Hello, I’m Rubí donkey and this is my Rubí Tuesday blogue.
“Donkey mother,” said Morris yesterday evening when were eating our straw, “do you remember when you didn’t bray?”
“How am I expected to remember every time I didn’t bray?” I replied. “Anyway, I told you to avoid controversial topics at meal times. Do you like your straw?”
“It’s just straw. What’s not to like?” Morris threw some more straw out of the manger onto the floor with a flourish. Typical man-strawing. “No, what I mean is you never brayed at all. Way back in our old field at Elca Seriu, I had to learn braying from Matilde’s foal! You didn’t teach me. Aitana started braying at six months, while I was still thinking I was some sort of mute, like you and Harpo Marx!”
“Who is Harpo Marx?” I asked,
“Don’t you even know that, donkey mother?” Morris did his infuriating one-eyebrow raising… with a dismissive snort. “There’s no point in talking to you. You don’t know anything! Haven’t you ever seen A Night at the Opera?”
“No, I avoid contemporary culture.”
I did an instant calculation: eight years and ten months. He’s a teenager in human years. Kevin the teenager.
“It’s the Peasant who spent his teenage Saturday mornings in the Cine Catolico in Ibiza watching the Marx brothers, Charlie Chaplin and Jerry Lewis. Has the Peasant been telling you how to be a teenager?”
“Oh boring. Off you go again, mother! Anyway, I’ve been reading Melody’s advice,” he said, pointing his hoof at the new post from The Donkey Whisperer blog, “and she says ‘the true deep introvert donkey will make a little bit of noise but will never let out a full bray’.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Do I take it you are psychoanalysing your donkey mother after reading some quack donkey-whisperer on the interwebby thing? Anyway, I’m not mute. I started braying after we all moved here to El Parral.”
“When we were in Elca Seriu you never made a single noise, except growling when there was a passing wild pig or fox. Then – after we moved to El Parral – you started bray-barking. It’s an undignified rant. A sort of half donkey, half dog noise. Neither donk nor dog. Like some sort of equine mongrel chav with indigestion. The Peasant started calling you Mrs Barker-Bray, which I find embarrasing, frankly.”
I tried to maintain my composure while Morris rubbished my braying technique. I’d never found braying an entirely pleasing experience anyway, as it always seemed to stick in my throat and cause indigestion and faintness.
“So what’s wrong with my bray-barking?” I asked. “It keeps the lions and crocodiles away, doesn’t it? You should be grateful you’re still alive!”
“Oh God,” said Morris. “There are no lions or crocodiles in the mountains of Alicante. How long will it be before you stop talking like an African equine immigrant!”
“You know why there are no lions?” I asked him. “Why you’ve seen no crocodiles?”
“Don’t tell me,” said Morris. “There are no lions or crocodiles because your bray-barking made them all run away…”
In these unusual times when many of you are hiding away at home, many are asking themselves, “Am I an introvert?” How do you know? What are the signs? Take a look at https://introvertdear.com/what-is-an-introvert-definition/#13_Signs_You_Are_an_Introvert
Nowhere does it say that you don’t bray so you’re an introvert. OK? Keep on top of the loop.
And I notice that Melody on the Donkey Whisperer blog has deleted my comment on this subject. Learning point: donkey psychologists don’t want to hear from donkeys. Obviously they are a bit like prime ministers. As I explained to Morris, this is one reason why I write on the Interweb thing but I don’t read anything. I leave that to him. Life is too short.
Actually life isn’t short for donkeys, but I’ve heard the Peasant say that when he gets fed up with contrariwise people on the interweb. What does he know? When you stand in the stable all afternoon with flies on your nose, life is quite long actually.
If you enjoyed my Rubí Tuesday blog, please click on the straw. I think it means I get more straw, but what do I know about the Interweb?