BAT MEDICINE AND PLAY

neighbor gary chauffeur of trees and sky

 

Brought more hay for donkeys up from the barn before the rain. I can fit three bales in the trunk of the car with lid up. Park beside the road and roll the bales down the hill to the place I stack haybales. A blue tarp protects them from the rain. Donkeys have a ball when I deliver new hay. Jenny and Jack stand at the corner of the fence ready to watch, like me waiting for the mailman, expecting a new book in the mail. It alarms them slightly, the bales rolling down the hill. Jack jumps and frolics in a small circle. Jenny stands back and watches. Neighbor Gary came down the road in his PT Cruiser and stopped. I stepped up the hill to the road to visit for a few minutes. We talked about baby donkey and I noticed a red bat flying up and down the road, cavorting, playing, up and down, in circles. It looked like the bat was indeed playing, putting on a bat dance in the air for me personally. It flew back and forth, about a hundred feet up the road one way, then about a hundred feet down the road the other way, this way, that way. I couldn't stop watching it. I'd never seen such a demonstration of bat flight in the past and knew I never would in the future. I gave it my full appreciation.

 

find the bat

 

Attempted to take some pictures of the bat, but none of the still pictures worked out. The camera focused on the trees in the near distance, putting the bat out of focus, it's in swift motion too, I could not find the bat in the still pictures. Made a brief video in which  the bat, a speck, can be seen flying for maybe two seconds. The air above the road along there is a channel for air flow between my trees and the bank across the road. The bat flew from one end of my trees to the other, leading me to believe the open air along that stretch of road is a good place for a bat to find flying bugs. I googled red tree bat, found a description, notes about their habitat and how they live. And red tree bat is what they're called. I had several good looks at it flying by. Can see it clearly closing my eyes. I asked Gary to step outside the car to see it, billing the flight a once in a lifetime moment. A time came I was impressed by the bat's stamina. It flew for so long we stopped looking and went about or ways. Birds need rest after extended flight, but the bat kept on flapping wings, cavorting, diving, circling. It looked like it was putting on a show, though I doubt it was aware of being watched, though an observer does change things. 

sofia observes the primate

 

In the house, I went to Jamie Sams' book, Medicine Cards, to see what bat represents. The book came with cards, each having a picture of a form of wildlife, like bear, dragonfly, hawk, deer, skunk, 52 of them. It is a form of consulting chance, like tarot, I Ching, and others. In the Native American way, medicine means anything that improves one's connection to the Great Mystery and to all life. A few pages in the book tell the spiritual gift of each animal, bird, reptile or bug. Once, a hawk flew above the hood of my 78 Toyota pickup for about a tenth of a mile, looking back over its shoulder at the primate through the windshield. At home I looked up hawk to see what the hawk might be saying. One of the aspects of Hawk medicine is a message that I should circle above my life and examine it from a higher perspective. I take a visitation by one of the animals for the same as drawing one of the cards. It felt so much like the bat was telling me something, I looked it up. In every case, Bat signals rebirth of some part of yourself or the death of old patterns. Bat represents what is called the shaman's death and rebirth. Rebirth is the main theme of the bat. 

miss ed says this is different

being a donkey

Two strong cases of rebirth came into my life lately with a kitten in the house and a donkey foal in the meadow. Reading of bat I felt recognition that rebirth, a change of patterns, was in the works. Before kitten came into the house, I was feeling fairly glum. Caterpillar was gone and my heart was mourning her. Jenny kept on expecting. I faced Jenny's expectation with sorrow, hoping, daring not to hope, her baby would live and be in good health. I did not want Jenny to suffer again her grief from losing her first baby to premature birth last year. I still miss Caterpillar who lived here eighteen years, though sorrow turned to joy when Sophia entered the house. Old patterns going away. Caterpillar leaves her old cat body, Sophia new in her cat body. The successful birth of Miss Ed turned sorrow to joy like bringing Sofia home.  Feeling a renewed sense of my own life. Sophia has taught me how to play. We have play time every day. Noting the value of play courses through my mind. I play better with four year old Vada from awareness of play's importance, and how to play, not just in child development, but all along the way.

 

vada

 

 

 

*

 

 



NAMING THE DONKEY MISS ED

miss ed third day

 

How fast a baby donkey is walking independently has been catching my attention day after day. Each day the baby donkey is bigger, more stable on its feet, more in line with mama's movements and more in tune to mama's teaching. First couple of days when baby stepped inside mama's forbidden zone while she was having her grain, Jenny popped baby with a hoof. They were not power kicks, not even kicks, but a firm nudge saying go no further. Today, Friday, baby's fourth day, Jenny merely lifts her back hoof off the ground, just a gesture, and baby backs out of range. I've seen that baby stands midway between Jenny and Jack, just out of range of their back legs, while they are grazing. Baby's first learning as a young donkey was that donkeys kick, it's what donkeys do. And donkeys need to learn to take a kick before they are able to kick. Jenny's instruction these first few days I am looking at as "mother's milk," instruction so early in development it shapes us into who we are unconsciously, pre rational thinking.

 

this was inside jenny

 

A few months before baby was born, I asked the three year old child of my friend Meredith, who is living in the greater San Francisco area of several cities grown into one, to name Jenny's baby when it arrives. I've known Meredith all her life as the daughter of my friends Lucas and Judy. Teddy, her three year old, was kind of struck dumb being asked out of the blue to name a donkey. I realized then it was a tall order, conceptually, for a three year old. Hadn't considered that. I thought it might have been presumptuous to ask a three year old to stretch his mind that far. He said, "I'll have to think about it." I thought it remarkable for a three year old to say he'll have to think about it. Maybe I did pick the right kid to ask. I wanted to ask the youngest person I know. Teddy. I wanted a name I would never think of on my own, a name separate from my mind. A couple days later, Teddy spoke. He said, "Mr Ed if it's a boy. Miss Ed if it's a girl." I wondered how a three year old in San Francisco knew about Mr Ed the talking horse. Montessori pre-school maybe?

 

miss ed's natural born camouflage

 

Of course, my editing mind went to work over-riding original intent, thinking I wanted a girl's name, a variation of Ed. Didn't care for Edna or Edith, but liked Edie. Thought I'd change from Miss Ed to Edie. Edie sounded good in my mind. But out in the meadow with the baby, I could not call it Edie. The name did not fit. Miss Ed fit. I found my mind automatically thought of the baby as Miss Ed. I'd look at her and Miss Ed was how I'd think of her. Then by association, Edie Sedgwick came to mind and would not leave. She was a rich California air-head who went to NY in the time of Andy Warhol's Factory, was given a big spread in Vogue as the latest new thing in New York. She fell in with the Factory bunch, upper middle-class junkie runaways, became a junkie right away and the subject of Bob Dylan's song, Like a Rolling Stone. She fell through the bottom and went back home to California, unable to take care of herself, and lived in an empty swimming pool. She symbolizes for me the ultimate loser. I did not feel right naming my baby donkey after a psycho air-head junkie. It didn't feel right to name Jenny's baby after a child who had been raped by her daddy throughout her childhood. When I thought of the baby donkey as Edie, Edie Sedgwick popped up in my mind's eye. I did not resonate with the association.  

 

miss ed's ears

 

All the time my mind was chewing on the name Edie, Miss Ed was there as the baby's name all along. The original intent behind asking a three year old to name the  baby donkey was to bypass my own mind. While the baby was being born, she was Miss Ed. She was Miss Ed before she was born. Every time I looked at the baby, I automatically thought, Miss Ed. I asked a baby to name a baby in order to bypass my own ego. Naturally, ego had to jump in to assert itself, take over, say Mine, spray paint my initials on it gangsta style. Once I made the decision to go with Edie, Edie Sedgwick grew and grew in my mind's eye. I went to YouTube to see videos of her in the Warhol time. Her image grew in my mind until I wanted mind free of images of a psychological plane crash, someone whose surface was privileged, and below the thin surface the heart of darkness. I can't burden my baby donkey with those associations in my head. By the end of the third day I realized my error of editing original purpose. I sighed relief and inhaled understanding that Miss Ed really is the donkey's name. I only think of her as Miss Ed. By now, after thinking about it all day yesterday, I am repelled by the thought of naming the donkey Edie. Miss Ed she is. She is so much Miss Ed I wonder if Teddy had intuitional access to Jenny's baby.

 

mama jen

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

*

  

THE BIRTH OF A DONKEY

jenny and her baby

 

This morning, Tuesday, after having coffee and talking with my friend Carole on the phone, I picked up a copy of Harold Pinter's play, The Caretaker, and read the first act. I'd seen the film made from it and read it forty-five years ago. Wanted to read it for a refresher. In this time of the life I'm liking to reread books read long ago, to enjoy them again. Went to the desk to see what my facebook friends were posting. I looked out the window at Jenny, satisfied she was not having her baby today, it being a few minutes before noon. First thing every morning I look to see if Jenny has her baby, imagining the birth would happen before I woke in the morning, never considering I'd have a chance to see the birth of a donkey from beginning to end. Jenny was out in the meadow facing my direction. She turned sideways and I saw her tail standing straight out and a leg sticking out from under the tail. I picked up the camera and put on a heavy shirt for an extended stay in the fifty degree air. A day of full sunlight, no wind, blue sky, no clouds. I was grateful for the baby's perfect timing, a warm day in December.

 

kiss me, babydoll

 

By the time I was out the door, Jenny was on the ground. I arrived to see the head had emerged with the foreleg that led the way. I made a few photographs and set the camera on video, made video from this point, as seen above, through the whole process of baby's emergence into donkey reality. I have a hard time getting excited about something like birth, which doesn't always turn out to satisfaction, until it's over and all is well. I felt like this was it, finally, Jenny's baby was here. But it wasn't over. The baby's hip got stuck. Baby could not wiggle its way out and Jenny could not walk it out. She stood up and walked in a small circle attempting to shake it out. She flopped down on the ground hard, the baby went thump, and I thought it a good thing babies are made of rubber. Baby could not wiggle free. I was keeping out of it, standing back, giving Jenny all the space she needed not to feel crowded. Jack was with me the whole time, his side touching my side. He appeared as interested in what Jenny was doing as I was. Jenny seemed comforted by our presence.  

 

the kiss

 

Jack walked over to Jenny and gently extended his nose toward her nose. Jenny raised her upper lip to touch his lip. I actually got a picture of the kiss. I have seen them kiss once before. It was just a touch. They were facing each other, Jenny's head a little lower than Jack's. She raised her head and touched his upper lip with her upper lip. It made Jack's day. He took off running and kicking his back legs in the air. I've looked for a picture I could get of Jenny and Jack that showed the love between them. They have been in love a year an a half. They've been together two years, but it took Jenny six months to grieve her friends she left behind when she was abducted against her will, Jenny has a strong will, and put in a meadow with a jackass rapist. It took her awhile to adjust, get to know her rapist. She took the role of Alpha for self-defense. The day she fell in love with Jack, she passed the Alpha role to him. It happened from one day to the next. This picture above, when you know it is a kiss, shows their love better than any I've been able to get.

 

mama jen kisses her baby

 

And here by chance I got a picture of Jenny kissing her baby. Jack watched his woman deliver their child. He was aware of what was happening. He was quiet and gentle, gave Jenny plenty of space, kept his focus on her, sometimes walked up to her in a way that said, "I'm right here, babydoll," sniffing her and their emerging donkey child. I knew they knew more about what was going on than I did, so I left it all to them. Seeing the baby's hip stuck, I decided to give an assist. I put the camera down and took the baby around the waist with my hands and pulled the hip through. Zip, that was it. Baby looked bewildered. I was loving the opportunity to see this baby donkey first discover sight and look around without focus, seeing for the first time. It struggled to get up. Inner guidance kept at it and soon the baby figured out how to stand. Walking came natural. Then a little baby hop. Jenny guided it to her udder several times, gently and repeatedly until baby found it. Right away little donkey was walking around in the meadow with Mama Jen, hair dry and fluffy, Jack close by watching. I saw today Jack has a loving heart. I don't know the gender yet and am not yet settled on the name. I have two in mind. Gender will determine which name.

 

found it

 

 

*

 

 



BEAUTIFUL DONKEY JEN

jenny and jack

The night of the full moon Jenny would not let me shovel dirt onto her baby. Sometime in the night she dragged her baby out of the hole and about half way to the place of birthing. I discovered her night activity in the morning. She would not let me near the body. She grazed around it, sometimes nudged it to make it move, and would lie on her side, holding her head up like a horse's head on the Parthenon in Athens. It appears a warrior kind of stance she makes with her head up and alert, her mane spiked out like punk donkey. She is ready to take on anything that comes after her baby. She knows the wild animals around here. She looks like she is ready to take on a bear or a mountain lion. Unafraid. Jenny has a powerful boldness in her nature. The full moon night I walked to the grave to shovel dirt, Jenny followed me close behind, her nose almost touching my back. I have no fear of Jenny, though I do know she can push me in the back with her nose hard enough to knock me down. It would be a gesture to get my attention. She moved around in front, between me and the grave. Jack was walking beside me on my right. Jenny spun around quick as a cat. Jack and I both jumped back by automatic reflex. When Jenny swings her rear end around on you, it's time to scatter. She has power in those back legs. Jack knows all about it. I've seen Jenny hit Jack in the ribs, both feet with all she had, and Jack took it like a tree. He didn't show he even felt it. If she'd hit me like she got Jack, I'd have flown at least ten feet through the air like in a cartoon. Jenny is gentle with me such that I don't believe she would kick me with intent, unless I attempted to shovel dirt onto her baby. Swinging her ass-end to me was a warning. We communicate now that I have learned to read their body language, which is their language. I know she would have kicked me if I'd moved toward the grave. It must have made her laugh to see Jack and me jump at the same time. 

donkey jen

It has been a year that Jenny has lived here with Jack. Their first anniversary was spent in sorrow. This experience has shown me the degree of my connection with the donkeys, as people I know, as friends. Jack had lived here two months before Jenny showed up one evening. Jack and I bonded over those eight weeks. We came to know each other. The day he played a trick on me and laughed, I felt we really communicated. He ran at me full-gallop from about fifty feet away, his eyes bearing down on me. Delight glistened in his eyes. I thought: he won't knock me down, but I don't know. Concluded: he either will or he won't. If he does, I'll get up. I believe he will not. I stood still watching him run full-tilt in a straight line. He stopped quick as a polo pony, from running to motionless, his nose two inches from my belly. He gave me a glance with his eye that said, I thought you'd jump. He wanted to make me jump. This is a favorite game I've seen among all the animals I've known. Kittens like to make each other jump. Making somebody jump is the apex of slapstick animal humor. In our early childhood making somebody jump is hilarious. It's funny to be made to jump. Jenny wasn't playing when she spun around on Jack and me, but I know it gave her a laugh to see us jump like we did. I've learned from the animals I've known they have a sense of humor. They must think we humans are without humor. One wants to play and the human only scolds. One of the things animals love about human children is they like to play. We adults talk to them like they can't understand anything. I find them aching to be understood by humans. They're ready to communicate. All they need is for us to pay attention. 

beautiful jen

I can see it in Jenny and Jack that it makes them happy I communicate with them. The day after she lost her baby, I was giving them carrot chunks. While Jenny was chewing I talked to her. I told her I love her, as I do every day. I said to her, "You're my friend," and she fluttered her lips in a particularly equine way. Jack flutters his lips like this when I tell him he is my friend. All the dogs and cats I've known living here have responded to the word friend in a way that shows they know its meaning. I've learned that I can talk to the donkeys in sentences and paragraphs, and they will show me later they understood everything. I spoke my sorrow to Jenny in her mourning, aware that she knew my meaning. She understood. As much as it hurts and as much as I wish it hadn't happened, I like that this experience brought me into their circle. They like it that I share their feeling with them, that I understood Jenny's sorrow, and Jack's. I see the sorrow in Jenny's eyes. They don't seem to show much, yet I see her eyes every day, several times a day. In the first six months of her pregnancy, plus the new space to live in, fenced in with a serial rapist, Jenny's moods were different every day. Carrot time in the mornings, I read Jenny's eyes to see if I needed to be careful with my fingers. Her eyes flashed in those months. Jack moved within kicking range, she'd nail him. I stayed out of the meadow in Jenny's first three months. The months after, I was wary of her. My wariness has gone. I learned the day I stepped between her and Jack when they were beginning a kick-fest, something like stepping into a donkey mosh pit, Jenny would not kick me. She kicked one leg at Jack as I stepped into the scene. Her hoof connected with the side of my upper leg. I did not feel a thing. She withdrew the power from the punch when she saw what she'd done. It barely touched the outer skin of my pants. Not even a touch. She showed a moment of contrition letting her foot down. I told her it was all right, thanked her for not kicking me. 

jenny jenny jenny

This moment taught me she would never kick me with intent, unless I might provoke her. Jenny is not one to provoke. In Jack's humble nature I see how a donkey makes a good beast of burden, so willing to help a human, valuing friendship with a human. Donkeys have good minds. In Jenny's nature, I understand the statistic I heard on NPR not many years ago, around the globe more people are killed by donkeys per year than die in plane crashes. Jenny and Jack are like yin-yang of donkey nature. Since Jenny fell in love with Jack after living with him six months, she gave Alpha role to Jack and became a quiet, humble donkey, to a point. Her eyes have have had a stillness in them the last several months. I am able to see the sorrow in Jenny's eyes since she lost her baby. I call her Beautiful Jen when talking to her. Today, the third day, she allowed me to drag her baby to the grave and cover it with dirt. I covered the body with a flannel sheet the second day. Jenny removed the sheet in the night. She seemed less interested today. I busied myself in the meadow filling up two five-gallon buckets with droppings for a rhododendron. I put down some sweet grain for Jenny and some for Jack, two donkey lengths between servings. Her ears go back when she's eating grain, meaning everybody stay back. I rolled the baby onto the sheet, dragged it to the grave and lowered it, wrapped it in the sheet and shoveled the dirt into the hole fast as I could go. Jenny saw what I was doing and allowed it. At sunset I looked into the meadow for Jenny. She was lying on her side, head up in guardian mode, next to the spot the baby had been. I've an idea she will be partial to that spot for some time, maybe years.  

donkey jack

jack a-lookin atcha

*

DONKEY JENNY LOSES HER BABY

I don't want to write tonight, but it is the only thing I'm able to do. I'm so mired down in grief I can't sleep, can't read, can't watch a movie, can't listen to music. Donkey Jenny surprised me delivering her baby today. She lay down in some wet mud with water running through it. Animals go to water when they have pain. I supposed she went to the wet mud in some kind of pain, maybe. I found the baby not long after. I saw Jenny focused in that direction, looked and thought I saw a dead coyote she must have killed. I saw the stripe on its shoulder, donkey. It had mud on its hooves and I saw its hoof prints in the mud. Evidently, it could not stand up in the mud, slid down and its head went in water and it must have either suffocated or drowned. A little girl with long curly hair like Jenny's. Jenny's nose pushed her to get up, over and over. Jenny was in deep mourning. Jack was too. I walked into the scene and I fell into mourning. It tore me up. Intense grief, please get up, knowing it was not possible, wanting to go back and do it again with me present to help, not possible. Jenny let me put my arms around her neck and hold her as we wept together. I held Jack and mourned with him too. Both donkeys were like me, didn't know what to do. Jack stood around close by Jenny, watching her nudge the baby, feeling her sorrow as his own. I stood with them and watched Jenny until I felt it was time to do something. It was mine to dig the hole, mine to bury the baby. Where? I wanted to put it in the donkey meadow where it belongs. I chose a spot out from the dogwood tree, between two trails, a place some ironweed grew that the donkeys did not eat. 

I dug the hole weeping, hating digging the grave for Jenny's baby, already named Sherpa, Jack watching what I was doing, sniffing the dirt pile, while Jenny pushed and pushed her baby with her nose, using her front hoof to make the baby move. I couldn't stand it that Jenny lost her first baby. One of those times when the heart has more to deal with than it can bear. I wanted to leave the body, myself, to get out of the pain. But I couldn't abandon Jenny and Jack in their most vulnerable time. I dug the hole remembering other graves I've dug, this one the size of dogs I've put in the ground. Digging a grave for a beloved is unbearable, but I force my way through it. It is mine to do, no one else's. Mine, for love and respect. And, of course, I questioned why God abandoned me. I looked for ways to blame myself and found several. Should-have is too late. Jenny birthed exactly one year after she arrived here with Jack. I thought it was some time later that Jack conquered her, but he must have found penetration in their first night. Just now heard a pack of coyotes yelling from the donkey meadow. I jumped and ran to the door, hollering, GIT, several times. They dispersed. I threw on a sweatshirt, went out with a flashlight in bright full moon. Jack met me at the gate. He'd been in the shed. I saw eyes glowing by the grave. Jenny came walking to me. She was in high guardian mode. I was careful with her. She wanted to smell me all over to be sure it was her friend. I told her over and over, crying, I was sorry she'd lost her baby, sorry I couldn't bring baby back. She walked warily with me to the grave. I thought I might want to cover the baby with dirt to protect it from the coyotes. Closer to the grave, Jenny became aggressive, telling both me and Jack to stay back. 

Her eyes, when I saw them with the flashlight, were close to the ground like she was lying down, guarding her baby through the night. She walked back to the grave, satisfied I understood to stay away. The coyotes will be drawn to the scent all night, I'm certain. Jenny knows it too. Not even a pack of them will get past her. I'm not afraid for her, except I don't like them terrorizing her, circling her, yipping like they do around her. It's a creepy enough sound from a distance. It must be awful to have them all around taunting, threatening. They know from experience Jenny will hurt them. She's safe and her baby is safe through the night. I doubt she will let me fill in the dirt until after baby's scent changes. I remember my great great grandpa who shot himself in the barn lot, age 74. The story is that his dog, evidently a Plott hound, would not let anyone near the body for three days and nights. I assume his scent changed and the dog was hungry. His scent gone, no reason go hungry any longer. My feeling this is what Jenny is doing, staying with her baby until the scent is gone. I will proceed according to Jenny's will. I will wait until she takes no more interest. She will let me cover the body when the scent changes. I longed so to know Jenny's baby, see her and baby together playing. I wanted the joy of a little donkey hopping about, another donkey to fall in love with, And we were delivered sorrow. I wanted to see Jack loving his little baby doll. In the meadow, after Jenny returned to the grave, Jack was standing beside me. I leaned down, the side of my face on his neck near his ears, and wept, cried and cried holding Jack, him still, feeling that I was feeling what he was feeling.

This is the deepest connection I've had yet with Jack and Jenny. The three of us cried together in the light of the full November moon. I had been to visit the grave of my friend Jr Maxwell, who left the body on this full moon five years ago. Driving down the road coming home, I saw Jenny and Jack both lying on the ground. I took it for sunning on a fifty degree day. I went to take them some hay. I saw Jenny fixed on a spot like something was there. I looked and saw what I took for a dead coyote, thinking Jenny might have killed it in the night. I stepped closer and saw the Bethlehem cross line on its shoulder and knew it was not a coyote. After placing the baby in the grave and learning Jenny was not going to allow me to cover it with dirt, I came back to the house. Went to bed wanting to sleep, but just cried. Got up, held Caterpillar awhile. Unable to do anything, I decided to shower. Made the water good and hot, stood in the water bawling, moaning, wanting to let loose and wail, though it didn't go past moaning out loud like singing in the shower. Turns out the shower is a good place to cry. I let it go until there were no more tears to fall. I felt so sad for Jenny my sorrow never let up. I lost a new friend before we met. I hated carrying the body to the grave and placing it in the hole as though putting it to bed for the night. Jenny stepped into the grave with her front feet, nudging the body with a hoof to move, with her nose, sometimes in seeming desperation. I could not take pictures of the baby, but got a couple of Jenny standing in the grave. It was all I wanted, a picture of Jenny's sorrow to remember the day I learned again how deeply the four-leggeds feel. 

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