Read Online My Million-Dollar Donkey by Ginny; East - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ginny; East
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donkey’s, not my husband’s). We were the only family in Fannin County with a donkey groomed as finely as a prize show dog. “Donkeys are herd animals, and without a herd to hang out with, he’s unhappy; I can tell.”
Mark looked at the donkey, now blinking calmly and munching on the M&Ms he found in my pocket. (Again, the donkey, not my husband).
“He looks perfectly content to me.”
“He’s not. Trust me. He needs a horse.”
Mark was cleaning up fallen wood around the pasture. He stepped over a tree trunk and put his chainsaw on a stump. “He needs a horse?”
“We need a horse. What’s the purpose of having 50 acres if you don’t use it for something?”
“We are using it. We’re building a house here. What do we know about taking care of horses?”
“What do we know about building log cabins? Nothing, but some things you just rely on instinct to accomplish. For your information, I had a horse when I was young. I was quite the rider. If we get a horse, I can teach Neva all the basics. I thought we were moving here to spend more time together as a family. So far, you have been doing your thing alone, and the kids spend their time in school and soccer. If we had a few horses, perhaps the kids will ride with me. We need to do things as a family to forge togetherness.”
“Your sister was the horse woman. You danced. Besides which, horses are expensive to keep, aren’t they?”
I gestured to the pasture. “Not like you have to have a million bucks to own a horse. They eat grass. Everyone living around here has a couple of horses, and none of them are millionaires. You promised that if I agreed to sell our business we would devote some of our money to recreational toys and trips, but you don’t want to buy a boat, or take a trip.”
I was beginning to suspect that if I didn’t convince him to allocate some of our money to play now, there wouldn’t be anything left when he was finished building. Mark seemed blind to any notion of proportion or conservation, so my chance for enjoying just a small portion of our windfall was now or never. Animals, while a small concession to what I really felt we needed, were at least “fun”. I let my eyes slip to the chainsaw next to him, a subtle insinuation that all the tools he had purchased and the snazzy new workshop he was building were a much greater investment than a measly little horse could ever be. Donkey let out a loud bellow as if to add his pro-horse vote to the conversation.
The mention of travel always made Mark’s eyes go blank, as if my reminders of his travel promises made me the greatest bore on the planet. “If a horse will make you happy, and you believe the kids will be into riding, get one,” he said, turning his back on me once again.
I should have been delighted, but his acquiescence seemed obligatory rather than enthusiastic.
The next week, a man named Eric came out to fence in another section of pasture.
“Awful nice pasture for just a donkey,” he said.
“I’m getting a horse to keep him company,” I proudly boasted. Eric nodded in that slow, country way common to those born in Appalachia. “What kinda horse didja buy?”
“I haven’t bought one yet. Mark just decided we could get one recently.”
“It just so happens I’m sellin’ a horse, if ’n you want to come have a look-see.”
Here I was, wanting to buy a horse, and the first person in the country I mentioned this to just happened to be selling one. I marveled at the coincidence.
That evening we went over to Eric’s farm—just to look, of course. Doghouses were plopped around like plastic houses set up on a hard dirt Monopoly board. Several dozen oversized, collie-type dogs wandered about, but I didn’t see any horses.
We parked in front of an old barn with graying boards and rusty hinges and were immediately greeted by three carefree children with sunburned faces and dirty jeans. Each child held a puppy, the youngest one’s dog dangling like a
Mark looked at the donkey, now blinking calmly and munching on the M&Ms he found in my pocket. (Again, the donkey, not my husband).
“He looks perfectly content to me.”
“He’s not. Trust me. He needs a horse.”
Mark was cleaning up fallen wood around the pasture. He stepped over a tree trunk and put his chainsaw on a stump. “He needs a horse?”
“We need a horse. What’s the purpose of having 50 acres if you don’t use it for something?”
“We are using it. We’re building a house here. What do we know about taking care of horses?”
“What do we know about building log cabins? Nothing, but some things you just rely on instinct to accomplish. For your information, I had a horse when I was young. I was quite the rider. If we get a horse, I can teach Neva all the basics. I thought we were moving here to spend more time together as a family. So far, you have been doing your thing alone, and the kids spend their time in school and soccer. If we had a few horses, perhaps the kids will ride with me. We need to do things as a family to forge togetherness.”
“Your sister was the horse woman. You danced. Besides which, horses are expensive to keep, aren’t they?”
I gestured to the pasture. “Not like you have to have a million bucks to own a horse. They eat grass. Everyone living around here has a couple of horses, and none of them are millionaires. You promised that if I agreed to sell our business we would devote some of our money to recreational toys and trips, but you don’t want to buy a boat, or take a trip.”
I was beginning to suspect that if I didn’t convince him to allocate some of our money to play now, there wouldn’t be anything left when he was finished building. Mark seemed blind to any notion of proportion or conservation, so my chance for enjoying just a small portion of our windfall was now or never. Animals, while a small concession to what I really felt we needed, were at least “fun”. I let my eyes slip to the chainsaw next to him, a subtle insinuation that all the tools he had purchased and the snazzy new workshop he was building were a much greater investment than a measly little horse could ever be. Donkey let out a loud bellow as if to add his pro-horse vote to the conversation.
The mention of travel always made Mark’s eyes go blank, as if my reminders of his travel promises made me the greatest bore on the planet. “If a horse will make you happy, and you believe the kids will be into riding, get one,” he said, turning his back on me once again.
I should have been delighted, but his acquiescence seemed obligatory rather than enthusiastic.
The next week, a man named Eric came out to fence in another section of pasture.
“Awful nice pasture for just a donkey,” he said.
“I’m getting a horse to keep him company,” I proudly boasted. Eric nodded in that slow, country way common to those born in Appalachia. “What kinda horse didja buy?”
“I haven’t bought one yet. Mark just decided we could get one recently.”
“It just so happens I’m sellin’ a horse, if ’n you want to come have a look-see.”
Here I was, wanting to buy a horse, and the first person in the country I mentioned this to just happened to be selling one. I marveled at the coincidence.
That evening we went over to Eric’s farm—just to look, of course. Doghouses were plopped around like plastic houses set up on a hard dirt Monopoly board. Several dozen oversized, collie-type dogs wandered about, but I didn’t see any horses.
We parked in front of an old barn with graying boards and rusty hinges and were immediately greeted by three carefree children with sunburned faces and dirty jeans. Each child held a puppy, the youngest one’s dog dangling like a
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