The Farmette Report

Off to the races

Not even 48 hours old, and Argus is already running circles around his mother! Yesterday, his specialty was hopping up and down and jumping backwards (the latter as he tried out his version of a two-legged donkey kick). Today, his past-time was running a short distance, turning on a dime, and returning. Repeated as often as possible. This clip shows one of his longer jaunts. This little guy is surely going to keep Molly on her toes.

It's a boy!

The newest member of our family is taking a rest, but he's not too tuckered out to wish everyone a very happy New Year! Argus, as it seems we have named him, is not always as calm as pictured here. No, indeed, he keeps all of us, especially his mama Molly on our toes with his antics. Y'know, it is one thing to read about how quickly donkeys (and equines in general) foal and how quickly the foals are standing, feeding, walking, etc, but it is something else entirely to see the critter go from shaky, wet newborn to fluffy, zippy speed demon in less than two days.

Sorry for not getting new photos up, but we had to get a new card reader for my computer. That's done now, and I'll start working on a photo gallery.

Here is a short something from G.K. Chesterton to entertain you while I figure out how to do a better job of posting videos to this site:

The Donkey

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

- G.K. Chesterton

Another look

Sorry this is so dark, but lighting inside our barn is limited. Still, you can't mistake the tender exchange between mama donkey and foal - or the loud beating of raindrops on the barn roof.

A belated Christmas present for Molly

Dear friends and fellow donkey lovers, if ever there was a reason to break my long blog-hibernation, this is it: at approximately eight o'clock this evening, Molly delivered the foal she has been carrying for nearly 13 months. We were beginning to wonder if she would ever drop that baby... and then tonight, we happened along just in time to find Molly still laying on her side, the foal next to her still half covered in membranes yet already gamely trying to stand.

After making sure that mother and baby were fine, Keith and I left so they would have more bonding time. We came back about 40 minutes later - and the baby was standing and nosing around for supper! We figure that the foal was only an hour old when I took the above photo. We cleaned up the afterbirth, put down more fresh straw and gave Molly some hay - which she ate with gusto along with some well-deserved carrots before returning to cleaning up her still damp little one.

Ambrose wisely decided that this would be a time to make himself scarce, so he retreated to the manger. Keith brought him hay, water, and a few celebratory carrots. Poor Ambrose definitely looks thrown for a loop tonight!

Overall, Molly seemed quite relaxed after her ordeal, taking it all in calm, if sweaty, stride. You can see that the wee one is already the apple of her eye!

Because it is cold and wet tonight - and Molly is a first-time mother and we are first timers, too, we're taking it in turns to check in on them every so often. We can't wait to share more photos - all in time, of course.

The curious donkey

Just after I finished tending to the garden for a brief while after work yesterday, the donkeys ambled up from their favorite spot in the pasture. Time for a visit. These early evening visits are a treat - a chance to walk around together, or perhaps a time for brushing and feeding. The donks are especially keen on the possibility of a treat: hay, carrots, or an apple - heck, even a weed seems to taste sweeter when it is eaten from the hand.

This evening, Molly rolled in the dust bath, while Ambrose pestered me with nudges, seeking out a hoped-for treat. Since I'd brought no treats with me, I hoped a good ear-scratching might content him, and that's how I was occupied when I heard rustling from near the entrance to the old groundhog burrow about 40 feet away.

That accursed groundhog! It had recently reopened the hole that we have been regularly filling in ever since Keith stepped knee-deep into it nearly two years ago.

That bold groundhog deserved a good scaring off, so I walked towards it, eager to surprise it. Ambrose heard the rustling, too, and followed. Good! He had found something else to direct his attention to besides pestering me for treats.

I approached the hole quietly. At a distance of about 25 feet, I saw the foraging critter. A skunk. A big skunk. Big.

It saw me, too, but seemed calm enough, though watchful. I backed away as quietly as I had come.

But not Ambrose. He had seen the skunk, too, and judging by the way he had his ears cocked forward as he stared at the stranger, he was intrigued. He slowly approached the skunk. I held my breath.

As Ambrose continued towards the skunk, it turned to face him - which was better than if the skunk had turned the other way 'round. I managed to break out of my trance in order to call out Ambrose's name to no effect. I then whistled - the same whistle I use to let him know it is time for hay. No dice. He wanted to check out the skunk.

The skunk ducked down its hole, but Ambrose kept approaching. He peered into the burrow. Surely, this would end in disaster.

Time for action. I turned around and walked towards the barn, not because I was fleeing the scene, but because going to the barn is as sure a sign of impending hay than anything else, and might be enough to take his attentions away from the dang skunk.

It worked. Molly and Ambrose followed me to the barn. No donkeys received a dose of skunk perfume.

We're wondering if this is the same skunk that had been plaguing our basement up until a month or so ago. Time to plan our next campaign.

The chocolate donkey

Compared to chocolate Easter bunnies, the little chocolate donkey is a low-calorie treat!

I wish that I could have taken better photos, but he stayed in his dustbath towards the back of the crowd of adult donkeys who had gathered at the fence for the carrots we were handing out. These donkeys are from the herd up the road - the same herd our two donkeys came from. Here's Baby Choco with his new little cousin:

The two youngsters above are little boy donkeys. When they weren't "necking" (our cute term for the mutual grooming they are busily engaged in), they were "wrassling." The winning donkey in a wrassling contest is the one who manages to rest his head across the other donkey's back. Like so:

My company is moving offices, so things have been pretty hectic lately which contributes to the continued slowing down of posts on the Farmette Report. But there are more donkey photos and donkey updates and knitting updates...not to mention the lovely spring we are having and which I am managing to enjoy! I will just have to find some time for updates!

Blissed-out

Is Molly a blissed-out looking donkey or what? Check out that big smile!

(Also, woof, she needs a manicure.)

Enjoying the day

Thursday was my birthday, and as is my custom, I took the day off from office work. Some folks have told me that they find this a "quaint" custom, and I suppose they mean that a middle-aged woman should be above making such a fuss over a birthday. Apparently most women my age prefer not to dwell on anything that reminds them that they are getting older. I've never been one to resent getting older, especially when you stop to consider the alternative, and neither am I someone who requires being "fussed" over. Rather, the customary day off came about because of my career in human resources management - and the first year when a manager at a company where I worked needed my presence during the termination of an employee who had numerous performance issues. It occurred to me that I had better ways of marking the day than firing someone, and so we settled on another date for our meeting with the soon-to-be former employee - and I have taken my birthday off ever since.

This year, I wanted a quiet day of reflection. I planned to achieve this by taking my knitting and sitting out back with the donkeys nearby while I worked on my current project. What luck - the day promised to be unusually sunny and lovely. The temperature was a mild 65 degrees, with a slight breeze. A beautiful day for idling around the garden and the donkeys.

As you can see, I was not the only one who welcomed the sunny day! With his high-maintenance white coat, you'd think our cat would know better, but he couldn't resist lounging in the sun-warmed earth of the one of the small raised beds next to the kitchen.

I set out towards the donkey's main pasture, passing one of their dust baths on my way to a pretty spot where I could sit and knit. Look what the dust bath revealed, plain as day:

At first I thought these were groundhog prints, because we see those critters the most - and their paws are so well padded, but after consulting one of our wildlife books, I'm not so sure these aren't raccoon prints. Groundhogs have four "toes" in front and raccoons have five. Plus, it looks like the edge of the longer rear paw is visible in the lower left corner of the photo. The tracks couldn't have been there long, either, because the donkeys use their dust bath several times a day, especially when the day is sunny. But then that would mean that we have a raccoon traipsing around in the donkeys' dust bath during the day.

Speaking of donkeys, Molly and Ambrose most obligingly followed me to my knitting spot. They grazed nearby while I knit, an arrangement that seemed to content us all. Every once in a while, one of the donks would come over and visit with me while I scratched behind an ear or offered a treat of carrot or while Ambrose tried to mouth the yarn I was working with.

At one point, when I got up to stretch my legs, Ambrose ambled over to check out my unguarded knitting bag. At least that's what I thought he was up to, until he made it clear that his real interest was in sniffing the rock where I had been sitting. Have I ever mentioned how much the donkeys are like big dogs?!

After knitting for a good while, I took a walk with the donkeys before ending my relaxing afternoon sojourn. I passed under the tall spruce on my way to the house, and there - newly dropped - was the tree's latest gift:

Why they need their tetanus shots

A couple of weeks ago, while I was at the office, Keith sent me this email:

Ambrose, up to something or just unlucky -

I went out there this morning to keep the critters plump (and quiet), and to my amazement, Ambrose had a jagged piece of rusted metal around one of his front hoofs and ankle, like a bracelet - and of course he wouldn't let me hold his lower leg up to get it off .... And once he realized my (to him) unseemly interest in his leg, he wouldn't let me come close to it again, nor would he let me corner him, so I could lean him up against a wall and try a leg-lift in that position .... finally I decided to distract him with hay, and carefully holding the red-handled tin-snips at my side, I stroked his neck and upper-leg and slowly worked my hand down to the hoof, which was encircled by this unidentified "bracelet" ... then, every so often I'd reach over and cut down vertically through the piece, which was fairly thin from rust and age, until I had cut it all the way through, but he wouldn't let me bend it open to remove it and kept walking well away from the hay pile to watch me .... eventually I got it off; we'll have to tag-team him this weekend to get an exacting look at the ankle/hoof, but it looks uninjured. I left it in the kitchen on the island counter-top. I would have really not wanted to go to work without getting that thing off him but all's well that ends well - I do wonder, though: what will these donkeys get into next?
(knock wood).

This is the "anklet" in question. It's about 3 inches high - and we haven't a clue as to its origins or how in the world he managed to get his hoof stuck in it. We don't think he was wearing it for long because we brush and/or "fuss" over the donkeys every day - sometimes many times a day! It's a good match for the variegated browns of our boy's lower limbs, so it's possible that he was wearing it the night before Keith found it - but I just didn't notice it in the low light.

We checked Ambrose's leg when I came home from work that night. There was a slight cut on the front, just above the hoof. It didn't need much tending, but we're still relieved that a tetanus shot is part of the donkeys' annual vaccination program.

Here is Ambrose, without a care in the world:

 

As for Keith's wondering about what the donkeys would get into next, we didn't have long to wait. Just a few nights later, when I went out to give them their evening hay, I was surprised to discover that they were not already waiting at the barn door. Donkeys are very punctual when it comes to their tummies. I whistled for them, and - oh dear - the braying response came from the back of our property that we affectionately refer to as the "back forty" even though it is really just a couple of acres at most. We don't let the donks into the back forty because several sections of fence are in need of repair. Keith fixed most of the problem areas, but one section is wide open - there is absolutely nothing there to keep the donkeys from simply stepping out onto our neighbor's land. The same neighbor, incidentally, where Molly and Amrose had their post-Halloween adventure. There is also a cluster of groundhog holes back there, but we won't even think about that right now!

There was almost no moon. Taking a lesson from that earlier adventure, when I went inside for the flashlight in preparation for checking the gate to the back forty, I took a moment to stuff my pockets with bits of carrots.

When I got to the gate, sure enough, it was wide open. Keith and I are of two minds about the gate being open. He, being the easy-going type, says the wind blew it open. I, on the other hand, consider the iron bar and chain that hold the gate closed. Then I consider that, if left open and on its own, gravity would cause the gate to swing out towards the downhill side of the fence. But when I found the gate that night, it was open inward, held in place by the earth of the uphill side of the fence. It was a windy evening, but I still can't figure how the wind could remove the iron bar and chain. Or prop the gate open. To me, it doesn't make sense, unless someone helped things along.... There it was: open.

I walked through, flashlight in hand, carrots in pocket, and headed towards the section of fence with the gap. All the time, I was calling and whistling for the donkeys. Remembering the other "escape," I decided to stay in one area and let the donkeys find me. It worked! In less than five minutes, the sound of galloping hooves announced their approach. What a thrilling sound! They didn't stop until they were practically on top of me - then they just about skidded to a halt. Oh, they were excited to see me, eager for carrots, and downright high on adventure. Fortunately, it didn't take much effort - or even many carrots - to convince them to follow me back to the barn.

Oh, I could go on and on, but not tonight. Tonight, allow me to direct your attention to this delightful article by Jon Katz on Slate.com: Nice Ass! - Why I Own Donkeys. Jon Katz is the author of The Dogs of Bedlam Farm: An Adventure with Sixteen Sheep, Three Dogs, Two Donkeys, and Me, which is currently on my sidebar list of recommended farmette reading. Props to my new bud Sidney K. and his five mini donks (five!) for sending me the link. Thanks, Sidney!

Fetishists

Here's something I bet you didn't know about mini donkeys: they have a foot fetish! Well, at least that is true for our Molly and Ambrose. Whenever they get the chance, they give us a foot-sniffing greeting. As with dogs, I imagine this is their way of finding out where we've been and what we've been up to. The photo above shows Molly sniffing Keith's shoes one day last month. She must have liked what she smelled, because the sniffing was followed by licking, and was about to be followed by some nibbling, except for Keith's protestations putting a quick end to that particular activity.

It was a very cute thing to see the mini donks sniffing, with much interest, the stockinged feet of my little 9 month-old twin nieces - and it's only too bad that I have no photos of that!

Rachel, I realize that a photo of feet sniffing donkeys is perhaps not what you are looking for (and I have been so remiss in posting!), so here are a few more recent photos for good measure:

We love seeing the donks poke their heads out of the barn or manger when they are checking to see what all the "fuss" is about when they hear us outside.

And what could be more gratifying than a donkey single-tracking behind you as you take a late-afternoon walk through the snowy woods?