Hank the Donkey

I am one proud mommy today.  This morning, while getting Collin ready for school, he saw tucked away in his closet my stuffed donkey from college.  That's right, people.  I said COLLEGE.  Not childhood or elementary school, but COLLEGE.

If you know me, you know I have an obsession with farm animals.  I grew up on a farm, and while it's true I never wanted to leave the air conditioning or get dirty, and that I once asked my mother, "Why does that cow only have one udder?"*, I have since grown quite fond of the great outdoors and farm animals in general.

When I was a senior in high school / freshman in college, I became obsessed with donkeys.  I thought they were the cutest thing ever.  When I was back home for the summer after my freshman year in college, there was a miniature donkey for sale, and I begged my parents to buy him.  I think there may have been a hissy fit involved.  My mom loves animals.  She can talk to animals.  Growing up, they always did whatever she wanted them to do and never did anything I wanted them to do.  I knew I could convince her to buy the donkey, so together we convinced my dad.

On the day that we were supposed to pick him up, I had to work.  My boyfriend at the time was going to take my parents' trailer to pick up the donkey and bring him back to our house for us.  I called/texted him a million, gajillion times that day.  When I finally got home and got to see the donkey, I'm sure I kissed his soft little nose raw.  He bit me on the thigh a few days later trying to get a hold of my pants to get my attention, and I had a fist-sized bruise for a week.  I was working as a lifeguard at the time, so my bruise was on full display.  When little kids would ask what had happened to me, my coworkers would laugh and say, "Ms. Nicki's donkey bit her!"  I know.

His name was Hank.  Or Hanky-Panky.  I loved him.  We had a horse around the same time and Hank would go up behind that horse, grab his tail with his teeth and swing his head back and forth with the horse's tail going like a jump rope.  Hank was fun.

The same boyfriend gave me a stuffed donkey; I also named him Hank and took him back to college with me.  When we got married, Jarrod informed me that there would not be a stuffed donkey sleeping in the bed with us.  That was tough.  Hank has been confined to a box for the past several years, and then when Collin was born he reappeared. 

However, Collin hasn't had any interest in donkeys.  He sees tons of them when we visit my parents. 

Um, yes.  Hank prompted my mom to try her hand at miniature donkey breeding.  One incredibly begged for miniature donkey, led to a herd that is 10-15 in size at any given time.  Collin mostly calls them horses.  He thinks they're cool, but that's about the extent of it.

Until this morning.

He saw Hank and said, "Horse!" and I said, "No, that's a donkey" and he said, "My don-teeee".  He had to hold on to Hank while I dressed him for school, while he rode to school and even when he got out of the car at school.  I had to explain that Hank would be in the car when I picked him up and he could have him back then.


Cuteness overload!

If you ask Jarrod what animal I want next, he'll tell you that I want a mini-pig.  Really, I want my parents to get one so I can visit it and love on it and sneak it in the house but not have to take care of it myself.  My mom says it's not happening.

*Someday I will explain the story of the cow with only one udder.  Or, you can figure it out for yourself and save me the embarrassment of explaining to you just how naive I can be.