Between the time of Misty and of Hercules (my next live horse) I was pretty miserable with my horselessness. I made sure that my parents were well well aware of my feeling of emptiness, of neediness, and I found a variety of substitutes for a horse of my own.
When the ol' Willow Tree had to go, I at least got to enjoy a bit of riding. I was sad to see it finally hauled away. (As a side note, before it passed that tree was the source of much Tarzan-type enjoyment as my sibs and I made bows and arrows out of the ranches, and swung on the down hanging limbs, yelling, "(insert Tarzan yell here). )
One of those ways that my parents could discern the depth of my yearning was my daily reading of the livestock section of the local classified ads. One day, when I was about 9 (note, an "odd" age--no hope), there was an ad--not for horse, but for a donkey--an animal with "excellent disposition with children." And, only $25! Later I overheard my mother on the telephone making arrangements to visit the animal--tears of joy!!
Once Jack arrived in our pasture, the neighborhood kids and sibs gathered round and I jumped on his back. Jack wasn't so happy about that and I promptly wound up on the ground. Then little sister wanted her turn. Recalling all the rules about getting back on after a fall, I insisted I had to ride again. So I did.
Trey, our poodle, decided to enter the frey. Now, a digression. The ad that stated, "Excellent disposition with children", didn't add, "Deathly hatred of dogs and tries to kill them." After this particular incident we noticed Jack responded to being chased by a dog in a peculiar way; he chased the dog until the dog took off, then the donkey knelt on the ground and bit at it. Now, back to current events....
Jack chased Trey around in a circle, and I fell, unfortunately, off in the middle of the circle. Trey promptly disappeared (no loyalty there) and Jack turned his attention to my prone figure. He bit my hand but, not finding much purchase, he grabbed the upper part of my arm with his teeth. Kneeling with a knee on each side of my chest, holding my uper arm in his teeth, he raised me up and shook me around like a dog with a rat.
I was not quietly succombing; I beat on his nose with my free hand and screamed, "Daddy Daddy!" Fortunately for me, my father and mother were working nearby. I am told that my father leaped over the 2 pasture fences between us, while my mother ran around to the gates and jumped them. What I do remember, foggily, is my father doing a body tackle into the donkey and yelling, "O'lay!" (This last is probably some kind of hallucination, but that's what I remember.) Nevertheless, he knocked the animal off of me and they carried me to the car and took me to the doctor. (I went directly from accident to doctor only twice as a child.) After an xray of my hand (okay) I returned home. I fretted that my father would kill the donkey to avenge me, but instead he gave the donkey to a relative of a relative. He said they deserved each other.
As a 9 year old, I recall feeling quite heroic; if I hadn't insisted on riding after the fall, my younger (skinnier) sister would have been the unlucky recipient of the donkey's angst.
Some years later we were at a campground where there was a donkey wondering about. This donkey was gray, while my nemesis was black, but as some young kids were allowing the donkey to approach them I had a feeling of dread and found myself saying, "Watch out," as I advanced and pointed at the donkey with my walking stick. No one paid any attention to me and I began to wonder if I'd actually said anything at all. I slunk off and after that I always wondered if that was my "post traumatic stress syndrome" experience.
That was my first and last "donkey experience", though a neighbor girl had a very nice grey donkey and I rode him on at least one occasion.
After this experience I was forced to content myself with my Five-gaited Breyer horse with the red and white ribbon in his mane
and my 2 other model horses, and with my favorite author, Walter Farley and his Black Stallion and Island Stallion adventures until.... Hercules!
My mom still tells this story and I love it :). Nice to hear it from your mouth.
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