Beware of the Donkey

or You May Just Get Your Ass Kicked...

Back in my younger days, when I still worked in my husband’s office, I remember a day when I’d scheduled a call for Matt to vaccinate a client’s donkeys. They had called the clinic that morning to see if he was running on time. I put them on hold and went in the back to ask.

“I should be on time, but make sure the donkeys are haltered and tied to a tree.” I couldn’t believe what he was asking. “I will not.” I said, sitting high on my horse (pun intended), unable to believe this heartless request. He walked past me, picked up the phone and said to the owner, “Mrs. Doe, I should be on time. Will you have time to get them haltered and tied to a tree?”

As he walked past me to gather his supplies he said, “Donkeys are stronger than horses. It is nearly impossible to hold one if they see you walking up to them with vaccinations in hand.” I thought he was being a little dramatic.

But over the years, we’ve entertained a few donkeys in the clinic and I’ve learned that he might have had a better understanding of these creatures than I did. In time, I made sure that when he went on calls that they were in fact, haltered and tied to a tree.

Last Friday I was sitting on the sofa, pecking away on the keys on my laptop hoping to finish a piece I was writing when my phone rang. He doesn’t usually call during the day. “Jean, are you at home?” He asked. “Yes, what do you need?” I asked, a little nervous.

“I had a donkey rear up on me. She knocked me down and then stomped on my chest. I’ve cut my head and I think I have some broken ribs.” This is the kind of call that hangs out in the back of your mind—that you expect but dread when you are married to a horse vet. Luckily, it is only the second one of them that required an emergency room visit. The last one was just before Christmas in 1988, when I was 5 months pregnant. We are much older now.

This time, instead of meeting an ambulance at the hospital where I saw his leg resting in an unnatural position, his tech brought him home. “I just need to get a shower first.” He said. “No, you're getting in the car and we are going to the hospital.” I said feeling that I was in a clear position of power.

This first picture was a proof of life picture, requested by the kids (really adults but I still see their little faces in my mind…). He did not know that I snapped it. Luckily for you, you can’t see his blood soaked pant legs and the blood dripping down his neck.

His scalp wound required a few staples. The PA that was assigned to the case said, “We are not a trauma hospital.” But he scrubbed the wound and put staples in while we waited for the results of the X-ray and CAT scan.

And this one is after the scans had been read confirming (3) broken ribs and a pneumothorax. He was moved to the hospital for observation.

We are home now. He is very sore. I’ve heard him retell this little adventure to each person who calls to check on him. Each time, I hear some version, of ‘I knew better—I should have waited for the owner—I’ve done this 10,000 times.’

He said that the story would have been better if he’d battled a fancy stallion or a protective mare, but no, it was just a donkey. A donkey is still a donkey. And they should be haltered and tied to a tree.