I followed the stock trailer down I-35, knowing that inside was the small standard donkey I had just met and loved. What to name her? Jenny, I thought, because if my last child had been a girl, that would have been her name. It didn't even occur to me that Jenny was a jenny! When we exited the highway, I took the lead toward the small road to our place. When the trailer stopped, so did I; I went to the back with a halter for my new little girl. I heard galloping hoofbeats, looked up, and saw my Paint snorting with head held high, certainly not depressed any longer! There he was at the gate, waiting to see who was coming! Jenny put her head in the halter, and with tiny feet stepped down and into our lives. I took her in the pasture and released her as Renaissance Painter greeted her with a sniff and an explosion of happiness. As she stood quietly watching, Renn tore around the acreage bucking, rearing and leaping into the air. Down the hill he came at a gallop, stopping on a dime in front of Jenny. Sniff, sniff. And off he went again.
Mr. B, the donkey breeder, stood at the fence with me and said, "That is the purest expression of joy I have ever seen." It truly was. This performance went on for about 15 minutes, stopping with a final sniff at this new little donkey. Mr. B smiled and commented, "She'll teach him some manners soon." I didn't understand what he meant until the next morning. Jenny and Renn were fast friends by then, but Renn had a small hoof-shaped arc of blood on the middle of his face. He was very polite to Jenny, and has remained so.
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