A Donkey Named Radar

a donkey named Radar


That donkey's name is Radar.

I am not much for horses. They are nice to look at, but the way they look at me with their eyes makes me nervous. It feels like they can read me much better than I can read them, which means that they have the upper hand, which means that they I feel like I'm lunch.

The large brown butt on the right belongs to a horse that was not much for me, either. We stood a good distance apart and regarded each other, which was fine by me, because I didn't know if he was a biter or not. Also, their teeth look like people teeth, and I don't like to see them. I have dreams sometimes in which cats have small people teeth, and I always wake up in a sweat over it.

Radar, though, that little grey donkey, warmed up to me and I to him. As donkeys are wont to do, he had been rolling in what I pretended was nothing more than mud, so his coat was completely encrusted with something dry and greyish. He was dirty, oily, and had something gooey and sour-smelling stuck to his left ear.

It was love at first sight.

I reached through the fence and rubbed his forehead where a coarse carpet of fur sat between his ears. When I stopped, he breathed hot air out of his nostrils onto the back of my hand or flapped his loose, soft donkey lips on my knuckles.

I used to think that I simply did not like all horse-like animals, but now I know that I love donkeys. Or, at least I love Radar.