A Donkey Tale
The true story of a little donkey named Jeremiah who stole my heart
Once upon a time there was a little Nubian donkey named Jeremiah who lived in a rolling pasture in Gold Hill, Alabama along with three horses and a herd of cows. Jeremiah was what you call a “Jesus donkey,” nicknamed for the story of the donkey who carried Jesus to Nazareth on Palm Sunday and who now carries the cross on its back for all eternity. Jeremiah did indeed have a cross on his back, but he didn’t know it. All he knew was eating when he was hungry, drinking when he was thirsty, and sleeping when he was tired. It was a good life for a little donkey.
Jeremiah was long in the tooth as the old folks say, skirting around the word “old” as if it might come swooping back to rest on their own tired shoulders. Long past any sleek glossiness of his youth, his fur was thick and rumply. Occasionally, the kind humans would brush it out to no avail. Jeremiah tolerated their attentions, but he preferred to be left alone to his own donkey musings.
One day as he was walking toward the shallow creek for his morning drink of water, he caught a whiff of excitement in the air. His old ears perked up and the next thing he knew he was overcome with urgency. His little legs trotted to the south end of the pasture. When he reached the barbed wire he threw himself against it in a pheromone driven frenzy, not even feeling the pricks and jabs in his thin skin.
Finally, the barbed wire relented. He was free! Jeremiah didn’t actually care about freedom. He was, in fact, still captive but now his captor was a scent, and that scent was all he cared about in this live-long world.
It turns out that the smell that lured old Jeremiah away from his home pasture was that of a young mustang filly in heat. Jeremiah, being a Jack donkey (that is, fully intact), had no choice in the matter but to find her, and after following the road for a mile or so, he did.
There was much ado when Jeremiah reached the young mustang filly. Following a command larger than a mountain and older than time itself, he began to prance about wildly, finally throwing his front hooves up onto the back of the little horse.
Just around the corner, a human caught sight of the goings on. She raced inside the house to a phone. The next thing he knew, Jeremiah was being literally manhandled away from his prize and into the back of an old Chevy pickup truck. As the truck rambled down the highway, the scent and the memory of the little mustang filly faded.
Exhausted and a bit banged up, Jeremiah was happy to return to his own pasture where the three horses trotted up to meet him, nostrils wide with curiosity.
In the morning Jeremiah returned to his creek. He’d worked up a powerful thirst by now. The water was cool and clear and felt good on his tired legs, which were bruised and sore from his adventure.
Thus ends the tale of Jeremiah the little Nubian donkey, who was found quite dead later that morning, his feet still in the creek, his head resting peacefully on a mossy clump of dirt.
And thus begins the story of little Alice the Mule, who made her debut into this world about 11 months after Jeremiah’s fateful adventure. Fuzzy-eared, long-legged, wide-eyed and bright as a beetle, one look at that baby mule could soften the heart of the hardest cynic.
I had the honor of meeting little Alice the Mule within her first week of life. She sniffed my hand and nibbled my shirt, and I rubbed the soft red hair on her neck.
“Hello little Alice the Mule,” I said. “Let me tell you about your daddy. His name was Jeremiah.”
Happy belated National Mule Day. May we all learn from the patience, courage, strength, and intelligence of these delightful animals.
Mary Dansak is a writer and a retired science education specialist living in Auburn, AL. She can be reached at maryfdansak@gmail.com.
This essay was originally published as a column in The Auburn Villager on 11/3/22.
