A few weeks ago I bought the donkeys a special non-toxic, almost indestructible, made in the USA, never needs air, green apple-scented ball to play with.
And I'm the only one who's excited about it. I should have just baked them a pie.
These photos were taken on three different days at four different times. As you can see, we have no takers.
The packaging that came around the 10" ball—which is technically for horses and dogs—says it's fun exercise and good for relieving boredom. But apparently our donkeys are so busy flying across the fields (click here and scroll down to see the flying donkey White Christmas version), looking for treats, defending their treat barrow, pestering each other, partying all night long, and generally looking cute that there isn't enough time left in the day to be bored—and thus play with their fancy new apple scented ball. Let them loose in the farmyard for an afternoon though, and they'll tear apart everything in sight. There's nothing like seeing a donkey with a piece of tarpaper siding from an outbuilding hanging out of her mouth. (Oh, the photos I've never gotten around to posting!)
I mainly bought the ball for little Gus, who is always trying to get somebody to play with him, but apparently he only likes to play with animate objects.
On the one hand, buying a $17.95 ball for the donkeys ranks right up there with building our chickens a little wooden swing in their run, which one of our stupid chicken books said that they would love. At least the swing was free.
On the other hand, the donkeys are currently living out in the sand field (so named because of its sandy soil), which is about a quarter mile away from The Shack. That means we don't see a lot of what goes on out there. The sheep have been spending most of their time grazing in that field, too, fiercely guarded by Marta Beast and Daisy (when they aren't busy inspecting baby donkeys).
Every day I set the ball in the center of that big dirt circle at the edge of the field (I mentioned that circle in a recent post and then never got around to showing you what it's for, which is donkey dust baths), and every day when I go back out there it's been moved. Not a whole lot, but some. Joe says it's probably just accidentally being kicked by a sheep or a donkey or even one of the dogs.
I say, who out there has seen the movie Chicken Run? Remember all that stuff the chickens did when the farmers weren't around? I have a feeling a whole sheep and donkey soccer league has been formed, and as soon as they hear us coming up the wet weather creek bed, Daisy kicks the ball back toward the dirt circle, Marta flops over and pretends she's asleep, and everybody else puts their head down and starts intently grazing.
I swear one time I saw a whistle hanging from a string around Marta's furry neck.
© 2010 FarmgirlFare.com, the sneaky little foodie farm blog where I've lived with critters long enough to know that anything is possible—and that a lot of stuff goes on behind your back.