Alan the Christmas Donkey

by Tracy Garton

  ‘Alan it is then,’ I said.

  I watched with admiration as Norrie gave Alan a full health MOT. She knew every little niggle to watch out for, thanks to the years of training she’d committed to. Every time I see Norrie at work I can’t help but remember my early ambitions to be a vet. She knows so much, and I can’t even imagine being in her shoes.

  ‘I’d put him at just under two-and-a-half years old,’ she said, trying to catch a look at his teeth.

  That’s the most accurate way to age a donkey. The teeth completely give it away until they reach the age of twenty, and then it becomes a bit more difficult.

  ‘I see what you mean about the lice too,’ she said, grimacing as she parted his coat. ‘But, I’m sure you know how to deal with that.’

  ‘That’s the first job as soon as you’re done,’ I said. ‘I’m not having them crawling all over the place.’

  Then she reached into her medical supplies box for a couple of vials.

  ‘You’re not going to like this, but I’ve got some nasty jabs for you,’ she said soothingly to Alan.

  All of our donkeys receive tetanus and flu shots as soon as they arrive. The last thing we need is for them to come down with a new illness. Alan barely flinched as Norrie injected him with each immunisation.

  ‘He’s a good boy, isn’t he?’ she said.

  ‘He’s been like that since we picked him up. We’ll see how he gets on with some food in a bit,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll be able to tell what kind of mental state he is in. Maybe he’s just exhausted, but he doesn’t seem to have much of a spirit.’

  ‘Well, physically speaking I don’t think there’s anything major going on for me to treat. There are no signs of pneumonia. Just a few more of the usual bits and pieces for me to do, then I’ll let you take it from there,’ she said.

  And, as if right on cue, Alan dropped a steaming pile of donkey poo right next to Norrie’s boot.

  ‘Well, that’s the dung sample sorted,’ she said, laughing.

  She scooped some up into a plastic container and sealed it. We always make sure our new donkeys have a worm count, where their poo is looked at under a microscope to check whether they need worming treatment. It’s important to do the test first, because if a donkey has got a lot of worms the wrong type of treatment can actually kill them. And if they don’t need worming, overusing the treatment can leave the donkey resistant to the drugs.

  ‘I’ll get back to you with the results as soon as they’re ready. That’s me done, but do give me a call if you need anything else. I’ll be back at any time, day or night, you know that,’ she said reassuringly.

  I regularly thanked my lucky stars for Norrie’s five-star twenty-four-hour service.

  ‘You’re in good hands here, Alan,’ she said, with a little chuckle. ‘Tracy will have you up and about in no time.’

  I hoped she was right. I waved Norrie off, then headed over to the tack room to grab the clippers.

  ‘Right, Alan, I can’t put you to bed with all of those lice,’ I said, revving the motor.

  Forlorn, he raised his head to see what I was going to put him through next. I couldn’t bear the thought that he was expecting me to hurt him.

  ‘It’s absolutely painless, I promise. You’ll feel so much better afterwards.’

  Bless him, he stood there patiently while I clipped away his entire winter coat, lice and all. It was strangely satisfying to imagine those nasty little parasites falling to the floor. Underneath his fur Alan had the scabs to prove how uncomfortable he’d been. He’d almost rubbed himself raw with all the itching and scratching. Thankfully, the sore spots would soon heal. Then I went back to the tack room to grab a pungent chemical solution to pour over Alan’s freshly shaved body. That would ensure that any lice that remained wouldn’t survive the night.

  ‘All sorted. Now you can have a good night’s sleep without all those horrible bugs,’ I said to Alan.

  He wasted no time in settling himself down in a cosy corner of the stable. I could bet that he’d be asleep even before I’d pulled my welly boots off. It was probably the first comfortable night’s sleep he’d had in his life.

  ‘Night, Alan,’ I whispered, bolting the stable door closed behind me.

  Back inside, Steve had been waiting for me in the living room before heading up to bed.

  ‘I told Lesley to head off home as it looked like you had things under control,’ he said. ‘All sorted?’

  ‘Yep, Alan looked ever so sweet all snuggled up. I’m still really worried about him, though,’ I said.

  ‘He looked done in. What did Norrie say?’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing seriously wrong with him. But it wouldn’t be the first time a donkey decides they’ve simply had enough of life,’ I said.

  ‘From the state of him, I wouldn’t blame him,’ Steve replied. ‘If he could talk, I bet he’d have some shocking stories to tell.’

  ‘I know. Anyway, I’ll see you in bed. I’ve been dying for a shower since I caught sight of those horrible lice,’ I said, scratching at my arm.

  Soon I’d stripped off and turned the water up as hot as I could bear it. I scrubbed away at my skin until it was red, determined to get rid of the creepy crawly sensations. Then I climbed into bed and set the alarm on my mobile phone to wake me again in just two hours’ time.

  I wasn’t expecting to nod off. I wouldn’t sleep easy unless Alan was okay. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Norrie; I knew if there was the smallest sign of sickness she’d have spotted it right away. But Alan was in desperate need of the basics we’re all guilty of taking for granted – warmth, hydration and nourishment. It was my job to make sure he had them.

  It felt like I’d only been asleep for seconds when the beep of my mobile’s alarm jolted me wide awake. I pulled my wellies and big winter coat on over my pyjamas, and padded down to the stable. I creaked open the stable door and watched Alan anxiously under torchlight to check he was still breathing. His sighs were slow and regular – a good sign. He’d barely nibbled at the haylage I’d left for him earlier, but he’d gulped down a fair amount of water. I topped that up and, after watching him sleep for a few more moments, I crept back to bed.

  I repeated this ritual twice more that night, with nothing to report. But despite the lack of sleep, I was still up bright and early at 5.30 a.m. Alan’s stable was first on my call list.

  Since I’d last looked in on him at 4.30 a.m., nothing had changed. He was still slumped in the corner. When I unbolted the stable door he didn’t even glance up to see who was bothering him.

  ‘Morning, Alan. How was your room, sir?’ I joked.

  But still not even a flicker of a reaction. I wasn’t expecting him to roar with laughter at my poor attempts at humour, but any of the other donkeys would have been snuffling at my pockets straight away, curious to see if I’d brought them any treats. Not Alan, though.

  ‘You poor thing,’ I said under my breath as I shook up his haylage and changed his water. He needed time.

  I set to work on the daily jobs list, turning the other donkeys out into the fields for a while as it was a nice, bright day. I was a bit slower than usual in ticking things off as I kept wandering over to check up on Alan.

  Then mid-afternoon there was a breakthrough. Only a small one, but it gave me a glimmer of hope. I caught Alan nibbling on his food and then, as I unlocked the stable, he turned and took a few steps towards me.

  ‘Oh, so you are interested in us after all, are you?’ I said, stroking his nose.

  He raised his eyes to look up at me under the floppy tufts of fur, and rubbed his face against my hand. It was as if he was saying, Thank you for saving me. But he didn’t need to thank me. He already had a place in my heart, and I wouldn’t have changed that for the world.

  The next day I decided it was time for Alan to have an appointment with our farrier. He needed those awfully overgrown hooves sorted as soon as possible if I was to get him up and about again.

  A lot of people tot
ally neglect to look after their donkeys’ feet. It’s just as important as it is with a horse, though, even if they’re not being ridden. Left untreated and untrimmed, the hooves will grow and grow until they curl under into a painfully unnatural shape. They can split too, leaving the donkey prone to infections.

  I couldn’t even guess when Alan had last had his hooves looked after. They were curled under like slippers, and I knew that it would be incredibly painful for him to walk.

  Our farrier, Russell Nicholls, arrived later that afternoon, and I led Alan out into the yard for his pedicure. Some donkeys hate having their feet messed around with, but from what I’d seen from Alan so far I didn’t think he’d pose a problem. He seemed woefully ready to endure whatever we put him through.

  ‘These don’t look good,’ Russell said, making his initial assessment by picking up Alan’s deformed feet one by one.

  ‘I know. He was abandoned so I don’t have any history for him, but he’s not been very well looked after,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’ll have him feeling better in no time,’ Russell said, spreading out his tools and getting down to work.

  I held Alan still from the front while Russell prodded, trimmed and shaped. Alan barely flinched. I had a horrible feeling that pain was all he knew. It was normal for him.

  By the time Russell was done it was like a miracle had been performed. Alan’s feet didn’t even resemble the mess he’d been walking around on before. I wasn’t surprised – I’d seen Russell at work many a time before. He is excellent, which is exactly why we call him in, time and time again.

  ‘Much better, hey?’ he said, stepping back to admire his work.

  ‘Definitely. If that doesn’t perk him up, I don’t know what will,’ I said.

  Then I led Alan around the yard so he could try out his new hooves. He obediently plodded around after me. I could already tell he was stepping forward without the same hesitation he’d had before.

  ‘Well done, Alan, another step in your recovery,’ I said. ‘If you’ll pardon the pun.’

  This time, I could have sworn I caught a hint of a grin on his face.

  The farrier was soon followed by the equine dentist, who sorted out Alan’s overgrown teeth. It’s always a big event when our dentist, Tom Grantham, turns up with his kit, because the treatment looks so barbaric. It’s not something we have done when we have visitors around if we can help it.

  With a donkey, it’s not as simple as telling them to open wide and say ‘aah’. Tom would soon have his hand bitten off. Instead, he uses a metal gag to hold open the donkey’s mouth while he reaches inside. It looks a bit like an old medieval torture device. I have to admit that the first time I saw it I was quite taken aback. But in actual fact, the donkeys don’t really mind it. Tom’s an absolute expert at what he does, so he’s in and out of their mouths in no time. He’ll take out any loose teeth, check for abscesses and infections, and file down any teeth that have become overgrown. Still, with the number of donkeys to get through, by the time he’s done at the sanctuary he looks like he’s run a marathon with a sack of potatoes on his back.

  All my donkeys have regular appointments with Tom, once a year. I’m a strong believer that prevention is better than cure. It’s expensive, but I wouldn’t neglect my own teeth so why would I neglect my donkeys’? Left unchecked, a donkey could easily develop colic or quickly lose weight. It’s not a risk worth taking.

  However, even with his freshly preened feet and sparkling teeth, Alan still remained his glum self. A few days later I decided that he was healthy enough to mix with the other donkeys but he didn’t want to know. I tried to tempt him out towards the field, wiggling a carrot as encouragement. I thought if he could see the other donkeys over the fence maybe he’d perk up and want to go and play. But he just looked at the ground.

  ‘Come on, Alan, you’ll soon make friends,’ I said, offering him a nibble of the carrot.

  He swung his head in the other direction and plodded back towards his stable. Whatever his previous owners had done to him, it had seriously messed him up. It was almost as if he had sunk into a deep depression and didn’t know how to lift himself out of it. I didn’t know what the answer was, as it wasn’t something I had seen before. But I would be damned if I wasn’t going to try everything in my power to help.

  8

  The Hooligans

  ‘Ross, you’re on poo picking, I’m afraid. Lesley, you’re with me cleaning the stables. And Steve, those fences really need fixing up today,’ I said, organising the team for the day.

  The countdown was on. We’d be opening to the public for a new season in just a couple of weeks, and we needed to get the place looking presentable.

  You’d think that having two months off to ourselves would have meant we’d be more than ready for visitors again. Our depressing bank balance certainly was. But unfortunately, at the sanctuary there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get on top of things. So that year, like every year, we found ourselves running around like headless chickens to finish off all the odd jobs before February was out.

  It all felt like a bit of a waste of time. At the end of the day, we were there to look after donkeys, not to impress the public. We’re not a zoo, and we’ve never intended to be. I think of us as an accidental tourist attraction. But still, I knew that if we wanted people to support us we needed to make them feel welcome.

  ‘Right you are, I know my place,’ Ross joked, pulling his hoody sleeves up and heading out towards the fields. He’d been volunteering at the sanctuary since the year before, doing odd days here and there. He’d quickly built up a special bond with the donkeys, and it certainly was handy having a strong thirty-something man around the place. He might look a bit intimidating – he’s a big guy always dressed in a moody black hoody and baggy jeans – but appearances can be deceptive. Underneath he’s softly spoken with a heart of gold and a cracking sense of humour.

  The donkeys had been turned out for the day. That is, all except for Alan. Despite looking much plumper and healthier than he had when he’d arrived at the sanctuary, he was still feeling sorry for himself. Nothing I could do would tempt him outside. He seemed to prefer cowering in the stable. For the last week or so I’d been leaving the stable door open for him during the day, hoping that curiosity would get the better of him. Every morning I’d have everything crossed that that would be the day Alan would lift himself out of his deep depression. But despite crossed fingers and toes, and countless ginger biscuit bribes, he wasn’t interested.

  Occasionally he’d pop his head out for a little look around. But he didn’t seem in the least bit keen to go and make friends with the other donkeys. He could see them frolicking around in the fields, and it broke my heart that he didn’t want to go and join them. Instead, he’d give me that downtrodden look of his, and plod back inside to mope.

  Donkeys are usually really sociable animals. I wondered whether Alan had spent too many years on his own. Like a lonely kid, perhaps he didn’t know how to make friends. I’d seen distressed donkeys, scared donkeys and poorly donkeys, but I’d never come across one as depressed as Alan. Usually even the most mentally damaged donkeys perked up as soon as they realised there were other donkeys playing around in the fields. Donkeys don’t like missing out. But Alan didn’t seem to care if the others were having all the fun without him, and I’d never come across that before.

  I was determined to crack Alan, but it had been a week and I was getting worried whether he was too much of a challenge even for me. I always made sure to give him an extra bit of fuss, along with a pep talk, whether he wanted it or not. That morning I’d warned him that he wouldn’t get away with moping around forever.

  ‘I’m going to need my stable back sooner or later, you know,’ I said, my voice softening as he nuzzled at my palm.

  But it was no good. Alan hung his head, as if he was resigned to having to toe the line eventually. How could I get cross at a donkey as beaten down as he was?

  So, wit
h Alan still moping, we all got on with the jobs for the day. I went to the tack room to grab the brushes for me and Lesley, and we got stuck in on the first stable. But then, suddenly, the companionable silence was shattered by an almighty bray.

  Donkeys’ voices are as unique as humans’. After spending so much time around my lot, I could pick out each of their brays with my eyes closed. But this was like nothing I had ever heard before. The sound was almost ear-shatteringly painful, striking a pitch that set my teeth on edge.

  ‘What on earth was that?’ I said to Lesley, clattering my broom to the floor in surprise.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ She popped her head out to look around the yard.

  Then she turned back to me with a grin on her face.

  ‘You need to have a look at this, Tracy,’ she said.

  As I stepped out into the yard, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Alan was finally out of his stable. Even better, he’d wandered over to the gate leading into the field where some of my naughtiest donkeys were nibbling at the grass. He turned his head to look at me, before opening his mouth again. I covered my ears against the noise as he let out a roar of sound.

  ‘Alan’s finally found his voice,’ I said, laughing despite the assault on my ears.

  ‘And what a voice it is,’ said Lesley with a grimace.

  ‘Who’d have thought such a tiny donkey could make so much of a racket?’

  We watched as Alan lingered over by the metal gate. For the first time he seemed interested in what the others were up to. I could swear he even looked envious as they chased each other around. One by one, the other donkeys came up to the gate to get a good look at Alan. It was a friendship-forming ritual I’d seen many times before.

  At first, I always keep the new donkey safely on the right side of the fence, so that the other residents can get used to him or her. I observe carefully to judge whether they seem to be getting on. Then, only once they’ve grown familiar with each other, I decide whether the new donkey would be a good fit for that group.