surface. It’s always been that way, I hear, all the way back to biblical times. Women are just more evolved, I think.”
“Nurturing is the word,” said Simon. He said he doubted he would be alive if the women at the farm he was at didn’t sneak him some food when he was starving. But Simon liked to look to the future, not the past. “Listen,” he said, “about this hay thing. Go stare through the gate at Jon’s office. He’ll sneak out here in a flash and bring out some hay. He can’t resist that. Just big eyes. Look mournful. Wistful. Sort of pleading.”
The donkeys practiced their wistful look, and then Simon went over to the gate and brayed loudly. They all stared at Jon’s office window and they saw the blinds move a bit. “Keep staring, just don’t waver,” hissed Simon. They whinnied softly and looked wise, ancient, knowing. Simon heard the back door opening. “Just hold the pose for a few more minutes,” he said. “He’s got some carrots in his back pocket. Maria will be out in a couple of minutes with the brush, I bet.”
Simon whinnied softly. “These humans. They are so predictable, if you just are consistent and patient.”