Simon has been with us for more than six months now, and it is difficult to imagine the farm without him or before him. At different points in time, different animals emerge to take centerstage here, to grow and evolve and dominate, although never for long and not for good. That, I think, is the nature of animals, to come and go, enter and leave our lives. Rose dominated the farm, then Orson, then Rose again. Then Carol, my first donkey, and then Lenore, the Love Dog, and Izzy, the Hospice Therapy Dog, and then Frieda, the Dog Who Kept Men Away, and then Simon, a remarkably bright and affectionate farm donkey who came to the edge of life, and then back.

This landscape evolves, ebbs, flows, is a living stream on the farm. Sometimes, for a few hours, it’s a hen, or a barn cat.

Simon spends the night with Lulu and Fanny high up in the pasture. In the morning, when the people arise, he comes down the hill, to get his hay, his treats, his brushing. He needs food, he needs attention. He is always with the other donkeys now, and sometimes they squabble and posture over food and position, but mostly, they explore the pastures, climb the hills, inspect their world, graze and sit and stare out at the world. He is healthy now, his coat shiny and full, his eyes bright.

He is attuned to the rythyms of the day. He knows when to present himself by the feeder, when to stand by the hay barn, when to watch the gate. Whenever he sees us, he lets out a joyous and embracing bray, his call to life, and tells the world that there is always hope, and that life is always worth living and waiting for. He is a gift to us.