After my near-death experience with the plastic shavings bags (I think I had an out of body experience but the woman says it was just gas from being overwrought) I thought it best if I began a self-help program. I believe the first step in a successful desensitizing program is to get as close to the feared object as possible without inducing a sense of panic. My planning was impeccable.
We were nearly out of bedding by Monday and so the woman summoned the persons who supply us with shavings, which of course come in those dreadful plastic bags. All four of us feel compelled to assist with the delivery and unloading of anything destined for our use and so we lined up at the gate to give advice and helpful hints. We're so helpful that the woman had an extra, and of course unnecessary, gate installed to keep us at a distance.
When the shavings humans left, we discovered that they had stacked the front row of bags directly against the gate that keeps us out of the storage area. I spent the rest of the morning just staring at the unmoving mound of plastic rectangles. By dint of deep breathing and some basic meditation techniques, I edged my way over to within a few inches. Still they remained unmoving, so I casually brushed one with my muzzle. I took the precaution of springing backward with a great snort, but still the thing just sat. Time for some retribution, I thought, and pinched a hole in the plastic with my front teeth. A small avalanche of shavings poured forth. I methodically worked my way through all the rows, pinching holes in each bag until there was a mountain of shavings at my feet. "Take that, you dastardly cowards", I said, , as each bag fell victim to my razor-sharp teeth, "vengeance is mine at last!" I was euphoric. And of course you can guess who runined it all.
She completely misunderstood my motives and scolded me for being a self-centered, thrill-seeking vandal. She threatened to make me WEAR one of the terrible bags as a hat! That completely and utterly undid all of my self-therapy work and when she dragged out the first somewhat depleted bag for our bedding, I succumbed to my usual panic attack and bolted for the trees. "You don't see Jack up to this sort of nonsense", she shouted after me. Of course not - his teeth just aren't up to it anymore so the whole burden falls on my shoulders. She's completely gormless and without empathy for a donkey's emotional state.
Fortunately, my good friend Billie, human to Rafer and Redford the donkeys, has sent me a Butterfly Award for my scribblings on everyday life here at the Gulag. SHE understands the inner life of donkeys and I am most appreciative of her recognition. You can read her blog at firstname.lastname@example.org And be sure to linger over the photos - you can actually see how much warmer it is than here at this Siberian outpost. Thank you Billie.