Donkey Spit

Invited for an afternoon libation, I went down the road to Camille's yesterday.  Going up her long, curved driveway, I was met and accompanied to the house by Honey, who was disappointed to find I hadn't brought Bessie Anne.  Cooler outside than in, Camille and I opted to sit out under the trees, I in a chair and she on the tailgate of her truck.  In a few minutes, Shadow, the mini-donkey, came to join the party.  I know full well that the curled upper lip is a way to enhance the sense of smell, but it sure looks like a smile and Shadow was smiling all the way.  Like my goat Cindy, Shadow wants to sniff a person's breath.  I've read that Indians think it's the way an animal "smells" your soul.  Sitting in the chair put me on a face-to-face level with this little boy.  Shadow may look like Eeyore, but that's the only resemblance.  He is a most sociable creature.  It is a little difficult to carry on a conversation, talking while lip to lip with that long donkey face pressed against mine.  He stepped away for a minute or two to chase some chickens out of Camille's flower bed (she actually has a flower bed), but came back to nuzzle me again.  And lick.  And lick some more.  I've spent a lot of time around horses, and goats, of course, and none of them has ever licked me.  Camille said he's not done that before.  Those soulful dark eyes looked directly into mine and he licked my cheeks, my brow, my ears.  I can honestly say Shadow and I have bonded.  By the time I came home my face was stiff with donkey spit.  What a hoot!  (And I enjoyed Camille's company, too.)