The Foster family.

Where did the donkeys come from? All THREE of them.

My previous landlord had a small donkey that they had rescued. He lived on the property with other farm animals. He was rescued as a youngster and lived his life on the farm with loads of other animals but no donkey friends. I have no idea what he had suffered before he came to the farm but it must have been gruesome as he still bears the scars but he shows no bitter feelings towards humans for the way he had been treated before.  He was rescued from being a cart donkey in the township, pulling a cart filled with whatever was going to be sold on that particular day.  The lifespan of a donkey working under these conditions is not very long. Most of them die due to exhaustion and not being fed, but this little guy was lucky to have found Elaine. She brought him home and nursed him back to health.  He had been badly burnt on his back with hot car oil and the hair never grew back on the spots where it had fallen. A cute little black donkey, long ears and little round hooves, all fell into my heart the first time I saw him. He never thought he was a donkey.  He would walk behind me when I did my rounds on the farm checking on my horses and would probably climb in my car if I didn’t stop him. A great lover of being loved and any snacks, his antics just made me like him more and more.

Elaine and her husband, an elderly couple ,decided to sell the farm and spend their golden years at the beach so it was only natural that Brassie would be adopted by me. No problems there, except that where there was one there had to be two. Much like the Ark, I didn’t believe in having one of a species. There was only one fly in the ointment, my Eeyore at home  i.e. husband, couldn’t know about my newly acquired buddy or there would be an unpleasant time to follow. 

 How hard could it be, I thought.  Christopher NEVER comes to the stables, he doesn’t know the difference between a horse and a donkey and has no idea how many horses I actually have in my horse harem.

My daughter, Briony (my most ardent follower-in-footsteps) quickly put the word out at our local horse care unit. There, another ARK builder in her own right, Ashley, quickly made work of the request.

The call came through late afternoon. “Yvette, I found a friend for your donkey! It’s a girl, she is a bundle of surprises with attitude to match. Do you want to come look?”

Look?!  No looking, just hook the horsebox and off we went, all excited about the new addition.  When we got to the Horse Care Unit we found the most beautiful little girl waiting for us.  An angelic facial expression, soulful eyes and one broken ear. She stood quietly allowing us to cuddle and love her and the deal was sealed. The moment we said yes, our shit started.  She refused to move, let alone be loaded into the box. Her obstinate behavior should have set off alarm bells but as usually we were squeezing a round peg into a square hole…

Fiona (as she was named on the spot) had to be picked up and physically put in the horsebox. No problem, all is well that ends well. Not quite, as we were soon to find out. Off-loading was no problem as we simply let the front ramp of the horsebox down and the queen made her appearance. She surveyed the area and let off a volley of well-aimed kicks as if to say, ”don’t fuck with me…!” Message received as our little Brassie (now named Earl) cut his welcome short and went to cower in a corner.  Madam proceeded to eat every morsel of the offerings we had put down for BOTH donkeys. Our fear was that we had no idea what Fiona was carrying in her tummy at that stage.  She had been found wandering on the road and taken to the Horse Care Unit as a stray. Our friend Ashley only alerted us to this as we were driving away from her, a little shell shocked by the unwillingness of the new donkey to load, screaming her farewell: “Oh, we don’t know if she is pregnant…!” We had bargained on hiding two donkeys from my husband not three and it never crossed our minds that a baby would be part of the package as Earl had been castrated when he was young. The following few months were spent fluctuating between agony and excitement. Was she or wasn’t she… as it turned out, luckily not.

One afternoon we received another call from our friend Ashley, the Ark gatherer.

“Yvette, can you help me with one more donkey pleasepleasepleaseplease…”

“Ag shit, fuck..!” Horsebox hooked and off we go…arrival at the Horse Care Unit and there stands the saddest little donkey. Literally skin and bones, his neck a muscled crescent from pulling cart.  The corners of his mouth torn from being subjected to wire used as a bit. He is definitely very, very old and his tear ducts have not stopped manufacturing tears so it looked like he had two little rivers running down his face. In the paddock next to him stood a beautiful little baby donkey also looking for a home. I could not but but help compare the two.  One starting his life, all new and cute.  The other ending his life, old and worn. So, what to do? I am already hiding two donkeys, what will a third be? Once again, we load and off we go.  This time I am screaming at Ashley as we drive down the road: “Stop phoning me! Lose my number! I AM NOT YOUR friend!” to which she just smiles and waves even more.

Our road with Duke (as he was named) was much more complex. He was about 20 years old and had only known hardship and abuse all his life.

We offloaded him in the paddock with Fiona and Earl.  Fiona was her usual feisty self, Earl showing much more respect but Duke never acknowledged their existence. He stood for days, head hanging, showing very little interest in his new surroundings. He didn’t know what a treat was and wouldn’t eat the carrots on offer. No flies on Fiona who had her share and his in a matter of minutes. The tears on his face continued to course down his cheeks and it was very difficult to get near him.

At home Briony and I had to be very careful what we said.  Any references to Duke, Earl or Fiona would quickly be covered up with something else so Dad wouldn’t become any wiser about our new additions.

We run a very strict health protocol with all our animals.  Everybody gets their annual shots, deworming at regular intervals, feet done every six weeks and once a year the dentist comes. Our farrier has been part of our family for as long as we have had horses so it’s safe to say he is family. He started off doing our horses, then it progressed to the donkeys and finally we added the sheep and goats for good measure.  The dentist is the same caliber person as our farrier. Never loses his cool and certainly does not lift a hand to any of the animals. That’s not to say there are moments of intense testing and walking away to go kick a stone and then coming back to complete the task at hand. The donkeys were not accustomed to having their feet or their teeth done. For us it is non-negotiable so it just has to happen.  I think all these years later, Fiona still tests both the farrier and the dentist. She is a lady of attitude and an immense will. The will of “thou shalt not fuck with me….”

Come dentist or farrier time I can see my grooms wilt. The rodeo is on.  It takes two grown men to get the Madam to stand still.  That and a halter and a pole. Until the moment where she is suitably tied down it is as if all hell breaks loose in the paddock.  Dust, grass, shavings, people, sweat, swearing, countless looks of despair and finally she is done. The other two put up a fight but it’s not as spectacular. Then we rest until the farrier comes again.  I feel his sigh as I say: ”and now for Fiona..”

It took nearly two years for Duke to come out of his shell.  His tears dried up one day and it was like he suddenly understood that he is now a full-blown paddock ornament.  He is still unwilling to come for a cuddle but I have had a few moments of close contact with him, every time a little longer than the previous time. 

Our big challenge came with the move when we had to load the long-eared equines, but our friend Ashley, the one from helping build the Wilde ark, was called in and with their help ( and about 4 donkey experts) we loaded the buggers.

The next problem was how was I going to explain them to my husband. He was going to notice them and without a doubt he would want to know where they came from. I have to add that his complexion would change color when he started talking about my farm, going from his usual bleak self to some spectacular hues of red and purple so I knew he was going to be a paint by numbers if he found out about them.

My salvation came in the form of Pinterest.  I was going though signs used for barns and stables when I saw a cute sign that said “The Foster Family.” Ahhhhhhmen!!! Praise Jesus!

The next day I went to my friend at the signage shop and gave her a list of signage needed for the farm.  In between all the boards was a little board that read “Duke, Fiona & Earl. The Foster Family” The minute my signs arrived they were all erected by the individual stables with the most important one done first.

The day came that Father walked through the yard with me, showing little interest in the livestock and more interest in the money I had spent .Things were starting to get tense when he came to an abrupt halt in front of the donkeys. His eyes narrowed.  His complexion started to change… accusingly he turned to me: “WHO is this?” he whispered through clenched teeth. Unconcernedly (seemingly so because I had been practicing my answer in front of the mirror), I answered: “Oh, it’s the Horse Care Unit fosters.”

“Who pays for them?” he asked.

“The Horse Care Unit,” I replied with practiced ease. Now the man is squinting at me, trying to ascertain the truth by eyesight. His gut is telling him there is a problem but my face is belying this.

I won. Today the Foster Family are living happily ever after on the farm.  Making shit ( real shit) and making mayonnaise on a daily basis.  I walk the boundaries of the farm at night checking fences and I do so with 8 dogs, a cat and a donkey in tow. I look like the Pied Piper of Boltonwold.