The kindness of donkeys ...

I have always had an affinity for donkeys - my heart is eased when I think of their gentle natures, their stoicism, their questing muzzles -

I used to tell Sophie and Tessa stories about the Donkey Squad - there was The Chief, with his broad hooves - Bill, the bold tabby cat - narrow eyed spiteful Henry, with his pointed hooves - Antony the Ant, who was always black hoofed when he tried to join the Squad - the King of the Gypsy Gulls with his brave lads -

I read The Wisdom of Donkeys with delight - I sighed happily over the image of Dionysus and Hephaestus, sitting on their donkeys - the brays of their grey chargers terrified the savage giants the Gods had come to fight -

It was with delight, therefore, that, at last, I visited the Donkey Sanctuary at Sidmouth with Anne and Tessa - I had never seen so many donkeys - there they were - shambling, lolling, galloping, joshing each other, staring into space -

I stroked the warm hides of the donkeys who came up to me - I looked into their dark, knowledgeable, eyes - I watched their long ears quivering, snaring every sound -

I thought of Old Benjamin, calling out to Boxer - my eyes filled with tears - but the donkey before me surely sensed my distress - he leaned forward, nuzzling my chest, calm and wise -