The Jennet Ass

So, that birthday. Lorenz insisted that there would be no birthday party, no singing, no cake, nope, there would be no birthday events of any sort. So, Til, H.P. and I being the kind of people who respect that sort of wish in our own way, we planned a birthday celebration and simply didn't tell Lorenz about it. The plan was oh so clever: we would, while he was up in the fields, exchange his piece-o-junk barbecue with the spiffy new model we'd picked up on the weekend, and then we would magically whisk out the fixings for a sumptous barbecue meal that were already hidden in the walk-in and my apartment. Coincidentally, Vanessa, Ruth, Gaille, Tara, the Triplets, Kim and Piet would show up. Lorenz would stroll into the middle of this and have no time to protest.

The best-laid plans don't work out that way. I made it home from work early enough to do the food prep, but Lorenz was parked in his office, with the door open. The office door directly faces my door, so much so that it would be tricky to wander in and out without being noticed, never mind moving the huge new barbecue surrepetitiously out. It would be about as easy as casually hiding an elephant in the chicken coop, assuming Lorenz would just not notice it when he went to feed the chickens. Nope, the farmer was hanging out at his desk, reading a book about making your own dog food (score for Boris).

Plan B? I walked into Adrian's room and announced that I needed his help: he had to get his father out of his barn office and away from all windows in the house. Creative lies involving French teachers had Lorenz sprinting for the house, and H.P. and me sprinting with a barbecue (maybe it's not French teachers, but a French farce we should be talking about). Til did his best to keep Lorenz away from the kitchen window, Lorenz did his best to look confused. At this point, I advised him to take a shower, and, perhaps not as elegantly as originally planned, the rest of the evening went as anticipated: Lorenz had no opportunity to protest and thus graciously submitted to eating and drinking and birthday cake cutting.

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The coyotes have no respect for birthdays, though. The young laying hens (which turn out to have a rather generous sprinkling of roosters mixed in among them) have finally started producing eggs. Now is the time when they are granted a bit of freedom, and if they were smart enough to climb up the ladder (encouraged by the grain scattered along it) and down the ladder outside, they could play in the weeds and the manure pile like the old layers. Unfortunately, a few of them were just smart enough to make it outside, but most definitely too dumb to find their way back in. Freed chickens aren't overly enthused about being grabbed, and they couldn't get back in on their own, so the coyotes had a little chicken snack of the ones who stayed out. The only silver lining there is that perhaps this was natural selection at work, since the smarter hens went back inside. The bad part is, though, that the coyotes are now more likely to associate the white barn with tender little chicken bites, and may start hanging out more.

Clearly, the idea of donkeys guarding livestock against coyotes is a myth where Emma is concerned. That blind ass (and yes, she is an ass. A male donkey is a jack ass, a female donkey a jennet ass, and thus Emma would more appropriately be a Jennie) is perfectly happy munching her way through the compost (not to mention unguarded houseplants, the horses' grain, and the best of the hay in the grey barn). The idea is that donkeys have a natural dislike for all canines, and will be rather nasty to dogs and coyotes. Not our Emma - she has natural dislikes, primarily against males, but these are minor compared to her natural likes for treats, rolling in the sand ring, and leaving little deposits on the lawn (all the better to choke the lawnmower with). In theory, donkeys are said to like human companionship - to the point of getting depressed if they are left alone too long. This is not the case with Emma, either, since she doesn't give a flying fig about people and, contrary to Lorenz's suspicions, did not start to decline once Betty the goat died two years ago. Emma is blind (though not blind as a bat, Lorenz tells me that bats can see. He tells me this as I'm ducking from bats swooping down on me in the dark), and her days and nights are donkey heaven: she wanders all over the place and does exactly what she pleases. Perhaps it's because of Emma's ornery nature that I actually really like her (as long as we don't speak of the houseplant snack again). I call her name when I see her, and she smiles at me. At least, I'm convinced that she's smiling when she shows me her hideous green-stained teeth and gums!

And while I'm going on about the livestock, Lorenz tells me that the field is just a gobblefest of wild turkeys every morning lately. Me, I have yet to see them, while they're gobbling his vegetables I'm gulping my coffee and getting ready to go to work.

Posted by Johanna at September 14, 2004 05:59 PM