On Christmas Day 28 years ago, Artemis was born. Just before Christmas this year, our friend Pru threw her a birthday party. Artemis is a donkey. Pru is the president of the Donkey and Mule Protection Trust (donations always welcome!), and to say that she quite likes donkeys is like saying that donkeys quite like apples. She has 13.
She also has five dogs who have only 18 dog legs between them. They are former farm dogs who have either retired from working or who didn’t care for working. She has three cats: Josie, a tamed wild cat, and Julius and Brutus, who she brought home from the SPCA one day just because she really needed more animals.
She has an enormous pet steer called Little Joe after the character from Bonanza. She has a mad horse, Maggie, who was bred as a racehorse but was too mental ever to be ridden. I don’t know how many chickens she currently has, but it is safe to surmise that the answer is a lot.
Artemis deserved a jolly good knees-up. When her owner, Helen, went into care, Artemis and her mother Twiggy were rehomed to a petting zoo, where Artemis lived for the next 20-odd years. Her mother died, and so did Artemis’s foal. She was alone at the zoo and was then moved to live with horses. Donkeys need to have a companion donkey. They get lonely on their own and pine. Pru and the trust rescued her and now Artemis lives with donkey Doris, and is surrounded by other donkeys.
Artemis almost died on Christmas Eve last year, and Pru rushed her to the Massey University Equine Hospital, where she spent nine days being treated for colic. She is, says Pru, “a Christmas miracle. A grumpy, self-centred miracle.” Artemis is opinionated, and will let Pru know if she doesn’t like her food, or the weather, or certain people.
Artemis liked her birthday cake. To human eyes it looked like donkey vomit. To donkey eyes it was delectable. It was a carrot cake, bound with donkey fodder. I won’t bother sharing the recipe. Artemis, said Pru proudly, has always been very complimentary about her cookery.
There were candles made from carrot sticks. Artemis carefully picked each candle off and scoffed them the way a kid would pick the Smarties off the top of a birthday cake. Donkeys are not silly.
They know you devour the best bits first, before any other donkey can get a look-in. She explored a bottle of bubbles and knocked over the champagne flutes.
I gave her a present: an apple decorated with a cocktail umbrella. She knocked that to the ground and began munching. The umbrella had to be retrieved before she could guzzle that, too – which might have resulted in another emergency dash to the hospital. She had a party hat placed on her head. She shook it off. She knew that Pru was making an ass out of her.
If the story of Artemis hasn’t already warmed the cockles of the hardest of hearts, there’s another chapter. On that Christmas Day she was born, a 15-year-old girl called Hannah was living next door. She fell in love with her donkey neighbour and has never forgotten her. She still has a yellowing newspaper clipping announcing the birth. The headline reads: “Christmas delivery a bonny baby that brays.” There is a picture of the newborn; she has legs that go on forever.
Hannah tracked Artemis down in 2015 and went to visit her at the petting zoo. In August, the trust got an email from Hannah. She had again found Artemis through her previous owners. Hannah now lives in France and was coming home for a holiday and would love to see her childhood companion again.
She couldn’t make the birthday party, but the following Monday she and Artemis were reunited. I like to think that Artemis remembered Hannah. How would that be for a proper Christmas miracle?
