Murphy Monday: Murphy’s Big Adventure

In which Murphy is weaned, and travels to a new home.

Remember the endurance barn we scoped out for a friend? Daisy fell in love with it: deciding it was the best place for Murphy to grow up, turned out with babies close to his age. Acres and acres for him to build strong bones and tendons.

We’re anxious to see how Murphy made his first trip without mom. Dinero was pre-loaded to babysit. No one wanted Murphy scrambling around alone in the trailer.

I imagined Dinero looking over his shoulder at Murphy during loading: “Duuude…here…have some hay.  This is like total awesomeness: Road Trip!”

It worked. Murphy wasn’t even slightly warm, not a damp hair on his body. He wasn’t upset, anxious, or remotely difficult.  A little surprised, but calm.

Bella and Dinero walk Murphy up the hill to his new pasture. (Change is easier when you have company.)

A lot of company. Murphy travels with an entourage. (And paparazzi!)

The fog was so cold. Brrrrrr. We had about ten feet of visibility.

Team Murphy experienced a slight hiccup: the donkey came trotting out of the white stuff to greet him. Murphy got a teensy bit anxious, and asked if he could go back to the trailer now please.

It’s that way, right?  

Dinero stepped in to meet Penelope, modeling normal adult behavior for Murphy.

Poor Murphy.  It was a bit too much Meet and Greet on his first day of boarding school. He didn’t know what Penelope WAS. Plus she brought a young friend she had managed to break out.

With a little hauling around, and Dinero’s unruffled presence, we were soon on our way up the hill again. The loose baby was haltered, and removed, but Penelope had NO intention of being walked away from. Her Supreme Donkeyness was rather insulted.

The higher we went, the thicker and colder the fog became. By the time we got to the top of the hill (which we dubbed Mt. Murphy) you pretty much couldn’t see anything except what was right in front of you. But it does make for a lovely picture.

Murphy meets one of his new pasture mates.

Introductions went very well, with a minimum of posturing. There were a few herd dynamics to sort out, but they did it very politely, no hooves, no teeth. Some short chasing, some mean faces, some welcoming faces, and it settled into us knowing he was safe within ten minutes.

Meanwhile, Penelope is busy proving the long-eared maxim: God made donkeys at pocket height for a reason.

Dinero watched his tyke meld into the herd. He looked questioningly at Bella: Am I gonna have to babysit ALL of them?

You know, I can live with that. Food included?

Murphy was confused, but not panicked. He walked off into the fog for a bit, looking for mom.  Daisy went after him, to make sure he didn’t fall off the planet. (That’s what tule fog feels like.  Fall off the planet fog.)

He came back.  Looked bewildered.  Looked around into the white stuff.  Wondered why he was now on the wrong side of the fence.  All his people were on the other side.

You’re leaving…? Um. I think you forgot something…hellloooooo.

We left. He was quiet, thinking, trying to sort through all his new experiences.

The whole experience was as good as weaning gets.  A little anxiety, but no fear or panic, and no running around screaming.

Murphy knew he was okay.

My heart cracked a little: after all this change, he still knew he was safe.  Maybe uncertain about exactly what was going on, but he trusted his people.

That is a beautiful thing.

Jane Plays Donkey Chess, and Plans a Donkey Abduction

Daisy and I are checking out a facility for a friend who rides endurance, to see if it’s worth her making the trip to visit the place. It’s an Endurance barn with a capital T.

As we get out of the car, we see a trailer being loaded nearby, and hear this:

“Yep. Going to the Tevis again this year, how bout you?”

Reply: “Oh yeah, we’re in. Gotta go – loading  up for a quickie 50, see you later…”

While the facility is relatively close to where we live, it’s way off the beaten track, in the middle of country that looks like this:

FYI, those are thirty to forty foot tall trees, not bushes.

The barn itself is homey and funky, a gigantic old livestock barn brought back to new life. It’s repurposed and well organized, with soaring ceiling and shafts of light. It smells like saddle soap, hay, leather cleaner and warm wood.  There are only a few horses in stalls. There is a lean and muscular horse bucking, trotting and squealing in the round pen.

The owner introduces herself, and follows our gaze. “We have to turn him out in a small area first.” The gelding breaks into an easy canter. “He’s 35, and we don’t want him to immediately gallop off.  He might slip.  So we take the edge off first.”

Thirty Five? He’s sound, muscled, and looks in his teens. Daisy figures out from the barn owner that it’s a horse she knew from 25 years ago. This is his retirement home.

The owner slides back a big interior barn door, and we see a room the size of a gymnasium, full of comfy sofas, oriental rugs, bookcases, trophy shelves, and the kind of coffee table  you can put your muddy boots on.  “This is available to all our boarders year round, but we have a Yoga for Equestrians Instructor here on Monday and Wednesday nights.” I mentally check the mileage. Could I make Monday and Wednesdays?

The owner tells us about summer pasture, winter pasture, and the criteria they look at when deciding it’s time to move them for the season. She says: “Let’s go take a look”.

Daisy and I prepare to walk.

Laughing, the owner dangles keys to an industrial looking vehicle. Imagine a Monster Golf Cart, with a truck bed, roll bar, and 4 wheel drive. I get in back. Daisy is better at reporting the details our friend will want to know. I’ll go on for hours about trees and rocks.

The diesel engine roars to life.

Within seconds, it’s apparent why we are not walking.