We are beset by criminal, fur-bearing animals who wear masks, have rings round their tails and whose clever hands make short work of even tamper-proof catches. They operate in teams, usually a mother and two offspring who are in training. The dog chases them when she sees them, but they prefer night-time operating hours, and in fact are quite patronizing with the dog. These criminals eat virtually anything but especially enjoy foodstuffs gotten through illegal means. I almost (almost...) wish we had TJ back for a few hours because I think he would understand their level of plotting , schemeing and general perversity. It would make for an interesting meeting of warped minds. These animals laze away the daylight hours in the treetops but I wouldn't put it past TJ to climb up there and beard them in their dens. so to speak.
The humans thought we donkeys would enjoy a constitutional around the property and so Jack and I donned our halters and off we went. Our walking styles turn out to be at either end of the fast/slow scale. I'm a meanderer, taking slow even steps and stopping often to make observations and smell things. Jack is a donkey on a mission, though what that mission is remains unclear. He strode off down the lane, forcing the woman into a brisk walk. Looking neither left nor right, he adopted an Olympic walking style that soon left the male human and self far behind. I got him to cast a glance over the acres of magnificent potatoes that surround us but then he wanted to be off. He did stop to examine the view from the meadow but merely said "Uh-huh, lots more here ta eat than them there spuds". He's rather food-centric owing to his time of starvation, but I hope he may eventually recognize the aesthetic side of things and not just their caloric value. His pragmatic outlook is similar to that of the masked bandits - life consisits of two categories - edible and non-edible.
Jack of course knows all about the bandit animals and warned me "Them critters is downright despicable - if ya close yer eyes when they're in the locale, count yer whiskers when ya wake up." Now I'm afraid to even nod off - I'm very attached to my whiskers and would hate to wake up with bare patches on my chin.