Category Archives: farm life

Puzzle and Sunny: A Love Story

img_20180308_170935628Less than 12 hours after my 39-year-old miniature donkey, Puzzle, died Friday night, Sunny, the beautiful and shy little jenny who adored him even more than we humans did, died of a broken heart.

After Puzzle’s body was picked up, Sunny spent the rest of the day standing or lying where he had died. I spent as much time as I could with her, and when it was feeding time, I fed the llama and goats and took her feed out to her. She didn’t want to come back to her stall. She ate a couple of pieces of apple, nibbled on her bit of grain, and checked out a handful of hay.

About 5 p.m., I went back into the house. Less than 20 minutes later, when I was in the kitchen, I looked out a window to check on her.

She was flat on her side.

I raced back outside, but she was gone. Still warm, but not breathing, not blinking, not moving again.

Sunny was about 3 years old when the previous owner had found her for Puzzle. He’d lost his best friend (an ancient horse) and brayed for three days while that owner scrambled to find a donkey for him. Two years later, that owner died, and Puzzle and Sunny came to live with me. So she was not quite 10 years old when she died, May 9. She had spent most of her life with Puzzle.

The old jack always waited for her when it was time to go out to the pasture. And she watched him to know what to do next. When they first arrived on my farm, he plodded along the whole fence line to check out their new digs. She followed. When we put up a 12’x12′ portable stall in a small lower pasture, she stood outside it while he went inside and examined our work. Then it became one of their favorite hangouts, away from the knucklehead goats.

When she had to stay in their regular stall overnight during the fall/winter of 2019, he stood outside the stall door all night until it was opened in the morning and she came out. Where one was, the other was.

Knowing Puzzle was nearing his end, I’d been calling around, looking for a new donkey/friend for her. I had leads, but nothing definite by Friday night. (I’d made more inquiries earlier on Saturday, as it happened.)

In the end, I don’t think she knew what to do without Puzzle. And in the end, I don’t think she wanted to be in a world without him.

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Goats, a llama, and me

dolly-her-boys-07-2016

(Left to right) Dolly, Nettle, Buckwheat, and Alfalfa hanging out and enjoying the summer sun. 

Having spent a fair amount of time on farms in the past, I’d lived with lots of different animals: horses (trained them), cows (a handful), chickens (lots), turkeys (as few as possible), rabbits (4-H), and dogs and cats.

But I’d never owned goats or llama. Till now.

This summer we added three weathers (i.e., neutered male goats) and a 2-year-old llama to our five acres — and I now have a few things to say about the crew:

Goats bring the party.

Full of opinions and bonhomie, these three are never boring. Triplets and miniature Alpines, they are tasked with eating down the blackberry bushes and other weeds. They are good at their job, but also, I’ve learned, committed to fun.

In fact, to combat goat boredom, we’ve created two playgrounds for them and continue to add to them. I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking of ways to entertain these perpetual puppies.

The boys have also settled into a loose hierarchy: Nettle is the spokesgoat, Buckwheat is the supervisor, and Alfalfa is the head of Dolly’s fan club.

This is a slightly different pecking order than earlier this summer. Alfalfa, the largest kid, was second in command, and Nettle the kid who’d get picked on. But after losing a horn in an unfortunate accident, Alfalfa was demoted. Thankfully, he’s still Dolly’s favorite and when a llama approves of you, you’re going to be OK.

Llamas make great chaperones.

Years ago, I wrote an article about hiking with llamas for a health magazine. During one of the interviews, I learned llamas will keep bear and other predators away from a camp. I wasn’t sure how exactly those camelids could do that, but I tucked that trivia away in my brain.

Once I bought this little farm, we regularly heard coyotes in the wee hours (and frequently saw them in the field during the day). If I intended to use goats for weed control, I’d need to get them a guard so prevent them becoming someone’s lunch.

And so Dolly (she came with the name, by the way) joined us first.

Llamas, I’ve discovered, are the cats of the livestock world. They don’t care about you really, but do accept your homage. On their terms.

The boys adore her and follow her across the pasture in parade formation. I have also seen her herd them back to the stalls when something in the woods (a lurking coyote?) causes her concern.

Originally owned by a retired nurse, Dolly next went to a family that raised miniature Angus. They didn’t much care for her, and didn’t do anything with her, so the poor girl was mostly left to her own devices. Not so with us. She’s rightfully spoiled, and I count as one of my great successes in life when she gave me a llama kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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