Saturday, September 20, 2008

The Rubber Hamburger Incident

I'm under suspicion again. The dog has some ridiculous recreational items that she spends much time carrying around and dismembering. One of her favourites is a hideous rubber hamburger, complete with gaudy condiments and a beige thing with dots that passes for the bun. Yesterday she brought it into the paddock and left it near the barn door. It has "disappeared" and she's blaming me. Typical.

Actually, I did take it, but she doesn't know that for a certainty so she has no right blaming me. It tasted horrible - just like rubbery dog spit. Jack and I passed it back and forth for awhile and then tested it to see how far it would stretch. Quite far, in fact, before it changed shape entirely. It has morphed into more of a hot dog. Now I have secreted it in an area of the paddock where SHE is unlikely to look. I got the lecture about how the dog comes from a deprived background, didn't know how to play when she came here and so on and so forth. HA! She has more toys than the average spoiled human child and I refuse to feel guilty about making one of said toys disappear. The drama continues.

Purloining the hamburger inspired me so thoroughly that I removed some of my old playthings from storage at the back of my room and have even gotten Jack to engage in some sporting moments with me. Today I took a red brush out of the tack room and pressed it against his face in an invitation to frolic - unfortunately it was bristle side out and it caught him on the inside of a nostril so he left in a huff. But I did draw him into a slow motion mock stallion fight, which we both enjoyed immensely. Note to self - he may be forty years old but he is still master of the choke hold. He can never be underestimated.

7 comments:

billie said...

Oh, my - you are so clever, Sheaffer. May the evidence remain hidden for a long, long, time.

I have been thinking of you since last Thursday when a caravan of earth-moving equipment, many loads of red dirt, and a number of workmen arrived at our neighbors' house.

The barn was in an uproar, and once I got the geldings turned out back so they could graze and settle down, I realized that Rafer Johnson was beside himself - so I let him out. I dashed inside for a moment and when I returned to the barnyard, the young donkey in full leg cast had disappeared. Scared me to death! But you will, of course, know exactly where he was.

At the fenceline watching those machines move the earth. He was transfixed!

Salina and I settled down with him to watch. It would have been the perfect donkey party entertainment. Rafer ended up turning my dressage marker buckets over on their sides and rolling them around the arena, moving his own earth.

robert5721 said...

Sheaffer,
what a GREAT POST....this is the way life should be for all donkeys for sure. Mr Jack sounds like he is coming around nicely, but you must remember that the Boar Wars were ugly at best, and Mr Jack remembers all sorts of things that can be used for self defense. Maybe you can engage him in a good game of Chess?
Mr Gale

Dougie Donk said...

Hahahaha - serves your dog right! I love playing "let's chase the little beggar into a corner" games with our resident Jack Russell Terror.

My woman tells me off for that, because "he's only little", but she hasn't seen his response of "hang off the tail of the donkey"

I prefer cats - they keep to their own toys (mostly covered in feathers), but are also fairly content to exchange gazes for extended periods of time

Ginger (Baker not Rogers) said...

Blind Rage
As summer fades to fall, donkey’s thoughts run to wrestling and naughtiness. Fred and I have been on the bad list so long it shouldn’t make a difference but recently we have outdone ourselves. The Fat Lady has an eye infection and is operating with one contact lens. We have noticed a fall-off in service due to this visual impairment which offers limitless opportunities for error. Last week after much fussing, she opened the electric fence to a luscious new paddock, part of her campaign to transform Fred from his current emaciated condition to something normal – like me. Fred wanted to go in but I quickly pushed him aside. Who could tell whether the fence was actually gone or not? Donkeys have not survived the millennia by rashly assuming things are safe.
Left to our own devices, we explored the barn. Normally all doors are locked shut but that day, the Fat Lady had left open the hay stall AND the tack room!! Inspired by your tales of Molly’s wreckage (and a few of your adventures), we spent many happy hours trashing bales of hay, pooping where we pleased and demolishing a couple of bags of carrots. Later in the afternoon, Annie sauntered in from the paddock and helpfully removed all the feed bin lids, sampling black oil sunflower seeds, cracked corn and even some of the chicken-ladies’ laying mash. She demolished all the lids to ensure the goodies would be easily accessible in the future. We were just getting into high gear when the Fat Lady returned from “work.” You should have heard her. Calling us “morons” “equine infidels” and “shameless hooligans” she chased the three of us out of the barn with the stall broom (which though shredded in a previous donkey attack, worked quite well).
Once again it was off to bed, no supper. Worse, the Fat Lady came in every two hours all night to gloat at our deprivation. However our gastronomic adventures had no effect. The only fall-out is that Fred and I tuck our tails and scuttle away whenever she takes out the broom.
And the grassy paddock? Last night I ventured across the invisible line of electric death. Fred followed and we ate up a storm for an hour or two. Now we are plotting to escape from the grassy paddock. There are a few boards that look a little loose…

ponymaid said...

billie, young Rafer's progress is exactly on track - any real donkey worth his salt loves overseeing the work of noisy, smelly machinery. I cannot tell you why that is so, but it is an irrefutable fact of nature. Even in full leg cast he heard the irresistable call of the diesel engine. AND he helped to reset your dressage course...what a lad. He's destined for great things.

Mr. Gale - Jack simply refuses to play chess although he expressed a slight interest in a game of checkers on top of a cracker barrel. He never ceases to amaze me with the things hidden in the deepest recesses of his memory.

dougie - I couldn't agree more - I have a much greater empathy for cats as well. I love staring matches and cats are particularly good at those. I still miss our white cat who was run over by a speeding driver last year. We spent much time together and she had an excellent sense of humour. She often gave me mouse parts as a gift.

Ginger - excellent work! When you can get the beauteous Annie on- side the results are even more enjoyable for all. However, I would report the woman for starving you - take all the advantage you can while she is in cyclops mode. And remember - there is no fence a donkey can't conquer.

robert5721 said...

Sheaffer,
we need to find you guys a cracker barrel for the checker match....this will protect the physical well being of your excellent person better than mock stallion fights!!
Mr Gale

Ginger (Baker not Rogers) said...

Pony Maid, I think we are thin because we just can't stop wrestling. Yesterday we almost trampled the Big Guy during one of our fights and when the Fat Lady emerged hours later we were still at it.

When we aren't wrestling we - like Rafer - have an uncontrollable desire to move buckets. Usually we each take a side but this momentary cooperation dissolves when Fred tries to walk in the opposite direction and I have to let go to bite his hocks.

As for heavy machinery - bring it on! As our contract farmer who has a gloriously giant tractor says about his snow-blowing experiences: "Horses run but donkeys come."

Mr Gale - we are all for cracker barrels as long as they contain crackers.