Ken Norman and I met in 2003 when I called him to take care of Carol, my first donkey and the one I brought up to Bedlam Farm with the sheep. Carol had lived alone in a barren pasture for years and she was smart and ill-tempered. More than once she unlatched the gates at the farm and one time I came home to find that she opened the back door – she turned knobs with her teeth and got into the kitchen where she was opening cabinets and eating bread and cereal. Ken Norman came to trim her hooves and he educated me in the ways of donkeys – when to call a vet, when to call him, what donkeys ate, how they behaved.

Ken shows up every couple of months – he used to call, now he texts on his Iphone 3.  He often has a dog, and his trucks – like mine – have changed and evolved over time. Sometimes he brings his wife Eli, sometimes the Bedlam Farm Barn Princess Nikolene. We meet them for dinner once in awhile and Nikolene and I made so much noise in Manchester we almost got thrown out of the restaurant.

I tell Ken stories of the writer’s life – he is mesmerized at the animal issues that crop up on my blog – and he tells me stories of the farrier’s life. He always has good ones. Once or twice a year he shows up with a broken arm or cracked rib – kicked by horses usually – and I always ask him if he is taking time off. He laughs. He is big and strong and he will wrestle a donkey or a horse into submission. He never loses patience with these animals, never. We have watched each other grow up, and Ken, an officer in the West Pawlet, Vt. Volunteer Fire Department is a good friend, an important person to know, an important part of my life here. He loves animals in the very particular way of one who understands their true nature – I love listening to him chat up the donkeys as he trims their hooves, his pockets stuff with horse treats. When Ken comes, we gossip about other animals – never people – and Ken has seen me in all of my various upstate incarnations, the good and the bad. He has stuck with me anyway.

The donkeys give Ken a hard time but they trust him and after he’s done, we stand around for awhile appreciating our good fortune and talking about our lives. Fanny adores Ken and always puts her nose in his pockets. After he’s done, the donkey’s always retreat to a safe distance and keep their eyes on things.  It is nice to see Ken with an apprentice, Eadon Ryan, who Ken is teaching the art of the farrier.

Eadon will be good at it if he chooses to go that route, he loves animals and knows how to deal with them. I love knowing good and hard-working and honest people like Ken. He sets his own price and it is always a good and fair price for good work. I never negotiate with him, it is never necessary. He is interested in me as well as the donkey’s and he has known me long enough to understand me well. He has seen me in some hard and dark times.  He has stories about me that keep me red-faced and he loves telling them to Maria.

Simon gave Ken a workout last time, but this time I was there, and I swatted Simon on the nose and he was good. “Stand still, Simon,” Ken pleaded, “before the photographer runs off to take a picture, which he will do.” And I did. Ken has become a regular on Facebook offering commentaries and exchanging photos. He just joined Instagram.

It is a good time when the farrier comes, a reminder to me of the importance of friendship, loyalty and community, precious things that some people never know and others will never leave.

I consider people who love what they do sacred – there are few and they are precious. It is brutally difficult work that Ken does, and for little money. He has a platoon of rescued horses and donkeys on his farm and he has a cynical facade at times, but his great heart shines through it.  He loves his life, which makes it a meaningful life, another one in which security is not defined the way it is for most people. Neither of us could ever go back to the other world. It is more than business when the farrier comes, it is a timeless ritual of friendship and meaning.