Photo credit to Anne Sidnell and permission of Primrose Donkey SanctuaryRoseneath, Ontario
The first snow fell late that year. November was mellow, the sun turning the long grass pinky gold in the morning, the cedars holding their green, and the earth sending up a faint mist through the frost. Edward rolled in his field, next to the house, and brayed for his summer friends, who’d shared his pasture. Alone now, he huddled in his small, straw-lined barn on cold nights.
I’d inherited Edward from my uncle and aunt when they sold their farm. He became my daughter’s pet, but Megan left for theatre college. She came home sometimes on the weekend, but most of the time, Edward had only me. I felt sorry for him—he needed company.
One morning, the phone rang. I answered, “Nina Harris speaking.”
A voice said, “Hello. I believe you own a donkey. Right?”
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