Sitting With Animals

It was icy cold in the morning, but by the afternoon the clear skies and autumn sun warmed us all.  I sat in the barnyard on the crumbling stone foundation my face to the sun and waited.

Lulu came first, quietly putting her head next to mine.

I reached up and scratched the side of her face, then under her chin.  Her thick winter hair was long,  soft and warm.  My fingers loosened the dry dirt and bits of leaves still in her hair from when she last rolled on the hard ground.

Fanny came next, and suddenly I was quietly sandwiched between two donkeys.  I scratched her under the chin and at the base of her ears.

When the donkeys come to me like this, when I take the time to let them, it’s as if I take on their calm.  My breathing slows and I feel their learned acceptance, their appreciation of the now.

Somehow when I’m with the donkeys, I unconditionally believe in past lives.

As if Fanny and Lulu contain the whole of donkey history within them. I don’t necessarily feel that about humans, although I’d like to.  It seems much more just, than not, especially for some of us.

But when I’m with the donkeys, really with them, not just tossing them hay or taking their picture, it’s as if I can reach back in time, it’s like looking at the stars and somehow gauging the distance between us. Not in miles or years, but in experience. Or experience shared.

And then Zip rubs up against my legs, a silent purr as he paces back and forth, then rolls on his back, flirting.

I would have expected Asher or Issachar next, but it was Merricat who showed up.

Braving the donkeys, her nose to mine, I reach out and dig my fingers into her lush, dense wool.  Not an inch long it closes around my fingers as I scratch her neck.  She lifts her head as if it feels dreamy.

I don’t know how long I sat there, surrounded by the animals.  Only that it was long enough to restore me.