CHRISTMAS AT HOME WITH FAMILY

black corena

 

The night before Christmas not much stirred through the house. Dog lay curled up in the reading chair, cat beneath the desk at my feet, and the primate played the keyboard like a percussion piano of clicks. Windchimes went ting-tong-ting outside, and inside my head the katydid chorus of a summer night. Dog's experiential learning for the day concerned rain, learning how to go from one napping place to another. She'd go to the door, I'd open the door, she'd look at the rain awhile and back up. It gets tight in here when we're all three in motion. Frequently our paths cross with dog at my knees and cat at my ankles. Two days of rain has both dog and cat frustrated they can't go outside. Both understand their boundaries outdoors by now. Sofia stays close to the house. Corena explores in sight of the house all the way around. Dog is learning the boundaries of her new territory. The time will come she will do her toilet in places that establish her boundaries to the night critters and dogs passing through. She will keep her markings fresh and quickly be known by all the four-leggeds in this part of the mountain, including the squirrels and chipmunks, them first. The primate's territory now has a guardian, a four-legged security guard. 

 

corena explores her new home

 

Barking at sounds from the woods across the road in the dark identifies dog to all of them. She says to them, Y'all stay where you belong...enter my territory at  your own risk...I am Dog...next thing to Wolf. She's naïve to the ways of the wild, has much learning ahead, learning by her own experience. Martha will be a good teacher for her at first, a dog who has lived here all her life. Martha is not much of a hunter. She likes to play chase, make them run, anything that will run. If it won't run, then she runs. Only problem, I don't want dog rambling with Martha, especially not with her sister, Jolene. I will stop her rambling with them before it starts. I'll call her in the house when Jolene comes around. I don't even want her to know Jolene. Corena will not be a rambling dog. It's too dangerous now for a dog that rambles, and all the more for one that doesn't know her way around on the ground, among the dogs of the area or the wildlife. She has not yet learned about donkeys. One day she may want to play, may taunt one to play chase and learn why dogs stay out of the donkey meadow. Maybe. They may take to dog and want to play chase.

jack and jenny munch hay

 

This morning Corena went with me to take carrots to the donkeys. She squealed and sniffed at Jenny and Jack from our side of the fence. Even yesterday, giving them grain, dog nearby was no occasion for alarm. They paid the dog no mind. Sophia was watching from nearby. They looked at her, though not with any inclination to dart away. They did not even grunt or snort at Corena. It just now occurred to me she is close to the same size as baby donkey. Both donkeys are out of sorts. In their shared grief, their zeal has gone out of them. At carrot time, since the baby left the body, I hand one a chunk of carrot, either one will take a bite and let the rest of it fall to the ground. They are even slow to take a bite of carrot. The first morning, neither one wanted carrot. I threw them on the ground to let mourning donkeys pick the carrots up later when they felt like it. As of yesterday, Jenny's "foal heat" turned on, the heat donkeys go into a couple weeks after giving birth. Jenny is a hormonal salad in this time. She is so inward she only wants to be alone or beside Jack. Their love is visible in the ways they console one another. At this moment, they are munching hay, side by side, almost touching.  

cat wants to play

It is a rainy day, short-sleeve Christmas, comfortable inside and out. I feel for the dog, just as she's become acquainted with her new territory and wants to learn it all now, it rains three days and nights. I dreamed, just before waking up, I was looking through the window at the donkey meadow and saw a new baby donkey standing close to Jenny, smaller than Miss Ed. This falls in line with my dreams of the last years characterized by a familiar scene with something missing that belongs there, or something there that is not there. Most often only one thing. I'd like to see Jack and Jenny adopt Corena as their surrogate baby. She's gentle with them and likes to be close to them. They're not even alarmed by her while they're eating grain, when they don't even want me around, knowing I've never challenged them for it. I'll not anticipate one way or the other, but wait and see what develops between them. The donkeys tolerate Martha in the meadow, but not near them. Corena walked all around them while they were grazing hay, her first time meeting them. Whatever they make of her, I can see they are as receptive to and wide open with her as with me. She put her nose to Jenny's grain, an inch away, the other side of the fence. Jenny will not let me that close to her grain without snorts and stompings, forget the fence. Their relationship with dog and cat bears paying attention to.   

sophia in her comfort zone

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

BABY DONKEY'S THIRD DAY

 

baby donkey two days old

 

I'm happy for Jenny that her baby arrived without a problem or any sort of complication. She fell into mother mode the moment her baby was out in the air. She is still my friend Jenny with a new aspect of her personality come forward. Her attention is on her baby at all times. She's the same with me as always. She's a good teacher. She's a rough teacher, but she's a rough donkey with a rough baby. In the first hours, baby wanted to walk in front of mama's legs. Jenny hit it with the side of her head to push it to the side. I used to wonder how mothers taught their babies without language. Of course, babies don't have language, so language is out of the picture. Baby would walk back in front of her feet and Jenny would knock it to the side, teaching it over and over, as many times as it takes, teaching it to walk beside her, not so close in front. Today baby walks to the side of mother's head when not out front leading the way or behind mama.

 

mother and child

 

Jenny is comfortable with me near her baby. I don't do anything to push her into discomfort. My approach in Jenny's early days, weeks, months with her baby is to stand back, admire, talk to Jenny, call her Beautiful Jen, let her know I mean no harm to her baby. I think of Jane Goodall sitting among the chimpanzees, being still, body language saying not a threat. I keep arms down and when I use them go slowly like there is no rush. I've discovered recently that when we humans move fast like we do, jerk around like we do, make unpredictable arm movements, the animals become wary of us. The donkeys have taught me the pace of their flow. I move as though there is no hurry about anything, I have all day, may lie down for a nap if I take a notion, and the donkeys pay me no mind. They see me, but feel no alarm. It's when I move fast and unpredictably they watch closely and stand back with a wary edge. Sitting still or moving slowly, both donkeys are available to be touched. Moving fast, they back away from my hand. I've learned this as a form of communication between us. Body language is important to them. I show them I'm in physical tune with their flow.

 

new in the world

 

Baby is learning to meditate early in life. Mama grazes on what's left of the green grass and the hay I take to them in the mornings, baby has nothing to do. Baby can't graze, can't be nursing all the time, so baby stands in place, stands still and almost falls asleep standing up. I've watched baby stand motionless for a long time. It's what donkeys do. They stand still all day. Stand in place and graze, move a step or two, stand in place and graze, take another step or two and graze some more. They are in motion all day and are still all day. Baby is learning that donkeys stand around a lot. Nothing much going on but grazing. No marauding dogs, no predators, no bull donkeys moving in on Jack's territory. They have a peaceful home, a meadow with a fence around it to keep everything and everybody out, shelter, a primate to give them carrots and hay in winter when the grass is gone. I don't want to push myself onto the baby donkey. I'd rather she slowly get to know me, see me every day, see Mama Jen is not afraid of me nor is Jack. I am part of her world and she will know me as such. She will learn from Jenny I'm to be trusted. That's when I'll start getting to know baby more personally. Baby and Jenny need each other's undivided attention now.  

 

baby meditates while mom and dad eat their grain

 

Today, Thursday, I went out into the meadow and sat on the exposed root of a big maple to watch them. Jenny and baby walked out into the meadow, I set the camera on video and followed what they did. Jenny is aware the camera is an eye that sees her, but I think that's as far as she can get with it. She walked up to me, wanted to feel it with her lips and then her teeth, wanted to see what it was made of, maybe good to eat. I know what she's doing, so I don't freak out from fear she'll eat my camera. She just wants to feel it, see what it's made of, understand it. It spooks her a little bit, aware it sees her, and she doesn't know what it is. While watching the baby I was feeling the chosen name in relation to the donkey herself. Edie never rang right with me. Miss Ed sounded and felt just exactly right for the donkey I was looking at. I ran them both over and over in my mind, listening to their sounds and feeling them. Miss Ed feels right. Edie feels like a name tag. Miss Ed feels like the donkey herself. I am feeling like I'm going to let it be Miss Ed, maybe Miss Edie her grownup name. My feeling is it will be Miss Ed. When I see her, I think Miss Ed automatically. I'll ruminate on this some more.

 

miss ed

 

photos by tj worthington

 

 

*











A DONKEY NAMED EDIE

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. 

  

vada

 

 

 

 

*

  

A DAY IN THE FLOW

jenny in the sun

 

I've become convinced the visit by young friend in despair over his life was a spiritual experience. I did not see it at the time, because I did not want to interpret, rather merely to listen, not objectively, but subjectively, as in life, to someone talking straight from the heart. I had to listen with my heart to hear it. I let go of my own thoughts and gave over to his, flowed with his thought process, allowed him to lead his own way. I did indeed feel a flow, that I had aligned myself with the flow, allowed it to carry me as I heard my friend's story in minimalist language that sometimes had me thinking this was a Pinter play.  I did not realize it at the time that my own continuous mind play had settled down like a cat on a pillow in sunlight. All my mind was on what he was saying. I never wondered or thought about what I'd say, just followed what he said with what came spontaneously to mind. I did not realize my mind was so focused, never said, "let's pray about it," or even thought prayer within. I was thinking this was about him given a conundrum he had to find a way to settle for himself. I'm happy to assist, but it's his work to do. He was so turned off by religion, I did not want to imply I knew better than he did, because I don't, which helped me stay away from the clichés we use for God and love that misrepresent both.
 

sofia in the sun

 

He already knew the innermost self is nameless, it's called the soul, but any word naming it becomes meaningless. I wanted to honor his own insight by not using names of that which cannot be named. As he told me these insights he had figured out for himself, I told him they are the same as my own, because it's true and to affirm his thinking. Your thoughts are not weird. I also did not realize my heart was glowing with love vibration for this child of the most high traversing his own Valley of the Shadow of Death. I was with the flow of his story such that it felt like any social interaction, consciousness to consciousness. I did not realize that I had opened to the spirit within. Next day, yesterday, I carried some hay out into the meadow for the donkeys midday in the sunlight. Thought I'd sit with them and visit. I sat on the ground between them, talked to them, feeling a mild golden glow between us, feeling their inner stillness, not thinking of it as that, not thinking about it at all, just feeling their flow grazing hay in the sunlight after a cold night. Jack came up behind me and put his chin on my left shoulder, sniffed my ear, my face, my breath, extended his whole jaw over my shoulder and pressed the side of his head to the side of my head and held it there.
 

donkey jen

He raised his chin up over my head and placed it on my right shoulder. He moved his whole head over my shoulder. He pressed the side of his head to the side of my head again and we stayed like that awhile. He moved his head away, pushed my shoulder with his side a little bit, a body nudge. He turned around and backed up to me, very gently pressed his back knees to my back and stood there. I soon wondered what he was up to. I turned around to look. His tail was rising and his bung-hole was puckering toward dropping some donkey biscuits. I thought, What the hell? Jack's energy was very quiet, still and deliberate, and Jenny grazing quietly about two feet to my right. I realized Jack was aiming to gift me his shit. I knew it is not dirty to them like it is to us. I tend not to think it dirty. However, I did not feel like I wanted a steaming donkey biscuit rolling down inside my collar. I hesitated, because I felt this was important to Jack, but really didn't want to participate in whatever ritual Jack was performing.
 

donkeys in the sun

I rolled onto my feet and said, "I don't want you shitting on me, Jack." He looked disappointed like I'd hurt his feelings. I came to the house and later, wondering what Jack was doing, it came to me that I had been talking to him about us being friends for over two years, and this was his way of claiming me with his scent, a ritual of the bond between us, a blood brothers rite. He wanted my scent to be the same as his and Jenny's. The three of us are bonded as friends and he wanted us to smell alike. Then I was sorry to be so slow minded as to fail to get it in time to let him honor me with his scent. A shower is always an option. Perhaps I would have if I could have thought of it in time. I don't know. I woke that morning feeling in the spirit from the experience the night before. By in-the-spirit, I mean when everything flows with perfect timing. I went into town and felt mild joy with everyone I spoke with. That it put me in the spirit told me the experience night before with friend was, for both of us, a spiritual experience. I learned much from it and I believe he did too. Both of us benefited. I may be interpreting Jack by a projection of my own mind. Looked at as Jack, himself, the donkey I know, he likes to play straight-faced tricks on me. He more than likely wanted to see me jump.

jack contemplates his shadow

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

DONKEY TALK

jenny graced by the light

 

Jenny is swelling up big. She has an inner stillness that is not aloof, rather soft hearted, aware she has a baby on the way. Today at grain time, I poured Jenny's grain, she was jealous of it, Jack stepped too close and she popped him with a back hoof. It was not a kick to hurt, just to get his attention, tell him he's closer than is allowed when Jenny is having her grain. Jack gets anxious, squeals and moans waiting for me to pour his grain. He, too, is jealous of it when he's having his grain. I wanted to talk with Jenny and went back to her after pouring Jack's grain, stood still and talked to her about her baby and soon I'll be calling her Big Mama Jen. I leaned down to look under her to see how her udder was developing. She took a sideways step with her rear end toward me, body language to stay back from her grain. I told her I don't eat donkey food. I went back to see Jack and he would not have me near. I needed to walk between a small tree and the fence, but Jack got a little too anxious when I stepped too close. His grain was just the other side of the fence. I stepped around the tree to give him peace of mind.

jack graced by the light

Neither one was threatening. It was body language in both cases, the warning that says a kick is next if you don't pay attention. I have no problem with it. We communicate by paying attention to each other. Jenny tells me she's not comfortable with me so close when she's eating, I pay attention and give her some space. That's all she wants. Both the donkeys are quiet in this time. I'm taking hay to them daily now. I've found a way to keep them from crowding me at the gate when I want to enter the meadow with an armload of hay. I throw two small servings of hay over the fence in a place away from the gate. They eat the first offerings of hay and leave me alone to carry the hay out into the meadow where they can eat it in warm sunlight all day. I also enjoy carrying the hay out into the meadow with Jenny just a few steps behind my back and Jack behind Jenny. They understand I am an easy pushover and have no physical power next to theirs. They are powerful beasts. They know I am no match for them. In the hierarchy of who can kick whose ass, I'm at the bottom and we all know it. I don't push them. I go among them in peace and they go in peace with me. I imagine they feel protective toward the primate because it's so puny.  

first hay of the winter

 

They appreciate that I do not manhandle them, don't treat them like stock. Though I have full confidence they will not kick me, I also pay attention to their language of movement and snorts. We communicate by eye contact. I use tone of voice with them, like they do with each other. They have a language of grunts, whines, squeals. Like slang, the meaning is in the context. The times I've been between them when they decided the other was too close to me and a kick-fest erupted with flimsy primate in the middle. I don't believe they would have kicked me had I stood still. That's not something you think about when two donkeys start kicking all around you. It startles me and I function spontaneously, like get out of there fast. I put my hand on Jenny and holler, Donkey Jen! to get her attention and she stops. Jack stops too. My action is automatic and Jenny stopping immediately is just as automatic. I don't have to hit her with my hand. Just the touch of the hand renders her quiet, like stilling a vibrating drum head. We are friends. We are bonded. I hand-feed them carrots daily, take grain to them daily and provide the hay. They know I mean no harm. I go in peace.

jenny's belly

First thing I learned from Jack was to keep my arms still. They don't know what to make of our arms. They're unpredictable. They might take a notion to grab a donkey. I noticed Jack jumped back every time I moved my arms. I stopped moving them unconsciously and relaxed my arm movements, letting Jack see the motion slow enough to follow it. By the time Jenny came into the meadow, Jack had taught me donkey nature. I already knew to keep my arms at my sides around Jenny. She was traumatized, taken from her goat friend and her human friend without her consent. I hear Nina Simone sing, I loves you Porgy, don't let him take me, don't let him handle me and drive me mad. Jenny was abducted by force and turned into a meadow with a serial rapist, who, the day before, had no idea he was a stud. I will stay back from her baby until she invites me to interact. I know her jealous nature. It's in her like grain in wood. I do like Jack, honor it in her and we have no problem, Jenny is the sweetest donkey we could know.

donkey jack

 

 

*

 



DONKEYS IN THE GLOAMING

donkey jen has burrs in her mane

 

The sun lowers in the sky, the shadows grow longer. The line between sunlight and shade creeps across the donkey meadow. The red oak leaves in the distance glow red. Birds, chipmunks, squirrels dart about after siesta gathering seeds for supper to keep them warm through the night. Jenny and Jack left the hay I put out for them midday to graze on the short grass given a tiny boost by days of sunlight after a good rain. While the meadow has a bit of grass to nibble, I throw them a little bit of hay per day to supplement their diet. They like this fresh hay. The donkeys are grazing in the direction of the watering hole. They find patches of growth they've missed. Last year I gave them more hay than they ate. They would not eat the broom straw that was thick in the hay. Every day the broom straw was left over. I started feeding them hay the days of the rain, under the trees where the rain is not so direct.

 

jenny scratches her neck on the fence

 

I sit here looking out the window at the grazing donkeys, see their constant awareness of the other. It is a loving awareness between them, not fear. They are so equally matched one cannot dominate the other. Jack can take Jenny down, only when she's willing. Throughout her pregnancy she kicks Jack when he gets frisky. Websites I've looked at about donkeys say to keep them apart when the one is pregnant. Like that's going to work. They'd be braying for each other all the time, just for the presence of the other. I like to think Jack knows her condition and respects it, but know better. He is driven by the mind between his back legs such that Jenny has to keep him reminded she's not ready. It frustrates Jack, though he handles his frustration well. He's not one to be belligerent and hateful. He goes about Jenny gently, more for his own safety than consideration of Jenny's condition. I'm guessing she has maybe two more weeks. Their gestation period is a year, though often goes into an extra month.

 

 jack anticipates something to eat

 

Jack's most outstanding characteristic is his humility. Before Jenny entered the meadow I was guessing humility might be a donkey characteristic. Jenny popped that assumption. Jenny has a humble nature too, but she has to trust you first and Jenny does not take trust for granted. Jenny has a jealous streak strong as Jack's humility. Jack and I have learned to keep the peace by letting Jenny be first in all things, first with the carrots, first with the hay, first to talk to. She does not like being fondled, so when I want to pet on them, I pet Jack first. Jenny gets jealous watching and wants to be petted too. Jack doesn't care. Jack has a great longing to be first when I take the grain to them, though he defers to Jenny every day. If she sees danger he might get some of the grain first, she snorts, grunts, growls, and Jack backs away squealing to me in agony while he waits for me to pour his portion.

sofia grooms her cat fur

 

The gloaming has settled over the land now, the last sunlight gone from the trees on the ridge in the distance. The squirrels and birds went home for the night. Cat lies curled in her window seat. I'm half way into a Romanian film, California Dreamin. It is two and a half hours long. I don't have it for a movie that long to sit all the way through. I have no problem cutting a film in half. In childhood, daddy, who had been a WW2 marine hated standing in line after his experience in chow and other lines. When we went to a movie, we went in the middle and sat through the theater emptying and refilling, then previews and cartoon. I learned early to see the second half of a movie first and use the first half to fill in the blanks. I saw the movies from beginning to end by myself. I learned along the way to see movies by myself. I tend to like movies nobody else likes and tend not to like the ones everybody else likes. Last time I went to a movie with somebody, it was Derek Jarman's Richard II. Walking away from the theater, I said, "Good film." The retort: "It was Terrible!" My friends Lucas and Judy are the only people I can watch movies with in full enjoyment.

rhododendron leaves and shadows

 

photos by tj worthington

 

 

*

WINTER HAY FOR THE DONKEYS

 meadow and haybales

 

The weather has been ideal for mowing hay the second cutting and packing it into barns. Plenty of sunlight to dry it. The grass was dry enough to be easy mowing, raking and baling. Up high on a ridge, the wind would help dry the hay. The land is about half way between the town of Sparta and the township of Whitehead. Dead Man's Curve would be a little ways beyond the trees. I rode with Justin in his truck to the hayfield so I could drive the truck while he threw the hay onto the back and stacked it for the highway. I felt like old man Tom Pruitt in his seventies driving the truck while somebody else threw the hay onto the back. I wanted nearly as much as Tom did to be out there throwing the hay bales. Not that I thought it all that much fun, but I wanted to be helping out, not letting Justin take care of all of it when I was sitting in the truck taking pictures. He hates putting up hay and was vocal about it. I understand. We were talking as people who have put up a lot of hay. I don't particularly like it either, especially alone. Yet, I'd rather be out there tossing the hay than be the one driving the truck.. In the truck I feel bad about seeing somebody else do all the work. Just like old man Tom. Now I'm old man TJ.

 

justin

 

He had already packed by himself, and did the driving, twenty-eight bales that he brought to the donkey barn, unloaded and stacked in the barn. He came by the house to pick me up. I had just finished yesterday's writing, clicked the last button. I was ready to go. His truck is powerful. The tires are huge with major tread, expensive tires, such that it would take me a year to pay for them. My trucks in the past have not been power vehicles. They were just trucks, second-hand Toyotas. I never saw the need to put such money into a vehicle to get me from one place to another. Justin's needs are very different from mine. For him, it is a convenience to have such a powerful truck. He does some powerful work with it. Hauling twenty-eight bales of hay is a powerful feat for a truck. He drove it very carefully down the hills in the meadow and the way to the highway, shifting into low range gear, four wheel drive, and taking it easy. Lose traction, the hay is dumped and the truck on its side. I was witnessing great driving skills.

 

securing the hay for the road with one strap

 

How he packed the truck is one of many things Justin knows how to do that amazes me. In the picture you see twenty-eight bales of hay packed on the truck, secured with one strap across the back. We took highway back, a five to six mile trip to the donkey barn. The hay did not even wiggle during the ride up and down hills, through curves, some of them awkward. He backed the truck down the driveway with two curves to the barn like it was easy as driving forward. I back down it using the brakes. He backs down it with the gas pedal. He can drive backwards just like forward with side mirrors only. Justin's dad was a good driver, though Justin is a much better driver. His dad was a good fighter, and Justin a much better fighter. Age eighteen, his dad provoked son to fight him in the parking lot of the bowling alley where Justin played pool with his friends. Dad had in his mind embarrassing Justin by kicking his ass in front of his friends. He never hit Justin once, and got his own ass severely kicked. Justin tried to talk him out of it, said to him, "I will hurt you and I don't want to." Justin said of the event, "I know that swing from where it starts. I saw it like in slow motion. I moved my head back, he missed and I drilled him with my whole life."

 

at the barn





 

Justin threw the hay off the truck into the barn's opening. Back down on the ground, he packed the hay in the barn, then back on the truck throwing off some more bales, then back to packing it in the barn. Nothing for me to do but gape about and take pictures of him working like a slave for the donkeys. Done putting up the hay, I intended to take grain to the donkeys next. He wanted to be with me giving them the grain. He backed the truck up to the gate, opened the gate a ways to sweep the hay from the back of the truck where the donkeys could eat it. The abruptness of this huge white truck that rumbled like a Harley backing up to the gate, then opening the gate. Jenny got real nervous real fast. Justin wanted to give her grain by hand. She would not have it. She only backed away from him. Jack picked up Jenny's tension and backed away from him too. I gave Jack some grain by hand, then gave some to Jenny, talking to her, telling her she is safe, nobody is going to haul her away from here. I realized the last time a big truck with a white trailer appeared, she was abducted away from her life before, which she has not forgotten. She was terrified. I noticed her color a little bit odd. Her hair was standing straight up all over her body. For all she knew, I would betray her too, like her previous human Jenny believed was her friend. Justin and I took it as time to leave and settle it for her that she was safe at home with Jack.   

 



transferring the hay

 

 

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CATERPILLAR AND THE FORGETFUL KINGDOM

 

My heart is longing for a four-legged friend to bring some spirit back into the house. It's not like there is a void in my heart. It's just that I miss Caterpillar all the time. It is becoming something I need to let go of, maybe. The love in my heart for Caterpillar is the same as when she was in the body. I can still talk to her. It's a matter of getting  used to the absence. A kitten is available colored like Caterpillar with yellow eyes like hers. The kitten stays in my mind. Another part of mind says I don't need to be jumping into a Caterpillar replacement right away. Birds galore, chipmunks and squirrels are regulars here every day. I've cultivated them, fed them to attract them for my visual enjoyment. I cannot bring a killer in on them. Plus, there is all that goes with a kitten. Like teaching it to stay out of the road. Plus, I am not done with the sorrow of losing Caterpillar. I'm assured the time was right for Caterpillar, the method she chose was right. It showed me she was in tune with her wild mind. Domestic mind was learned behavior like a second language. Wild mind was her first and foremost mind. I like for my cats and dogs to have access to their wild minds. Where I live gives dogs or cats access to wild mind.

 

 

 

Caterpillar's back legs gave out. She lost her spring, the only reason she could lie on the ground to watch birds and chipmunks and not snatch them. Years ago, I saw her jump straight up and swat a flying snowbird about four feet above the ground. She hit it like hitting a tennis ball overhead. She did not knock it out of the air, hit a wing. The bird's flight wobbled and caught its equilibrium in a hurry and was gone. I did not like the cats killing birds, but they ate them. That they ate the birds I took for the natural order and allowed it. When they ate the birds, the cats are not just killing for fun. They did not kill more than they cared about eating. The cats were well fed at home. They did not require many birds, just enough to keep the desire for the taste of blood satisfied. Caterpillar had not been a hunter for several years, which I was grateful for, though on account of her back legs losing their spring, which makes me sad. My feeling is that she grew weary of her back legs not working so well.

 

 

 

I would do best not to think about it. She had her reasons that were beyond reason. Intuition guided her, or so I suspect. She seemed too much like she knew what she was about. She had purpose. It was the most interesting passing of any of my pets. Some were killed, some died of age. It leaves no choice but acceptance for my part. I'm grateful to Caterpillar for saving me the agony of burying her lifeless body. That's the very hardest part. The blues I'm feeling will pass. Caterpillar's is not the only spirit in the house. There is also my own spirit that inhabits the place. I'm either fooling myself or I do indeed feel Caterpillar's spirit is still here. Not like a ghost and not like her soul, more like the spirit of her presence continues in the air. Or maybe I'm more engaged with memory rather than subtle perceptions.  I'll go on grieving, knowing simultaneously that Caterpillar, her consciousness, her soul, is doing fine. She's all right. I'm the one that's not. Can't help but think of John Crowe Ransom's poem, Janet Waking. The last two stanzas:

 

     So there was Janet

     Kneeling on the wet grass, crying her brown hen,

     (Translated far beyond the daughters of men)

     To rise and walk upon it.

 

     And weeping fast as she had breath

     Janet implored us, "Wake her from her sleep!"

     And would not be instructed in how deep

     Was the forgetful kingdom of death.

 

 

 

The forgetful kingdom of death. I will forget the spirit of Caterpillar's presence. Time erases memory. Therefore, I cling to memory and feel sorrow all the more, knowing this, too, will pass. This, the grief, the last little bit I have left of Caterpillar, the sorrow of losing her, I hold in my arms while her spirit is fresh in my memory. It has been another day of inability to shake myself into motion. Unmotivated. No motivation for anything. I like taking carrots and grain to the donkeys. Jack is braying. A car going by set him off. He is a good brayer. The spirit of the donkeys is very much here. About the time my sorrow loses its momentum, a baby donkey will enter my life. It makes me curious about Caterpillar's timing. Jenny's belly is growing huge by now. I'm wondering if she has a belly full of two of them. I won't hope or think about it. I'll just pray that Jenny's delivery be safe for all concerned.   

 

 

light and shadow on white pine bark

 

photos by tj worthington

 



DONKEY POWER

jenny eats her sweet grain

Yesterday, a brake line sprung a leak. Appointment for 1:30 today. Drove the eight miles carefully, plotted the route uphill the first mile, downhill four miles in a gentle slope requiring little brake activity. Downhill another mile, rather steep at the beginning, drop down into lower gear to keep from needing brakes, a gentle downhill grade levelled out for the next three miles with an fairly long uphill toward the end, a right turn at the top of the hill, no brakes necessary, and level for the next half mile. Made it with still enough brakes to stop when needed, like the time someone backed out of a driveway in front of me, unaware a car was in sight. I was glad for what brake I had to stop. If the brake had failed, I'd have used the emergency brake by foot. Found it and put my foot on it for the feel of where it was before I pulled out of the parking space. It would stop, but it was slow to stop. I had to start braking before I otherwise would. It was just a matter of being careful like driving on ice. I've passed my driving on ice test several times on as many kinds of ice. Driving on ice requires absolute focus of attention and knowing your car. I'm glad I'm able to take this front-wheel drive v6 Buick almost anyplace I can take a 4-wheel drive pickup. The 4-wheel drive goes on ice just a little better than front-wheel. A few years ago, I couldn't make it up a certain rise in the road up the mountain from Pine Swamp, almost, but not quite. I knew the 4-wheel I drove before could have made it, though barely. The new brake line required dipping into the well of credit card. I don't like to go there, but figure this is what they're for, necessity. Not that I mind going to amazon a few times a month. 

jack eats his sweet grain

Also yesterday, I took the sweet grain to the donkeys later than usual. They were grazing at the far end of the meadow. I always pour the grain over the fence, because they get rambunctious in their jealous anxiety. They're so excited they squeal, snort, kick, have a body language argument. 

Jack: I want it now, can't stand waiting, now, gotta have it now, please, please, now.

Jenny: Get outta my way. I'm first. Move it. Get outta here. Now. I'll kick your ass. 

Jack: Oh no, can't stand to see Jenny eat and me have none. Squeal. Grunt. Snort. Moan. I can't stand it another second. 

I pour his out for him, most of it bouncing off his head after he goes for the first grains to fall. He doesn't mind. He likes to feel it. Jenny, too, dives into it as soon as the grain starts pouring, liking the feel of it bouncing off her head. Sweet grain from heaven. Neither Jenny nor Jack like me to to talk to them while they're having their treat. They're busy not only eating, but guarding what they're eating, their back ends aimed at each other. This makes it necessary to pour their grain at least three donkey lengths apart. Less than a donkey length between their rear ends makes them anxious, ready to fight off the other, though there never is a threat, until Jenny leaves her grain and pushes Jack away from his. She eats his grain and he goes and finishes hers. It's how they do with hay too.  

jack and jenny

I walked out into the meadow quite a ways before they looked up. Both took off at a gallop straight at me, Jack braying, Jenny squealing. They were so excited they ran to me too fast to stop on the wet ground and grass, and ran by me, one on either side almost touching me with their sides. It was a rush of power. I felt the power in these huge horse forms running wide open within inches of me on either side. Neither one touched me because neither one intended to. It got my attention in a big way. They were huge and powerful. I thought of the Plains Indians riding their horses in a herd of stampeding buffalo, hanging on with their legs while they use bow and arrow with their arms. If they don't hit it just right, buffalo and horse running full speed, the buffalo will fall into the horse, horse and man hit the ground and are trampled to death immediately. The feeling when the donkeys ran by gave me a glimpse of the physical power those guys rode with, from the Comanches to the Lakota. I've not been around horses much. Their power overwhelms me. Two full-sized donkeys on either side of me in their power was like a gust of hundred mph wind for a second. They turned and came back to me, bumping each other, biting at each other, Jenny swinging around at Jack, Jack swinging around at Jenny, and me in the middle. I knew they would not kick me or step on me. The feeling of their power in a brief sparring match was strong, inches away all the way around. Jenny swung her rear end around at me. I put my hand on her rump to stop the momentum. The touch of my hand took the fire out of her. She calms all the way down when I put my hand on her rump like that to stop her. Jack calmed down. I poured the grain for them and got my puny human ass out of there. It was not my power that stopped her, but the gentleness in the gesture.

jenny and jack

My hand against the power of a donkey is no more than a gesture. First couple of times, I put my hand up reflexively to give myself leverage to get away from her. I found every time she quieted down at merely the touch of my hand. I can't stop a donkey from doing anything with one hand, not even with two hands. Jack and Jenny are evidence to me that gentleness works far better than force. I know that I cannot force a donkey. I do not ever attempt to force either one in any way. Their only experience with me has been gentleness and feeding them. When I touch them, it's not to control. I'm their waiter at the donkey hay restaurant and serve them carrots every morning. I talk to them in a friendly tone of voice. I never have scolded or barked at one of them. I'll let out a yelp when Jenny swings her rear end around at me. The yelp catches her attention and my hand on her rump calms her down. My feeling is that she recognizes she is in automatic sparring mode and the touch of my hand reminds her it's her friend between her and Jack. It shows me a great deal of caring and respect. I wanted to see what they would do with me holding the grain container in their midst. It's pretty wild. I stayed this side of the fence today. They get so rampageous with each other over the sweet grain, I don't feel comfortable standing between them while they're sparring. They don't even kick each other anymore. They make kicking gestures and seldom make contact with anything but their back knees. The power I felt in their midst, them jealous and fired up with ears back, swinging around quick as a cat, gave me a good sense of their immense bodies. That I am safe among such powerful beings gives me evidence that gentleness and respect train without training. 

    

jenny and jack

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BREAKFAST WITH THE DONKEYS

jenny and jack

A day of sunlight. The donkeys soaked up the rays all day long. They like to take a siesta on the hay they're eating. Makes a good cushion and insulation for the cold ground. The sunlight keeps them warm on a cold day. I'd guess the donkeys' backs are covered with a half inch of dust. Seems like it would insulate against the cold and retain body heat. I touch either one of them on the back and a cloud of dust rises. I'm happy about my friendship with the donkeys. I've been seeing recently how trust between us has grown. I'm no longer careful about my fingers handing them carrots. I break the carrots into chunks of approximately three inches. Jenny or Jack's teeth touch my fingers and they withdraw on contact to the carrot. It will happen average once a morning. It happens because I'm less cautious. I don't bother to protect my fingers carrying hay into the meadow with Jenny on my left biting for a swatch of hay to chew on while we walk out into the meadow, Jack on my right tearing off his swatch to chew in transit. I used to be careful with fingers, but not anymore. They bite the hay close to my fingers without touching. Both are careful not to bite me. It's the karmic return for treating them right, for paying attention to them, not hitting or scolding them. It takes time to earn their trust. They are peaceable beings. In the meadow with each other all day, they are at home, in harmony. They play their donkey games. They enjoy each other. They have found a good balance of their personalities.

jack in foreground

Jack has been especially alert the last few weeks. The moment I open the door, no matter how quietly I turn the knob, no matter where the donkeys are in the meadow, Jack's head and ears are up and he watches to see which direction I'm going, to the car or to their gate. They know my rhythms as well as a dog or cat. Jack being Alpha, he's the one to notice first. Jenny see's Jack's head and ears go up and she looks to see what caught his attention. He will watch me turn toward our hay station. I call out, "Donkey Jack," and he breaks into a run, braying all the way. I harmonize with him. I've found a way I can sing along with him. Instead of attempting to imitate his voice, I sing in my voice. Where he says Honk-Honk, I say Oh-Oh. He brays longer when I sing with him than when I don't. He splutters and snorts at the end of a bray, coming down out of the mild trance a bray brings over him. He's slow to re-enter this reality. The snorting ends when his lips reach for the carrot. Jenny walks behind Jack, a slow, steady walk, in no hurry, but with a destination. She arrives at the fence ready for carrot. Handing a carrot to Jenny is something like handing a hotdog to a dog. A watch your fingers moment. As eagerly as Jenny goes after the carrot, her teeth touch my finger and she automatically withdraws to the carrot. They do it by feel. 

jenny and jack

I don't recall the last time I felt ill at ease walking between them out in the meadow. Putting down the hay this morning, I was loosening the hay for them next to Jenny. There was a time she did not like me nearby when she was eating. I tore the hay up in front of her while she ate from one of the square wafers I was tearing up. I waited for the one she was chewing on last. I picked it up while she was chewing on it and shredded it for her. She kept on chewing. Her eyes showed no apprehension or threat. A few times in the past she has growled at me with ears back for being too close while she was eating. I had to remind her I don't eat donkey food. This is the most recent measure of trust, allowing me to take hay from her mouth while she's eating. She knows I'm making the hay easier for her to eat. She's in a quiet mood. She follows Jack at her own pace. I feel like it is a phase of her pregnancy. She is four months along. She has an inward awareness that holds her attention within. She leaves wariness to Jack in his role as Alpha. Jenny's demeanor now is relaxed. She lets Jack be the lookout, keep his attention alert to surprises. At siesta time, she lies on the hay, head and ears up, still like she's in a meditation. Jack is especially alert for his baby doll. Jack adores his Jenny. I'm glad, too, to know them well enough that I can see the love between them. It is a mutual love they have. Jack would lay down rose petals for Jenny to walk on if he could. And walking on them, to Jenny, would be the same as making love. They know each other so well, they're becoming as one. 

jenny kicks up the hay with her nose

Turns out I was the match-maker in the donkey slave trade. Brought them together by buying them. I don't think of them as bought so much as found. My prayer is they will be kept together for life. They are such beautiful spirits, peaceful, calm, quiet, with deep inner stillness, I'm in awe standing beside them in the meadow, walking around among them. I know they're sensitive when eating, and I give them plenty of space. It is recently I've seen Jenny is no longer jealous of me while she's eating. We bonded deeply in the time she lost her baby. The two of them bonded more deeply and both bonded more deeply with me. I felt their pain and sorrow with them. We connected in the heart. It seems like every day we know each other one step better. I backed the car down to the hay barn today and brought them three bales in the trunk. They know what it means when I roll the bales down the hill to keep under the blue tarp. It's a happy time to see new bales of hay. It's a happy time for me to provide for them. In the hardest mornings of the winter, I felt no hesitation and no discomfort taking carrots and hay to them. I was glad to be doing it. Even when my fingers were freezing and feet slipping and sliding in mud, it was what I was doing at the moment, seeing to it my friends had something to keep their insides warm. If I were being paid to feed the donkeys, I'd feel like it was a sacrifice to suffer cold fingers. Taking their day's food to them in the morning is my love gift. It has no feeling of sacrifice about it. It's what I want to do.   

jack

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