Alan the Christmas Donkey

by Tracy Garton

  ‘Is that a little owl?’ I said out loud in disbelief, peering through the windscreen.

  These two bright eyes glared back at me. That’s when I realised the reality was even odder than I thought. It was a chicken. She was angry, as if she was wondering what my problem was. How dare I be driving in her road? But as I looked around, I couldn’t figure out where she’d come from. It was a quiet country lane without a farm building in sight.

  I couldn’t just leave her there. The next passing car might not be so quick to brake. But I hadn’t got a clue where to return her to. She must have escaped from somewhere but by the looks of it she’d walked miles. At a loss, I got out of the car and scooped her up in my arms.

  ‘It appears you’re coming home with me,’ I said, as she clucked away in indignation at being taken away from her lovely road.

  I popped her on the back seat and took her home to make friends with the rest of my feathered collection.

  Geraldine soon settled in, as I was able to offer her something even better than life on the road. She fell in love, hard and fast, with my white duck Jemima. Much to Jemima’s annoyance, Geraldine would traipse around after her all day every day. It made me laugh to see how firmly Geraldine’s devotion wasn’t reciprocated. I don’t really know what she expected – a female chicken and a female duck isn’t exactly a match made in heaven.

  For the most part, the romance was completely harmless. But problems started to emerge when Jemima decided to take a dip. At that time we had a three-foot-deep pond, although it was later filled in. Every day, Jemima would waddle down there for a bit of a paddle, and of course Geraldine would follow. When Jemima took to the water Geraldine couldn’t stand being left alone on the bank and would try to follow her in. The issue was, of course, that while ducks can swim, chickens simply can’t. Their feathers get heavier and heavier as they soak up the water and eventually they sink.

  Time and time again I’d pluck Geraldine from the water just before disaster struck. I must have fished her out twenty times in less than a year. I’d always give her a stern telling off, reminding her that the pond wasn’t for her. But sure enough her affections for Jemima would get the better of her and she’d end up back in the water.

  One day, sadly, we didn’t catch her in time. I found her floating on the surface of the pond, all alone. It was a tragic show of what unrequited love can do. I was so upset that we’d lost her. She was such a big character, and it left a huge gap in our lives.

  11

  What Friends Are For

  Some people thrive on drama. Not me, though. After Dona Pepa’s traumatic rescue, I was glad to get back to a bit of normality. At the end of the day, drama at the sanctuary usually meant something was going wrong. I’d quite happily forgo sick donkeys and fundraising emergencies for the quiet life.

  For the next few months, things ticked along just fine. Or, at least as fine as they can when you’ve got more than thirty donkeys, a couple of horses and a pick-and-mix-style flock of various birds thrown in for good measure. That’s not even to mention members of the public causing me unnecessary stress.

  One lunchtime I was walking through the picnic area just in time to see a mum spreading out a banquet of sandwiches, crisps, cakes and who knows what else for her and her two small children. I sighed. Here we go again. One of my only rules at the sanctuary is that I ask people not to bring a picnic, and this mum was tucking in right next to the sign. We sell a huge range of hot and cold food and drinks, with all the profits going to the donkeys. As we don’t charge people to visit I think that’s more than reasonable.

  So I steeled myself for a bit of an argument and went over to ask the lady to pack up her picnic.

  ‘But my kids are hungry, what am I supposed to do?’ she moaned.

  ‘Well, you could buy some of our homemade food, or you could always have a picnic down at the beach when you leave?’ I said, trying my best to be patient.

  ‘I don’t think that’s very fair,’ she replied, making no moves to rewrap her stacks of sarnies. ‘We’ll eat quickly, and you won’t even notice.’

  Whether I noticed or not wasn’t really the point. But I had enough on my to-do list that day, and I didn’t have time for a full-on debate. So, with regret, I left her to it. It was the donkeys who would lose out in the end, but I could tell she wasn’t going to listen to reason.

  I told myself not to let it ruin my day. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. Instead, I busied myself with checking the state of the fences. Then fifteen minutes later the same woman caught my eye again. This time I wasted no time in striding straight over and giving her a piece of my mind. I caught her red-handed feeding the Hooligans chunks of pork pie, while her kids lobbed half-eaten sandwiches over the fence too.

  ‘Stop right now! You can’t give the donkeys that rubbish,’ I said, absolutely incredulous.

  ‘It’s not rubbish, it’s our leftovers. I thought the donkeys would like a bit of a treat,’ she said, passing another piece of pork pie to Dona Pepa.

  ‘A treat? Pah! You’ll make them ill, or even kill them,’ I said, barging in front of her to block her from continuing. ‘I’m not exaggerating.’

  At that, she finally looked a bit taken aback. I think it had dawned on her that my nice big poster asking people not to feed the donkeys without my permission was there for a reason.

  ‘We were going home anyway. Come on, kids,’ she blushed, dragging them off towards the car park before I could really let rip.

  Nothing made me angrier than when people put my donkeys at risk because of their sheer stupidity. Times like that made me doubt whether welcoming the public into the sanctuary was the right thing to do. There was no way we’d get by without public donations, but if a donkey ended up poorly or dead, I’d never forgive myself.

  I kept a close eye on the Hooligans for the next couple of days, but fortunately I’d caught the woman before her ‘treats’ could do any damage. However, I knew that the next time I might not be so lucky.

  Even when things were on an even keel there was always work to be done. I’ve only had one day off in the two decades of running the sanctuary, and that was thanks to Chubby Saurus, my ten-stone giant tortoise.

  I was never supposed to be rescuing a tortoise. A man from a small animal centre in Kent had called to ask if I could take in one of his donkeys. He was facing tough times financially, and he knew it would be better for his lone donkey to have a companion. Treacle Toffee had lived there since he was six months old, and had never even seen one of his own kind. Of course, I couldn’t refuse.

  But as I got chatting to the man over the phone, I could tell he had another favour to ask. Eventually he came out with it. Had I ever considered looking after a camel?

  The answer was obviously no. I had no idea what I’d do with a camel, especially one as old and cantankerous as he admitted his was. The biggest issue was that I didn’t have a Dangerous Wild Animals Licence. But, almost as a joke, I asked whether he had any tortoises that he needed to rehome. Within a couple of days I was driving back from Kent with Treacle Toffee in the horsebox and Chubby Saurus in the back of the pick-up.

  At first he took over my dining room while we got a shed with a heater and sunlamps built for him. Then he made himself at home with the run of my back garden to enjoy. I soon became used to his massive appetite – he could eat for England. Whenever I was at the supermarket I’d raid the reduced section for fruit and veg going out of date. He could gobble down two huge cabbages and ten bananas in one go, with a handful of pears on the side from Lesley’s tree in her garden. But it would be wrong to say he wasn’t fussy. He’d eat anything, but he liked me to hand-feed him. I spent hours crouched down on the floor next to him, passing him his next juicy delicacy piece by piece.

  Chubby Saurus settled in and it wasn’t long before he was part of the family. I loved him to bits, but unfortunately I couldn’t say the same for the donkeys. Sometimes I’d let the Geriatrics graze i
n my back garden to give them a bit of peace and quiet, but they always gave Chubby Saurus a wide berth. I think they were scared of him – he looked like a walking rock. Even the Hooligans seemed petrified when they caught a glimpse of him through a crack in the fence, and it takes a lot to scare them.

  Chubby Saurus wasn’t the first tortoise I’d ever looked after; I’d had my lovely little Walter and Betty back when we lived in Radcliffe-on-Trent but they’d both since died of old age. However, I knew I was no expert, and I wanted to pick the brains of those who were. I’d talked about wanting to visit Twycross Zoo to learn a bit more about caring for giant tortoises.

  However, when I’d mentioned this to Lesley, I hadn’t really been serious. I was just daydreaming. And when it came down to it, I didn’t even want a day off. I couldn’t contemplate leaving the donkeys for more than a few hours. What if there was an emergency?

  Unbeknown to me, Lesley launched a plan to get me away from the sanctuary. I’d honestly never spent more than an afternoon elsewhere since I’d set it up, unless I was on donkey duty picking up a rescue from some far-flung corner of the UK. And even I know that that doesn’t count as a break. But Lesley had decided that I deserved a day off and she was going to make sure that it happened.

  Knowing me as well as she does, Lesley expected that I’d come up with a list as long as a donkey’s tail with excuses of why I couldn’t go. That’s why she snuck around behind my back to make it happen. The first I knew of it was the day before, when she dropped the bombshell that she was staying for a sleepover.

  ‘I’m staying over tomorrow, by the way, Tracy,’ she said casually as we were winding down at the end of the day.

  ‘Erm, what? Are you?’ That was completely out of the ordinary.

  ‘Yep, Steve knows. It means I can look after everything while you’re off on your day out. You probably won’t be back until late,’ she said.

  ‘What day out?’ I asked, wondering what kind of elaborate practical joke was being pulled. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Well, you’re going to the zoo. Steve’s taking you. Don’t you dare complain, you told me you wanted to go. I decided it was about time you had a day off,’ she said, laughing at my gobsmacked expression.

  Steve had turned up in the yard just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

  ‘Cat’s out of the bag then?’ he said, joining in with Lesley’s laughter.

  ‘I can’t believe you two! But seriously, no. You can’t do everything yourself, I’m not going anywhere,’ I said stubbornly.

  ‘Oh no, I won’t be doing it all,’ Lesley explained. ‘I’ve rounded up the troops for tomorrow. Pretty much all the volunteers will be here, and I get to be the boss for the day.’

  That’s when I realised that I was having a day off whether I liked it or not. Lesley had planned absolutely everything. She was ready to shoot down whatever objection I came up with.

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ I said. I’d been well and truly ambushed.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to cry, get it out of the way now so you can have a good time tomorrow,’ Lesley said. ‘I won’t be making a habit of doing all the work, so make the most of it.’

  That night I hardly slept a wink. Getting up for the donkeys had been my routine day in and day out for over two decades. Breaking it felt like a recipe for disaster. I trusted Lesley completely, but still, the sanctuary was my responsibility. I couldn’t walk away from it, even just for one day.

  Eventually, after a night of tossing and turning, it was time to hit the road. I felt dazed as I climbed into the passenger seat of the car, next to Steve. It was like a really strange dream, bordering on a nightmare. Lesley waved us off.

  ‘See you tonight. Don’t worry about a thing,’ she said.

  Even she knew that wouldn’t happen. Of course I’d worry. By the time we’d made it fifty miles down the road to Grantham my nerves were in pieces.

  ‘Steve, I know you’ll say no but I really want to go home,’ I pleaded.

  ‘Don’t be daft. Lesley will phone if she needs anything, and we’re going to have a great day out. One day off won’t hurt anyone,’ he said.

  Barring an earthquake splitting the country in two, I knew Steve wouldn’t be turning the car around for anything. So I decided I’d do my best to enjoy myself.

  ‘Let’s stop for a drink. I promise not to make a run for it,’ I joked, as we passed a sign for a service station coming up in a couple of miles.

  ‘Don’t try any funny business,’ Steve mocked.

  Soon I was stood at the counter waiting for two hot, steaming cups of coffee. This will settle my nerves, I thought. I always had a couple of coffees in the morning, so perhaps a hit of caffeine would kid my brain into thinking it was just a normal day. I’d gone large for good measure.

  ‘That’s seven pounds twenty then, please,’ the girl behind the till said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, that must be someone else’s order. I’ve just got the two coffees,’ I replied, rummaging in my purse for change.

  ‘Yep, that’s seven twenty for those two.’ She held out her hand for the cash.

  I nearly handed the coffees straight back to her, I couldn’t believe it. I know I didn’t go out much, but that knocked me senseless. Was that really how much a coffee cost these days?

  In shock, I managed to hand over a tenner and, mouth gaping open, I carried the drinks over to where Steve had found us a seat. So much for settling my nerves. It’s just as well I didn’t go out more often, I’d be bankrupt.

  By the time we pulled up at Twycross Zoo, I was really regretting letting Lesley talk me into the outing. I wasn’t relaxed, I wasn’t having fun, and I didn’t see the point. But once we’d gone through the turnstile, I felt instantly more at home. Being surrounded by animals was well within my comfort zone.

  As we explored the different enclosures, I even started to enjoy myself. As expected, seeing the giant tortoises was the highlight and I ended up armed with all sorts of tips from a really friendly keeper. She looked impressed when I described how much grass Chubby Saurus had to roam. But by closing time I was more than ready to go home.

  We arrived back in Huttoft late in the evening. Lesley came out to greet us.

  ‘How was it? Did you have fun?’ she said.

  ‘It was traumatic,’ I told her, only half joking. ‘But how were things here? Are all the residents all right?’

  It was no surprise to anyone but me that the day had gone smoothly. All the donkeys were sleeping peacefully. Life had gone on without me there cracking the whip.

  That day did teach me an important lesson. I realised it was not a bad thing to rely on other people occasionally, just for a small break. I haven’t had a day off since, though, and I certainly won’t be asking for one anytime soon. I know where I’d rather be.

  After Dona Pepa’s rescue, it was only going to be a matter of time until crisis hit once more. What I hadn’t expected is that she and Alan would be at the heart of it again.

  The morning of the next catastrophe had been as it usually was. All the donkeys were happily playing out in the fields, leaving that day’s volunteers to help me and Steve with some of the general maintenance work. So far so good.

  We’d just tucked into a well-earned lunch of fish and chips from the local takeaway, a rare treat, when I spotted something strange out of the window of our tearoom trailer. Dona Pepa was lying down in the field – nothing particularly strange there. But Alan was pacing up and down beside her, nuzzling at her neck.

  ‘Don’t touch my fish, I’m not done with it. I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ I warned Steve.

  Usually, if Dona Pepa didn’t want to play, Alan would amuse himself for a while. His actions struck me as really odd, and I wanted to go to make sure things were all right.

  As soon as I got closer, I realised things most certainly were not all right. Dona Pepa’s breathing was heavy and laboured, and she didn’t look we
ll at all. Alan seemed relieved to see me, as if he knew that Dona Pepa needed help.

  ‘You look after her, I’ll be back in a minute,’ I said to Alan, giving him a little stroke. I needed to get Dona Pepa back to a stable and there was no way I could do that alone. Steve would have to finish his lunch later too.

  Soon a whole team of us was around Dona Pepa. I slipped a head collar on her, and we tried to encourage her to stand by herself. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t, she simply couldn’t. That morning she had been absolutely fine. Now, she’d collapsed and I didn’t understand why.

  The situation was looking really bleak. We’d been trying to get her to stand for hours. Sometimes donkeys do fall desperately ill for no apparent reason. I’d seen it happen before. Unfortunately, incidents like that didn’t usually have a happy ending.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Dona Pepa. She wasn’t even twenty years old, no age at all for a donkey when they can easily reach their thirties and beyond.

  I crouched down beside her, and rubbed her dappled grey neck soothingly.

  ‘You are not going to die on me,’ I said firmly. ‘We all love you far too much. Now come on, let’s get you into a stable.’

  Alan rubbed his face on her neck as if he was agreeing.

  Dona Pepa looked back up at us in despair with her deep brown eyes. I knew she was trying her hardest to hold on. We didn’t have long.

  ‘We’re going to have to do this the hard way. We’ll lift her, and see if she can stand,’ I commanded Steve and the volunteers.

  Everyone got their hands underneath her and, on my count, we heaved. We managed to get her back onto her feet and, for a few seconds, she swayed as if she was about to keel over again. But, with us supporting her on each side, she managed to stay upright.

  There was no time to spare. We couldn’t waste what little energy Dona Pepa had left, we needed her to walk to the stable while she still could.