Read Online Saving Simon by Jon Katz - Free Book Online

out into the pasture with me, and as we got out into the field, she came near. Simon put his ears down and charged at her. I yelled at her to get away—Simon could have stomped her into pulp in a second—and she ran off. I noticed that Simon did not like dogs, and dogs did not like him. Rose went back to the barn and stayed there.
    Simon and I had gone about fifty yards on our walk that day. I had to be careful not to tire him. Also, if he refused to go back into his corral, I didn’t really have a way of forcing him. Halters don’t work well on donkeys if they don’t want to move. They just stare at you while you pull.
    I decided to be subtle. I turned around slowly and began walking in the opposite direction. Back to the corral. Once there, I would just put some grain in a can and Simon would come readily. I just didn’t want him to get up on that hill, or to trot over to where the girls, Fanny and Lulu, were standing, still staring.
    I walked back a few feet, touching the pocket where onecarrot remained. Simon looked up at me, went off a few feet to explore some brush and nibble some leaves, and then turned slowly and started walking toward me.
    There is a point with many animals—dogs, for sure, and, I believe, donkeys, too—where a strong attachment is formed, where you belong to one another, where there is a mutual sense of trust. Donkeys are intensely loyal and affectionate creatures in their own way. They love to serve and connect to their humans. And they are exquisitely sensitive. Simon and I had already been through a powerful bonding process—there are few ways to be more intimate than Simon and I had been these past few weeks as I was caring for him. He had decided to trust me, and I recognized as he followed me back to the corral that I wasn’t really just tricking him. Sure, he wanted the carrot, but more than that, he wanted to be with me. I represented something to him: sustenance, affection, his new life.
    When we got back to the corral, we had been gone about forty-five minutes. I closed the gate. Simon went to the water trough to drink some water. He and I gazed out at the rich valley below us—the view from Bedlam Farm is beautiful—and we saw the cattle vanishing in a fine mist as the temperature dropped and the wind came up. He snorted a bit, nuzzled me with his nose, permitted me to brush him, and then lay down suddenly, exhausted. This was where he would remain for the night, I imagined. He looked up at me as if he wanted me to sit down with him, and perhaps he did. I suspect it was lonely out there at night for a donkey. No donkeys, no people.
    Good evening Simon, I said. Thanks for the walk. Thanks for the company. I sat down next to him and broke the last carrot up into a few pieces. Tomorrow will be a big day for us, I said. I’ve seen you looking at Lulu and Fanny. I’ve seen themlooking at you. Tomorrow, you will meet them. I will bring them in the far side of the barn, and put up a mesh gate between you and them.
    I had seen the girls and Simon staring at one another, heard the soft braying back and forth. There was a sense of expectation in all three of them, as if they knew their lives were about to change.
    You will get to know each other that way, I told Simon. You’re not ready to be with them yet, but if things go well, perhaps in a couple of weeks you can join them and all be in the same field.
    That night, I read Simon “The Sweetheart,” from
Platero and I
.
    The story is a sad one, recounting how Platero had to walk or ride past a burro he loves. She was behind a fence and up on the hillside. Platero always wants to go and see her, but his master tells him regretfully that he has no choice but to oppose his loving instincts. Platero’s fair beloved watches him pass, as sad as he, her black eyes filled with reproaches.
    Unwillingly, Platero trots ahead, trying at every opportunity to turn back, his every step a heartbreak.
    I had seen Simon stare longingly at the