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Thursday, December 10, 2015


baby edie and mama jen
Today, Wednesday, I took carrots to the donkeys in the morning. All three were out in the meadow. Jack came running. Jenny and baby walked. Every time Jack arrives first for carrot, he's difficult for Jenny, won't let her near the carrots. Jenny stood a ways behind Jack and I tossed the carrots to Jenny over Jack. He gets weird when he's the first one at the fence. He will not let Jenny near the fence. When she's the first one, she's fine with Jack at the fence and Jack is not a problem toward her. Both are unreasonably jealous when they're eating. Sometimes eating his grain in the afternoon, he turns so jealous he snorts and growls at me if I am too close to his grain even the other side of the fence. Jenny, the jealous natured one, won't let Jack near her grain, but is fine with me nearby. It seems odd every time Jack acts up over his food, he has no apparent jealousy in him. Only eating. Jack backed up a little too close to Jenny at grain time, she popped him on the rump with a back hoof, and he popped her in turn. The baby stepped a little too close to Jenny and she popped it on the rump. Baby wobbled and looked around like to say, What was that?
one-eyed jack
I thought when baby was looking bewildered, You'll get used to it, baby. This is your donkey lifetime. The kicking has begun. Baby came to me at the fence. I touched the top of its head, rubbed it's neck, talked to it. It's first touch of the human hand. Like all animals the first time they're touched and rubbed they think nothing of it. We train them to let us pet them. I leaned my head down close to the ground to look up between donkey's legs. Saw nothing but white fur. Lifted the tail and saw nothing. So I figure it's a girl. Her name now is Edie. If it were a boy, the name would be Ed. I did not know what to do for a name and decided to ask the youngest person I know to name the baby. Lucas and Judy Carpenter's girl, Meredith, I've known since she was a baby, has a three year old baby, Teddy. Teddy is a sharp little kid. Judy talks with him on the cell phone regularly. I asked her to ask him if he would like to name the baby donkey. He was taken aback by the suggestion unto stumped. It was like a whole new concept for his child mind to be asked to name a donkey. He said, "I'll have to think about it."
two hours old
Three days later, he gave his answer: Mr Ed if it's a boy and Miss Ed if it's a girl. I can't quite see myself calling a donkey Miss Ed, though it is a fun name. I decided to go with Edie, the same as Miss Ed in one word. I wondered how a three year old child in San Francisco knew about Mr Ed the talking horse. It puzzles me. He's been in Montessori school at least a year. Maybe they show old movies like Ma And Pa Kettle Go To New York, movies I saw in childhood. I doubt he knows about the Little Rascals. I checked out some Little Rascals videos from the library earlier this year. It's a sight how politically incorrect they were, sexist and racist unbelievably from today's perspective. They were so insensitive, even I, repelled by political correctness, was sometimes wide-eyed over what I was seeing, my grandparents' generation. The little black boys pushed the little white boys in wagons. The little white girls were pre-pubescent sex objects. The kids were even a bit unsettling in that regard. Of course, they were directed and scripted by adults. 
jack rolls in a dust circle
I was watching a movie a little while ago with Sofia on my lap, thinking how fun it is now with a kitten, a baby donkey and Vada. In my advanced years, suddenly I am lured into play every morning with a wide-open kitten. On Sundays I see Vada. This last Sunday, she took hold of my hand before I could take my coat off, wanting me to go with her to her room and play. She wanted to show me her toys. Later, during football, she brought out her hand-puppet turtle, wanted me to put it on my hand and let her feed it fart putty. The turtle acted like it was chewing the fart putty. Whenever Vada would look away, I'd take the flattened chunk of fart putty out of the turtle's mouth and hide it under my leg. The turtle swallowed and Vada gave it more fart putty. This went on until the fart putty ran out. When she looked away, I stuffed all the fart putty I'd collected into the turtle's mouth and said to Vada, "Turtle's not feeling good. He's gonna puke." Mouth opened, a glob of fart putty fell out. Vada squealed delight and began feeding the turtle again. "Make it puke." At home, I flip a string for a kitten and soon will be playing with a baby donkey. I did not foresee that in my seventies I would learn how to play. 


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