A Brazen Thief and a Secret Tippler

I've been robbed and assaulted. Jack and I were dozing in the front paddock, enjoying the sun after a weekend of snow and high winds. It's still quite cool out so there are no flies yet - in other words, a perfect situation in which to catch up on my rest in preparation for the big event. We dozed on for a while and Jack eventually got up and went to stand beside the fence.

I had my eyes closed, running through the speech I've prepared in case I'm asked to address the throngs, when I became aware of a certain disturbance in my tail. It felt as if it was moving on it's own, followed by a sensation like a pin being jabbed into it. I would turn around and - nothing, Just some birds fooling about in the distance.

Eventually Herself, who had been watching from the house, bustled up with her camera and said, "Sheaffer, does your tail feel...a bit odd?" How did she know? She pointed to a black avian with a sheen like oil on a puddle (one of those lower-class hoodlums who travel in gangs and steal things). It was in the very act of sidling up to my tail to pull out yet another hair! It seems the blasted thing was in search of house building material and decided I was some sort of renovation depot. Honestly. I'm not overly blessed in the tail department and here it was being removed a hair at a time. Can't even close my eyes these days without some sort of trauma.

On a happier note, I believe Jack and I have discovered that Herself is a secret drinker! I've always suspected her of having a weakness despite her protestations that half a glass of wine with Christmas dinner is her limit for the year. She was babbling away in the barn this morning, asking us what sort of champagne she should purchase for one of the baskets she is making up for the auction. It was a cover. She returned mid-morning with a bag containing a spirits bottle that may or may not have been empty, clasped firmly in hand. Jack and I peered through the fence and there she was, staggering toward the house. "Pie -eyed", said Jack gleefully. "Sloshed", I said. "Drunk as a skunk!"he said! " "Snockered! I said.

She noticed us and said "What are YOU TWO looking at?" She had obviously sped through the jovial and melancholy stages of inebriation and entered the beligerent phase. Either that or the large bag of Penny food and container of Violet washroom material, in addition to the suspicious spirits bag, was weighing her down and causing her to be testy and unbalanced. Jack and I are firmly on the side of inebriation rather than preoccupation with party planning and pet supplies. Jack wants to stage what he calls an "interference" (I believe he means intervention). Good luck, I say. Right now I'm just busy protecting what's left of my tail.

First Fundraiser/Auction Bulletin

Such hustle. Such bustle. With the grand day only two and a half weeks away, things are beginning to pick up pace. There are many intriguing and interesting items for the silent auction and I thought it was time I told you about three quite special ones.

First up are two small and valuable bears. Last year Tuffy, a creation of the very talented artist Veronica Philion, took part in the auction. This year she is sending TWO bears, Otis and Sage. Otis is a veritable giant at three inches and Sage is a more petite two and a half inches, befitting a delicate and refined girl bear. Otis is crafted from natural, needle-felted Alberta Romney wool and Sage from New Zealand Romney wool of the palest green. AND, there is such interest in these two rare bears that there will be off-site collectors bidding as well. How exciting - my very own version of Sotheby's! Veronica's talent and award-winning figures can be viewed at http://www.bumblebearies.blogspot.com/

Next up is Brighty of the Grand Canyon himself, in the shape of a rare and now-discontinued Breyer figurine. He is a much-beloved character who was introduced in the book of the same name many years ago. He comes complete with his own film. It should be noted that he is sculpted in a sitting position, reminiscent of a tiny terrorist mini-mule who lived here for awhile. However, it is clear from his open and pleasant visage that he in no way resembles you-know-who. Thank you Gazelle for sending him to help raise funds for PrimRose.

I also hear rumours of a gigantic stuffed donkey that the woman says is a somewhat smaller version of myself. She says nothing equine is quite as well stuffed as I am; I will be the judge of that when I meet the plush donkey in question. Thank you to North York Farmers, who are purveyors of feeds and grains for equines, including my own family. It's not their fault that the woman chooses to follow in the footsteps of the unreformed Scrooge when it comes to actually doling the stuff out. Their fine emporium of all things farm and equine may be viewed at http://www.northyorkfarmers.ca/

I would also like to send a mammoth donkey-sized thank you to Gale and Mr. Gale of Olde Towne Farm in Mineral, Virginia for a most generous cheque. They have been blog followers and correspondents from the beginning and I consider it a privilege to call them my friends.

Attacked by A Sasquatch in My Own Room!

This is how it came to pass. The woman was grooming Doc in the aisle one evening this week just after we finished our hot meal and what with his contented sighing and the sound of brushing in the background I must have slipped into a light doze. Next was Molly's turn but I knew from the sounds that a transfer in the crossties has taken place and didn't even bother to open my eyes to check. More sighing, more brushing, more dozing. A drowsy peacefulness settled over the barn.

There was some clunking and clomping and thumping as Molly made her way back into her room and I slowly opened one eye to survey the aisle. Well! Making it's way toward me on invisible feet was an enormous, hairy mass, approximately three times the size of Penny. It skulked sideways in an evil and stealth-like manner. Then it paused when it saw me looking at it and pretended to subside to the floor. I gave the alarm and Jack awoke, bumping his head on his gate, Doc rushed to his front window to scan the horizon and Molly smacked her lips and went back to sleep.

As usual the woman instantly questioned my sanity, Doc said he didn't see "nothin", and Jack demanded to know what in tarnation I was playin' at. The woman saw the source of my consternation and began to giggle in her inane way. "Sheaff, look, it's the mass of hair I combed out of Molly", she said. She prodded it with her toe and it collapsed. It seems that, ahem, it's levitation was a result of a breeze blowing through the back door. Honestly, I close my eyes for a nano second and the world goes mad. And by the way, what normal horse can shed that amount of hair every night for weeks on end? I need a holiday, especially as my party plans are gaining momentum. I don't want dark circles under my eyes on the big day.

A Donkey's Guide to Living Off the Land

Jack and I have been walking the woman around the property, attempting to get her conditioned for the upcoming riding season. Uphill work, both literally and figuratively, and she still tends to puff and snort like a steam engine, but we nevertheless soldier on. It also gives us a chance to sample nature's bountiful buffet, which is now bursting forth on all fronts. I have compiled a guide to some of the basic florals and greenery should any of my donkey friends care to to imbibe.

I have included handy illustrations and also whatever information I could gather from the woman's babblings. I can tell you that the tri-part white flower is entirely off limits because the woman pulled me away violently as I tried to sniff it and said " Nooooo, don't touch that, it's a Trillium and you'll end up in jail if you damage it!" Good lord, she gave me such a fright that I'll never so much as glance at the things again! Now, those cheerful yellow flowers pop up everywhere in such quantities that she strongly encourages us to eat our fill. Both flower and greenery are delicious and we regard them as a spring tonic. Best eaten before the flowers turn to fluff and clog one's nasal passages. They seem to be called Dandy Lions or those ^%$*&^# weeds, depending on who is describing them.

We sampled two mauve flowers, one is quite fragrant and grows on a shrub, It actually has a sort of mauve-y taste and is slightly reminiscent of the soap the Herself uses to wash down our walls. The other is a darker purple and grows close to the ground in the shade. Very tasty and we consumed quite a few before she noticed and told us to leave the "violets" alone. They provide a light, aromatic finish to a full course of dried twigs or fence rail.

The last plant I cannot recommend, though Jack found it quite interesting. It cleverly disguises itself as grass but on further examination it proves to have a strong, herbal taste that the humans describe as "oniony". Jack sampled a few strands and then ejected them onto the woman's shoe. I took one sniff of the deceitful poseur and that was quite enough. Sally loves it and not only chews the wretched thing but also rolls in it. Cats obviously crave a whole other menu.

And so my donkey friends, and any humans who care to graze along with me, these are my horticultural findings for this week.

Orbs - Large and Small

Molly's eye, the small orb, is progressing but not yet one hundred percent. She is back in work and thank goodness because she was downright testy about Doc being the only one to be ridden. She hammered on the door when he was being groomed, chased us, slammed the door to the run-in (breaking the string) and took the woman's jacket away when she put it on the ground next to the riding ring. There is nothing repressed about Molly.

The large orb is a gigantic, inflatable ball that resides at a friend's house. Doc went off in the metal box on wheels to have a workout session with said ball. On the way he encountered a work crew at roadside and gave them a loud and hearty greeting. They responded in kind, all eight or ten of them, giving a hearty "HEYYYYYY" in reply. Doc says the Flat Man was with them, off to one side, but he didn't utter a peep. And (I find this highly suspicious) he was in exactly the same position as when he was on the road in front of our place over a year ago! I just don't trust him.

Doc tells us the giant ball resides in one of those indoor riding rooms and that there is also an entire collection of objects called a "trail course". He tried them all but liked the ball best because he can herd it around and generally pretend to be a cowpony without having to deal with cows. He has a deathly fear of all things bovine.

He is invited back next week and I fear we will be the objects of the Wrath of Molly.

My Week Thus Far

I am pleased to report that Molly's recalcitrant eye wound is finally consenting to heal. She is still having eye cream put in three times daily and is on some powdery pain killer but she is making a magnificent effort at keeping her caloric intake high. Hasn't lost an ounce and in fact is expanding due to spring greenery. Buddy sent her a get well card all the way from Nevada and she has it displayed next to her valentine, though she would prefer to wear it as a stylish eye patch. Molly the Pony Pirate - the mind boggles.

The woman saddled Doc up yesterday and they went for their first ride in the sand ring. She fastened him on the long rope to spin him around a bit before riding, in case he was full of what Jack calls the "heebie jeebies". He wasn't, but a few minutes in he began making truly alarming noises - a cross between gulping, sighing and gargling. The woman was highly alarmed until she realized he had the hiccups. She plunked herself down in the saddle and off they went - Doc making ungodly "hhhhuuuuunhhh" sounds that could be heard across the county and herself beset by a fit of the giggles every time he did so. It was such a shameful spectacle that I withdrew for fear of encouraging them.

I've been busy supervising those humans on the two-wheeled pedal machines that travel in packs down our road. I can't say why but I find them highly irritating. Maybe it's the infernal buzzing the machines make or maybe it's garish clothing that appears to have been painted onto their persons - I honestly don't know. I simply don't understand anything that travels at such a high speed with such a sense of haste. I stick my head through the fence and glare at them sternly, occasionally giving voice to my disapproval. That usually consolidates the pack and causes it to veer into the middle of the road.

That leads me to another important topic. The woman and I are reading a book called "Wisdom of Donkeys" by Andy Merrifield. It's about the Andy human walking through an area of France, accompanied by a tremendously dignified donkey called Gribouille. Of course, they travel at sensible donkey speed. No rusing about with the wind whistling through their ears, no wearing of shiny, skin-tight garments but lots of time to examine the miniscule details that make up everyday life.

I have asked my good friend Billie who writes the blog http://camera-obscura-billie.blogspot.com/ to share her thoughts on this book and she has graciously assented. I can't wait to hear her views! Thank you Billie.

Rural Ramblings

First of all, thank you to everyone who has inquired about "the eye" - Molly's right eye, to be precise. It is improving but very slowly. The vet came again and this time gave her a stupifying agent via needle so he could peel back the lid and have a closer look. I can assure you it was quite a spectacle (unintended pun) but I observed for scientific purposes. She has no burr residue but the ulcer is a slow healer and still causing her considerable pain. She is not surprisingly a cheap and easy drunk, front legs sprawled across the aisle and back legs crossed like a podgy ballet dancer. And of course she snored the whole while...

Jack and I had a successful Easter walk, so successful that Jack balked at going back in the paddock. He sets a blistering pace on the farm lane and I am hard pressed to keep up. Greenery is popping up all over and we sampled freely, adding a few dried twigs from years past. Jack did a few head tosses to the side just to keep the woman on her toes and he even threw in some elaborate low kicks with his back legs just to show the shrubbery he's still boss around here.

The hay crop should be seeded into our fields this week so I have a busy schedule ahead of me. The equipment used is quite different from the potato planting devices so I will study those and add them to my "life list" of things mechanical. Like those clever Victorians, I do love a good bit of complicated, and noisy, engineering.