Donkey Day.

Donkey Day

Our donkey was called Poppy, which he probably would not have been very keen on if he had known. Every morning when he saw the back door open he would let rip a deafening EEEE AAAAAW!! from the fence to his field just a few feet from the house. It would rattle the windows and wake the neighbours. I blamed this on my wife who had the habit of going straight over to him with a tit-bit of some left over from the day before.

He was only a youngster when we got him and a really likeable character. He had all the parts that a handsome young donkey should have. But when the local pony club went by he became frisky especially if a mare was in season. The local butcher was a bit of a self - taught animal expert and on his next visit with his mobile butcher's van we asked his advice. So he felt underneath Poppy and gave his opinion.

"Yes, he still has all his tackle. It'll be best to have him done."

Then he served us with a pound of sausages and some stewing steak. Back in the house we decided that it would be best to have 'him done' and arranged for the vet to call. Just then my wife changed the subject.

"He didn't wash his hands you know."

"Well it's a van - it doesn't have mains plumbing."

"I know that, but I don't fancy the sausages now."

Well, I was never one to waste food.

When the vet came I had Poppy's shed all cleaned out with fresh straw as I thought it would be the operating theatre, however the vet said "It's OK, we'll do it in the field."

The injection had considerable power and in a minute he was gently sagging to the ground. I was asked to restrain his head and like all brave men I did what I was told and looked the other way. We are overlooked by neighbours and the curtains were twitching.

Quickly, all was done and he threw the pieces he had removed into a patch of nettles which only served to bring more tears to my eyes. Another injection (and one for infection) and he was on his feet and pacing back and forth from corner to corner of his field like a clockwork toy.

The next morning there he was stood at his normal spot and as the door opened he began.

EEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEE

There was not an AAAAAAAAAAAW anywhere to be heard. He must have been too painful.

"They used to do that to opera singers years ago." I said to my wife

EEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEE

"Do what?" she asked.

EEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEE

"They used to call them Castratos." I said trying my hardest to be serious.

EEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEE EEE

"What? I can't hear for Poppy."

EEEEEEEEEE EEE EEEEEEEEEEEE

"Oh, never mind I'll tell you later."

He was like that for two weeks before the AAAAAAAAAW came back.

But he was none the worse for his experience and continued to give us great pleasure, if not for his singing!