Alan the Christmas Donkey

by Tracy Garton

  We crowded around her, ready to break her fall as she took faltering steps back across the field. Each step was touch and go. Alan followed close behind, as if he was keeping a close eye. Somehow we made it just in time. Dona Pepa collapsed again as soon as she was inside the stable block.

  I dialled Norrie’s number. If anyone could save Dona Pepa, she could.

  ‘She’s breathing, but it’s like there’s nothing left in her. She could barely stand. It’s been so sudden, though,’ I explained.

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ Norrie said.

  For the next half hour, all I could do was keep everything crossed and wait.

  By the time Norrie arrived, nothing had changed. Dona Pepa was still as wiped out as she had been. But at least she was somewhere sheltered.

  Norrie asked question after question. Had she been eating? Were any of the other donkeys unwell? She felt every inch of her body, and used all sorts of medical instruments to carry out checks. But, at the end of a very thorough examination, the cause of Dona Pepa’s sudden collapse remained a mystery.

  ‘I’ll hook her up to a drip, and she can stay here tonight. Then, if she’s strong enough in the morning, bring her straight over to the surgery centre and I’ll run some tests,’ Norrie said. ‘It’s best that she stays here for the time being, though.’

  Just as I did whenever any of the donkeys fell ill, I got a horrible attack of guilt. I was Dona Pepa’s protector, and I couldn’t help but feel that I should be able to shelter her from everything. Had I missed a sign that morning when I’d dished out the haylage for breakfast?

  However, my rational mind told me that sometimes these things just happen. I knew there was nothing that I should or shouldn’t have done. Dona Pepa had been absolutely fine earlier. Even Norrie was mystified.

  I set my alarm for two-hour intervals throughout the night to check on her. Every time I crept through the yard I was fearing the worst. She seemed to be at death’s door. It was heartbreaking to see her in such a state.

  By some miracle, in the morning she was still with us. So, at the crack of dawn, Steve helped me to load her into the horsebox. She was still reluctant to stand but a bit of coaxing did the trick this time. We didn’t have to scoop her up off the ground like we had done the day before. I dared to hope that this was a good sign.

  I drove Dona Pepa over to Market Rasen, where Norrie was already expecting her.

  ‘She looks a little bit brighter,’ Norrie remarked, as I handed the lead rope over to her.

  ‘Maybe a little bit. She’s still not right, though,’ I said. Then I took a few moments to say goodbye.

  In my heart, I was hoping it wasn’t goodbye for good. But after losing Muffin so unexpectedly all those years before when he’d gone to the vet’s for an op, I knew that there were no guarantees.

  ‘You’re not going to die on me,’ I said, repeating what I’d told her in the field the day before. But this time, I was saying it as much for my benefit. ‘We’ll miss you but you’ll be home soon.’

  Then, after one final rub of her dusty grey coat, I left Norrie to work her magic.

  ‘I’ll call you as soon as there is any news,’ Norrie promised.

  I fiercely blinked away the tears in my eyes before heading back to the sanctuary. I was already dreading the phone ringing, not knowing whether to expect good news or bad. It was out of my hands, and I hated it.

  Back home, I could tell that Alan was already missing Dona Pepa. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. While the other donkeys were playing, he’d lost his mischievous sparkle.

  The thing with donkeys is that they can form attachments very quickly. Often, they’ll pick a friend for life and the two will be inseparable. It’s not a romantic thing; a perfect pairing could just as easily be two male or two female donkeys. It sounds like the ideal scenario, finding your platonic soulmate. But it’s only good while it lasts.

  If a donkey passes away, their mate will pine for them desperately. They won’t want to make other friends, as no one can live up to their lost love. A lonely donkey can plunge into a deep depression. That’s why I try to discourage my donkeys from forming such exclusive pairings. It’s better for them to have a group of friends. Inevitably, my donkeys do die. But this way, their loss doesn’t set the rest of them on the rocks.

  Alan and Dona Pepa weren’t a tight pair, but I could tell they were special to each other. That’s why he’d saved her from the dyke those months before. And that’s why he’d been the one to stay by her side when she’d collapsed. We all need a friend and not for the first time I was glad that Dona Pepa had Alan. I just hoped, for my sake and for his, that they’d enjoy many more years of friendship.

  Later that day, the phone rang. I steeled myself to answer it. It’s not often I’d wish for a nuisance sales call, but on that afternoon I’d have happily taken hundreds. No news from Norrie was good news, as far as I was concerned.

  But it was Norrie on the other end. She was a straight talker, so I knew that if there was bad news she’d come right out with it.

  ‘I’d like to keep Dona Pepa in tonight,’ she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew that if there was a ‘but’, it wouldn’t be my worst fear. That the situation was utterly hopeless.

  ‘I’m still waiting for a few test results, but she’s a bit of a medical mystery,’ Norrie went on.

  She’d tested Dona Pepa for absolutely everything she could think of, including weird and rare illnesses I’d never even heard of. There were no answers, although the drip seemed to be helping to some extent.

  Norrie promised another update the next day. I thanked my lucky stars and kept everything crossed for more improvement overnight.

  By the next morning, not much had changed. Dona Pepa was still utterly miserable.

  ‘She won’t eat, and she won’t stand up without a lot of persuasion,’ Norrie explained. ‘I’m at a bit of a loss. We can continue looking after her, but there’s no medical problem for us to treat.’

  The thought of her there all alone and feeling down broke my heart. I didn’t want her to think we’d given up on her. That’s when I had an idea.

  ‘Do you think a bit of company might help?’ I asked.

  ‘Tracy, you know you’re welcome to pop in at any time,’ Norrie said.

  ‘No, not me. How about another donkey? Maybe a friend will perk her up a bit?’ I said.

  It sounded like a bit of a silly suggestion. After all, you wouldn’t send your dog to the vet’s just to keep your other dog company. But donkeys are different. They thrive on companionship of their own kind. I knew the nurses at the vet centre would be taking fantastic care of Dona Pepa, but it wasn’t the same as having another donkey there.

  ‘At this stage it’s worth a try,’ Norrie said. ‘She’s not got anything contagious, so there’s no reason why another donkey can’t come and keep her company. You’re right, maybe it will help.’

  As soon as the words had come out of my mouth, I knew there was only one donkey for the job. Alan would come to Dona Pepa’s rescue yet again. If he couldn’t give her a reason to live, then I didn’t know what else we could do.

  I explained my bonkers plan to Steve and he got the horsebox ready once again. For the first time in two days I cracked a small smile, thinking about how excited Alan was going to be to see his friend again.

  ‘You’re going on an adventure,’ I said as I led him out of the field, much to the confusion of the rest of the Hooligans. First Dona Pepa had gone missing, and now I was taking Alan off somewhere too.

  Alan hadn’t been in the horsebox since his brush with fame at Sutton-on-Sea. He’d had a splendid time, so I was sure he thought he was off somewhere equally exotic as the beach. I was worried that Market Rasen wouldn’t live up to his expectations. So I explained that he had a special job to do.

  ‘You’re going to the vet’s, but there’s no nasty medicine for you. You need to cheer Dona Pepa up for me, and make her feel better,’ I sai
d, leading him into the horsebox. I could swear there was a bit of a spring in his step as he understood his task. He was going to be reunited with his friend.

  As soon as I led Alan into Dona Pepa’s temporary home, he started tugging on the lead rope in a desperate bid to get to her quicker. She stood up, ears pricked to the sound of Alan’s trademark ear-shattering bray.

  ‘That’s some hello,’ I said, trying to calm him down.

  I felt a fuzzy glow as Dona Pepa came straight over to Alan when I released him, and the pair started to groom each other. It was normal behaviour, and it gave me hope that she would be all right.

  ‘Alan’s here to keep you company until you both come home,’ I told Dona Pepa, smiling at the interaction between the two of them.

  ‘That’s the liveliest she’s been in days,’ Norrie said, watching alongside me.

  ‘Let’s just hope it does the trick,’ I replied. Dona Pepa’s mysterious illness had been unpredictable. There was no guarantee that she wouldn’t go downhill again.

  I said my goodbyes and left my two donkeys to their affectionate reunion. Back at the sanctuary I’d just made a cup of tea when something struck me. There was total peace and quiet, without Alan creating a racket. I never thought I’d say it, but I actually missed his noise. In a way it was comforting to have him letting us know he was there. Without him, the place seemed strangely silent. None of the other donkeys’ voices rivalled his, in volume or in effect.

  Alan stayed at the vet’s with Dona Pepa for three days. In that time she started eating again, and she got a bit of her energy back. I waited anxiously for each day’s progress report from Norrie, and was delighted to hear that her health was heading in the right direction.

  Then, on the third day, she called me back out to pick them both up.

  ‘She’s missing home, so I think it’s about time she went back to the sanctuary,’ Norrie explained. ‘She needs to take it easy, though. Keep her stabled for a few days.’

  ‘I’ve been so worried. Thanks so much. You saved her,’ I said. I hadn’t even dared to dream about bringing Dona Pepa back home, just in case the worst had happened.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that. I think Alan deserves more of the credit than me,’ Norrie chuckled. ‘I’m still none the wiser as to what caused her to collapse in the first place. But, thanks to Alan, she’s back on her feet. He wanted his playmate back.’

  ‘I can imagine. Or she wanted to come home to get away from his noise,’ I said, smiling. If I was Dona Pepa, Alan’s constant braying would be enough to get me up off my deathbed and sprinting down the road.

  ‘Well, I know we’ll be glad to have a bit of peace,’ Norrie said knowingly.

  ‘Try living with that screaming Eeyore every day.’ I winced as Alan opened his mouth on cue.

  I might have complained, but in all honesty I was glad to have my two donkeys home. It would have broken my heart to lose Dona Pepa, and Alan too. After a few days in a cosy stable she was back to her old self again, chasing Alan around in the field.

  We never found out what caused her to collapse. Still, though, we ended up with a £2,000 vet bill to show for it. Thankfully, there were a number of our supporters who were as fond of Dona Pepa as Alan and I were, and we soon had donations flooding in to help us to cover it.

  Yet again, Dona Pepa’s adventure had had a happy ending, and we had Alan to thank for that.

  12

  Cruel Intentions

  I squinted in the fading daylight as I herded the chickens back into their pens for the evening.

  ‘Is that all of you?’ I said, trying to count them in.

  It was only 3.30 p.m. but night was already drawing close. It was one of the biggest winter challenges we faced. There were simply fewer hours in the day to get everything done. There was no point trying to do our jobs by torchlight. We’d end up stepping in countless piles of donkey poo, and I was sure some of the residents would take full advantage of that. I could imagine the donkeys roaring with laughter at us.

  There was a November chill in the air, and the donkeys were feeling it too. We were back in the routine of bringing them all into the yard for the night.

  ‘I’ll start rounding them up while you finish sorting the birds out,’ Steve said.

  Some of the donkeys would already be up by the gates, waiting desperately to be let in. It wasn’t because they were miserable in the fields. Far from it. These donkeys would be led by their bellies. They knew that there would be a tasty pile of haylage waiting in the stable for them to tuck into for tea. That’s why they were itching to get inside. Fat Annie, one of Alan’s playmates from the Hooligans, would usually be at the front of the queue, with her boyfriend, Jack, never far behind. She was bossy and bolshy but he saw something in her that the rest of the donkeys didn’t, and would follow her anywhere. When I first rescued her from the slaughterhouse back in 1994 I’d named her just Annie. There wasn’t anything remotely fat about her. She was so scrawny that she barely even resembled a donkey. But as the months went on, she made up for lost time, spending hours munching on the grass. She became plumper, earning her not particularly complimentary nickname.

  But every evening there would be a few donkeys wanting a bit of extra playtime outside, and Alan was a classic culprit in that respect. Plus, I could always bank on one or two of the older donkeys digging their heels in just for the sake of it. So while I fox-proofed the last of the chicken pens I was thankful that Steve was giving us a head start. The sooner the donkeys were in bed, the sooner I could get inside and warm up too. It was a Friday, but there was no Friday feeling at the sanctuary. We’d be open to the public as usual in the morning.

  I was just about to head down to the fields when I spotted Steve in the dusky light walking back up towards me. Maybe he needs an extra pair of hands to give Buster a bit of persuasion, I thought. Buster was one of our oldest residents. We’d rescued him from a slaughterhouse back in 1994.

  At first he was really aggressive as he wasn’t used to being handled. I had scars on my leg from when he grabbed me by the arm, wrestled me to the floor, and kicked at me in frustration. I couldn’t blame him, he didn’t know any better. Now, years on, he was much more settled. But still, he liked to assert his authority by being awkward whenever he could. That’s why if I could place a bet on Buster being last in every night, I’d be a millionaire by now.

  But that evening, it wasn’t Buster causing a fuss.

  ‘Some of the gates are down in the far fields,’ said Steve, looking worried. ‘It’s really strange.’

  ‘Are the donkeys all there?’ I asked, immediately on high alert.

  ‘I don’t know yet. You’d better come and see this, though.’ Steve began walking back down into the fields as I followed him.

  My blood ran cold as every possible cause ran through my mind. None of them were good. One gate off its hinges wasn’t unheard of. Those donkeys had a strong kick, and a boot at the right angle could do a lot of damage. But more than one dodgy gate was worrying. My first fear was that someone had sneaked in under our noses to steal the donkeys.

  As soon as I saw what Steve had seen, I knew this was no accident. The gates were bent out of shape, as if they’d been forcefully bust open. Even my biggest donkeys couldn’t have managed that. But how did we not hear anything? The situation was really odd.

  My first thought was to start counting the residents. I mentally ticked off the register in my head. Why someone would kidnap one of my scruffy old donkeys I had no idea, but folk can be strange. That was the worst-case scenario. The second was that the donkeys could have escaped through the open gates. Drivers would go haring round the country roads by Huttoft, and I didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if one of my donkeys was loitering in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  After a second tally to be sure, I breathed a sigh of relief. All were present and correct. My next worry was whether all the donkeys were all right. Had they been injured or upset? Someone had obviously been
in the fields. I didn’t know why, and at that point I didn’t really care why. They could have been up to all sorts of no good, but as long as all the donkeys were safe then we’d cope. Property could always be replaced and damage could be fixed.

  At a first glance, they didn’t seem too spooked by what had happened. As usual, they had crowded around me and Steve, nuzzling hopefully for treats. All, that is, except for Alan. He was alone at the bottom of the field, pacing up and down in front of the fence.

  ‘You round up the rest, and I’m going to see what Alan’s up to,’ I said to Steve.

  ‘Right you are. I’ll check them over on the way up to the stables.’

  It was only then, as I was about to turn around, that I noticed dirty smears of red around the bottom of Fat Annie’s hind legs. It stopped me in my tracks.

  ‘Hang on, that looks like blood,’ I said, leaning down to get a closer look.

  I grabbed the torch out of my pocket to shine a bit of light on what I’d seen. Sure enough, she had a number of long cuts running around her limbs, just above the hooves. I reached out and gently touched them, to see if she was in pain. Fat Annie kicked her leg away from me. The slashes didn’t look deep, thank goodness. But they were obviously sore.

  ‘What on earth’s happened there?’ Steve said.

  ‘I don’t know, but those cuts will need bathing and Fat Annie’s not going to like it. I’ll bet that Alan knows something about it all,’ I said, glancing over to where he was still pacing repetitively. It was almost as if he was standing guard.

  I left Steve to check the rest of the herd for injuries while I headed down to see what was troubling Alan.

  ‘What’s been going on then, boy?’ I said, as he looked over warily as I approached. ‘If only you could speak, the mystery would be solved.’

  He stopped in his tracks as I got closer, and he let me walk right up to him.

  ‘Budge out the way then, let me see,’ I told him, gently nudging him away from the fence.