Well, it isn’t her. Maria was dubious about a new pasture, we have no money, she says, and what if they don’t use it or need it? Maybe we should wait and see if the creek dries up, or the other grass grows. No, no, I said, I’ve been managing a farm for some years now, you have to plan ahead, think ahead. The last few summers have all been the same – rain early on, dry heat for months, less hay and it’s more expensive. We don’t want to be caught with our grass dry and brown.

So there I was this morning, taking note of the very curious and ironic fact that the only living things in the pasture were two human beings and then, a mouse-hunting barn cat. Lulu decided that she wasn’t the ass on the farm, it was me. It was Lulu’s rebellion. If she wasn’t going, nobody was going. Simon wasn’t going to cross her and neither was Fanny. Then even the sheep joined in and defied me and then Red. They just weren’t going and there was less water today than yesterday. Maria didn’t say much, but I caught her Sicilian look – only the people are in the pasture, she said quietly but with some hint of menace and a gleam if I-told-you-so.

I cleared my throat and I said the message here is that our spoiled animals aren’t going to get their feet dirty wading through muck until the pipe and gravel arrive. Donkeys know everything, they read the motives and intentions of people like me, especially people that they know well. They know there is a plan, they are waiting for it. You’ll see, I told Maria, once our grave and tube arrive, they’ll all be in there. Let’s go eat breakfast, she said. So I guess we all know who the ass is, at least for today.