It feels like a farm again to me. In the morning, Lulu and Fanny wait, watching. They seem to know if I have a carrot or a cookie. Or not. Donkeys are patient, they seem reflective. I remember about donkeys that if you have a needle in your pocket – if you have to give them a shot – they seem to know it and take off. To treat them, you have to get them into the barn and lock the doors, which you can do with grain or cookies. Donkeys remember. I love their soft bray in the morning when I put my foot down on the floor and get out of the bed. They hear it.