WHEN YOU SPEAK OF THIS... AND YOU WILL, PLEASE BE KIND.

Blog number seventy-five                                09 Feb. 2007

We once bought a donkey from a neighboring farmer just for kicks.  We named him Don Quixote.  Say it out loud.

We soon grew tired of him and a little scared of a lawsuit because he had the hots for the neighbor's Shetland Pony mares.  When let out of his pen one day he headed straight for the neighbor's mares, excitedly running up and down the fence line looking for an opening.  He wasn't all that big, so I thought I could grab him around the neck and stop him.  Didn't happen.  He paid me no more mind than if I had been a white oyster-shell button, wide collar French-cuffed shirt tied around his neck.  He dragged me along with him on his quest as if he and I were drinking buddies out looking for a good time.  I had not realized those animals were so strong.  Luckily I had a Vespa scooter, so I ran back home and got that and chased him back into his pen with it.  He was really scared of that scooter.  Thank Allah, BBHN.

We decided to sell the donkey.  The guy who answered our ad asked me if the animal had testicles.  He wanted him for breeding with female horses in order to produce mules for pack animals.  I told him I didn't know, that we had bought him young and the seller hadn't said anything about testicles.  The guy said he didn't want him unless he had them.  We looked where cows and horses had testicles, but we didn't see anything.  I told him I would phone the guy that sold him to me and ask him where we could find donkey balls.

The seller of the donkey told me I could find the testicles under his belly, about halfway between the front and hind legs.  He said I would have to feel them because they were not visible.

I told the anticipated buyer what the guy told me.  He said he didn't want to reach under there and I didn't want to, and I reiterated that the seller told me over the phone that the donkey was uncut, but the guy was unmoved and insisted that he needed proof and that he couldn't use an infertile donkey.

I realized that the only way I was going to get rid of this animal and save myself from lawsuits over procured bastards from my neighbor's mares was to reach  under this animal's belly and feel around for his nuts.  How he was going to take this, I didn't know, but I feared the worst.  I gathered up my courage, leaned over as far from the donkey as I could and gingerly reached under his belly for his balls, expecting a violent kick.  As soon as I touched the belly and began feeling around for his testicles, the grateful creature immediately spread all four legs in anticipated enjoyment of a happy ending given by what to him could have been nothing less than an experienced Asian masseuse.  

I found the hidden treasure, the guy bought the donkey, we put him in the truck and Don Quixote was off to the good life.  I should be so lucky.