Free A Donkey in the Meadow by Derek Tangye Page B

easier, far less exhausting than ours. One of us had to lead Penny by a halter, and as she would not move without Fred, Fred had to be led along as well. I had bought him a smart halter of white webbing within a few days of his being born, and he never resented wearing it. He wore it as if it were a decoration, a criss-cross of white against his fluffy brown coat giving him an air of importance. One visitor said he reminded her of a small boy who was allowed to wear trousers when all his friends were still wearing shorts.
    Up and down the meadow we walked and all the while we had to be on guard against accidents. We had a nightmarish fear that a child might fall off and so while one of us led the donkeys, the other walked alongside holding the rider. We spent hours that summer in this fashion.
    There was no doubt, therefore, that the presence of the donkeys was a huge success. People who had come to see Jeannie and me went away happy because they had met Penny and Fred.
    ‘The donkeys have
made
our day,’ said two strangers who had driven specially from a distance to call on us.
    And there were other occasions when I sauntered out of the cottage on seeing strangers draw up in a car, a bright smile on my face.
    ‘May we,’ an eager voice would ask from the car window, ‘see the donkeys?’

    Jeannie, Penny and Fred set out across the stable

11
    An eloquent feature of the donkeys was their stare; and we never succeeded in growing accustomed to it. It was a weapon they used in morose moments of displeasure. There they would stand side by side in a meadow steadfastly watching us, exuding disapproval, condemning us for going about our business and not theirs.
    The stare increased in its frequency after the summer and the visitors had disappeared; for Fred, by this time, expected attention like a precocious child film star who believes that adulation goes on for ever. He missed the applause, lumps of sugar, and posing for his picture. He was a prince without courtiers. He was at a loss as to how to fill his day. So he would stare, and hope that we would fill the gap.
    ‘Why can’t we go to another meadow?’
    ‘I’d like a walk.’
    ‘Oh dear, what is there to do?’
    And when finally we relented, yielding to the influence of the stare, and dropped whatever we were doing, and decided to entertain him, Fred would look knowingly at Penny.
    ‘Here they come, Mum. We’ve done it.’
    Penny’s stare was prompted by a more practical reason. True she enjoyed diversions, but they were not an innocent necessity as they were for Fred. She was old enough in experience to be phlegmatic, her role as a donkey was understood; she had to be patient, enduring the contrariness of human beings, surprised by the affection she was now suddenly receiving, and yet prepared it might end with equal suddenness. She didn’t have to be amused. All she had to remember was to have enough milk for Fred, and that the grass was losing its bite. Her stare was to induce us to change to another meadow or to take her for a walk, not for the exercise, but for the grasses and weeds of the hedgerows. A walk to her was like a stroll through a cafeteria.
    It did not take much to amuse Fred. He liked, for instance, the simple game of being chased, although he and I developed together certain nuances that the ordinary beholder might not have noticed. There was the straightforward chase in which I ran round a meadow panting at his heels, Penny watching us with an air of condescension, and Fred cantering with the class of a potential racehorse; and there was a variation in which I chased them both, aiming to separate them by corralling one or other in a corner. This caused huge excitement when my mission had succeeded with Penny in a corner and Fred the odd man out. He would nuzzle his nose into my back, then try to break through my outstretched arms, snorting, putting his head down with his ears flat, and giving the clear impression he was laughing