Peace In Our Time

After a week spent sleeping in the hallway of the stables - as a special guest I was not impressed, at the very least the penthouse or an upgrade - mum finally thought that it was safe for me to share a stable with the Scottish stumpies. In case you are worrying, it is a very large 3 donkey stable so we can all chill out.

The reason for my banishment - trying to stop anyone else eating anything at all - but then why not, these two fat sausage donkeys have obviously been eating all the pies, so they could follow a regime minceur - while I need to add the kilos. I learnt at the fat farm that it was everyone for themselves, though Cazaux did look after me and protect me.

After a couple of days out in the field I have finally agreed they can join my Gang of One and pal up with me. It is a huge concession but I am genereux.

So we have our first night together - I try very hard to position myself so that I can guard all of the six haynets - mum was taking no chances - but merde it is impossible, my skinny frame cannot stretch quite as far as that, so I have to stand and watch the Scottish stumpies eat as well.

OK, I can accept it but I will fight for the duvet.

Our Next Door Neighbours

There are some funny things in the field next door - big brown things with antlers - they call them deer.

Ferguson, the small fry, doesn't like them at all - even if they are the other side of a fence that he would need wings to get over. He stamps his feet at them but they ignore him.

Molly, the dimwit, has a different technique, she talks to them. She sort of grows from 15hh to about 17'2hh, with her tail kinked over her back (mine won't do it - I've tried) and stands like an equine statue and snorts at them. They bark back at her. So she snorts back. This goes on for ages.

I'm not sure if anyone understands a word of it really but it keeps them amused. Molly tells me that it is sad for the deer, as ultimately they get eaten, but it's best to keep quiet about it and not upset them. This is worrying, a death camp for deer so nearby - did I get into the wrong trailer after all?

The Donkey Walk

One of the other pictures that she who can't reverse trailers took today shows what I have to put up with as a walkway - it's just not right. I should be up there on a runway, lights flashing, people cheering, instead I get a strip of black rubber.

OK, it wasn't really for me - the stupid folks that built the house where I live put in the wrong sort of yard, so it is too too sore on donkey feet - Aimee managed to wear away all her dainty little soles on it, so a donkey soft cushioned path was put in to stop her feet getting too much of a pedicure - I suppose it is ok, but really I am destined for better things. At least you get to see me herding the others in - poor dears, they do need a bit of direction at times.

My Coat Of Many Colours

It was a dreadfully wet and cold day today - not the weather for those stupid mini skirt rugs that she who says she is my new mum insists I have to wear. As they say up here, it is a bit all fur coat and no whatsits - I really do show a lot of leg in these silly little rugs designed for dinky donkeys.

Dinky I am not. DKNY maybe but dinky no way. Today, in honour of the weather, I get to wear the best rug - mind you, it is still a hand me down courtesy of Mouse the donkey who died - I am still suspicious of the circumstances as you can never be too careful.

So I get on the big Fal full neck jobbie - and yes it is a wee bit longer than the others so that you only see a discrete donkey knee and a nice set of ears poking out.

Still I think some of these rug designers out there are missing a trick - here I am, fashionably size zero, perfect for the horse walk and no one here wanting me to model their latest ranges. And I am French as well. Talk about chic or cheek. So, Horseware, Fal, any of you lot out there - size 4'9 to 5' preferably pink.

What do you think of the rig out?

More New Friends

I have been in my new home for nearly a week - will they be moving me on again after a week? Or do I get to stay.

I'm still not sure if I want to be friends with the spotty one and her sidekick the small brown thing - I tower above them - they really are tiny - and the spotty one is jealous of me, and of her dinner. Now dinner is something we have in common, we both like it and want to eat all of it.

She has said rude words to me (well I think they were rude but as she has this funny vocabulary and accent maybe she is trying to say bon appetit?). Or maybe she is saying that I would have gone well with a mustard sauce - cruel, cruel.

My new mum says never mind Aimee (she even tries to spell her name French style) - mum says she was called that so that even when she is a brat (most of the time) mum remembers that she is a loved donkey and not an unloved one.

There are even more spotty ones here - two big clumping things with thick legs (one of them is pretty thick too or so I am told). They call themselves cobs or coblets or cobettes - Molly and Rosie. Molly is the dipsy one, the permanently out to lunch one, Rosie is the brain surgeon. Molly has tried to groom me over the door which was kind of her I suppose, Rosie just glowers at me when I stand outside her stable, and eat the hay from the bales of hay which she can't reach. She really gets annoyed when she has finished her hay for the night and she can hear me chomping away!

New Friends?

I finally have made it to what they say is going to be my new homes. After another long journey of three hours in a white tin can towed by she who cannot reverse a horse trailer (inspires confidence doesn't it) we pull in and stop.

The front ramp is lowered and out I charge - mum would say bellowing I would disagree I was merely braying at a very loud volume and with feeling. I feel a talent show coming on you know....

Anyway, there I was, strange place and up the hill I could see two very strange fat sausages that they call donkeys in the UK - you would get four of me to one of them. I mean they have tummies which wobble when they hee haw. Mum says that is extremely rude of me but when you are the Kate Moss of the donkey world you can say what you like - and sorry is not part of the vocabulary...

I trundle up the hill to where these two foreign mokes are standing and have good squeal and swishy tail when the brown one, Ferguson, tries to be nice to be me... sorry where I come from that usually ends up with another mouth to feed (remember Cazaux).... I give poor wee Fergus short shrift and my view on tiny donkies with foreign accents. He looks very crestfallen.

His spotty friend, Aimee, has a go at us girls together. Nope, I'm not falling for that one either. No bitching in the ladies for me. I am an independent girl.

We take positions at strategic bits in the yard, guarding haynets. It is very much a case of donkeys at dawn and take no prisoners. I have the height advantage, but they are on home ground and know where things go. It's going to be a long night.

On the Move Again

Just when I thought I was getting my hooves under the table at Scottish Borders Donkey Sanctuary, it all changed again.

I had been a very good girl, doing all I could to please so that nothing bad would happen. This man came and made me pick up my tootsies and then he sawed bits off them - very very odd indeed. I got a bit anxious and almost pooed on his head - that'll teach him.

I was a bit disappointed that he didn't gloss them pink to match my headcollar or add some sparkles to make me the Vodka Bling donkey - but maybe next time. I have heard of heard collars with rhinestones on them so why not on the tootsies.

Saturday morning the strange lady that showed up last Saturday claiming to be my new mum - I ask you who do you believe these days - arrived again, but this time with a white thing on wheels they call a horse trailer. How rude, it is a donkey mobile. Have to say she made a total ..... of reversing - I was watching from my stable and trying not to split by rather skinny sides laughing.

Anyway minutes later the ramp was down and aunty Helen wanted me to go in it - was it a good or bad trailer, how do you tell? How do you know? There was a scoop full of carrots which I followed into it but then you wonder did I do the right thing - where is this trailer going? It's a long way to Italy from Scotland but you can never tell.

Oh well, I was trapped.

How Was I Saved?

I know that Vodka donkey is a very lucky donkey - I have escaped from the fattening farm and my new life is going to be much much better. Or so they promise me. The jury's still out on this, you can never be too sure.

How did all this happen?

There is a nice lady called Debbie, who is very very busy, but when she ever has a moment, she helps the fat farm horses ponies and donkeys. She has set up a website called www.equinesection.com and this show pictures of many of the folks at the fat farm - it tells you what you have do to if you want to help save us from the bad lorry.

She organises for our pictures to be taken - mine really doesn't do me justice, though given how skinny I am I can hardly say does my ass look big in this - but I'm sure she didn't get my best profile. David Bailey she isn't.

But what the pictures tell you is who I am, what age I am, how tall I am, and if I have any diplomas or certificates that makes me a very valuable member of the horse community - sadly the reason most of are there is that we don't have that piece of paper that says we are a Pure Bred, or a whatever - don't ask me why it is important but for some reason in France if we don't have these magic pieces of papers, we can't do certain things so people don't want us.

Aunt Debbie has to negotiate with the owners of the fat farm so that they will let us go to the promised land and not to the bad land, and she organises that the man with the good lorry comes to pick us up and doesn't get lost and head towards Italy by mistake! Big mistake....

What you see is what you get, there is a price on our heads - well more our hides really - and if you pay this and pay for our transportation, then we get a lucky banner that says Reserved. Sadly most of the horses ponies and donkeys haven't found someone who will pay for the lucky banner for them, so they are still on the list for the Voyage of the Damned.

The happy section on the website is the Rescued bit - that's where I am - and then in the Imminent Danger bit you see the ones that are still there - some have the lucky banner but most don't.

Don't be fooled - if you don't get the lucky banner, then you are going to be dead. Tough but that's how it is.

I feel very guilty that I have been saved and yet there are more donkeys like me - and even younger than me - still there. My mum says she is going to do all she can to help them but she can't do it alone.

She says that if lots and lots of people gave up a drink at the weekend, or a packet of cigarettes (think how good that would be for you), instead of giving the money to the government you could give it to save a donkey. You know it makes sense.

This is the first blog that my new mum has created so she says sorry if she is a twit and doesn't know things, but she thinks there has to be a way that people reading it can reply and if they want to help they can say so. So if you know how it works, TELL HER. She won't be offended, it will probably just save her spending all night trying to work it out.

Where Am I?

I still don't know where I am. My new mum has said that I will be leaving here but she hasn't told me where here is. In the afternoon, lots of people arrive and that first lady I met tells them all about where we are.

Cazaux has picked up the local dialect faster than me and he tells me that we are at a place called the Scottish Borders Donkey Sanctuary, where lots of donkeys live happy lives. There are 38 other donkeys here, and it is something called a charity which helps donkeys when they are in trouble - wish they would go to the farm I came from and help the donkeys who are in trouble there.

Every Saturday and Sunday, other people can come and meet the donkeys and give funny pieces of paper and coins which are magically turned into apples, carrots (yes I have met carrots now) and hay (which I already knew). This sounds a pretty good system to me. Do they take foreign money - Cazaux has heard that they had to pay funny foreign money to save our lives but I'm not sure whether or not to believe him - I have always been told that I am a worthless, useless donkey, so why would anyone give money for me? This is all so confusing, do they care enough about me to do this even though they had never met me? I just don't understand any of this.

My New Mum

Another strange person came to see me today.

She came in carrying all these overcoats for me and this very pink thing they call a headcollar - she said I needed to wear bright pink to cheer me up.

She cried when she saw me, running her hands over me and saying she had never seen such a poor starved wee thing - double dutch to me but it felt ok. Then she put this funny tartan thing on me and did up all the buckles and straps so I was tied in it.

I've never worn one of those things before - but it did feel warm. She told me it had belonged to another donkey called Mouse who had died - alarm bells, they do kill donkeys here, I knew it, just when I thought it was ok to think I might be saved, I was right all along it was a cruel prank.

But no, she said that Mouse had got very ill, something they called cancer, and even though they had spent thousands of pounds on specialist treatment she had died. I'm still not sure I believe this. I know there is something called the Auld Alliance between Scotland and France but I don't know if it applies to donkeys. I could smell Mouse in the rug - it was comforting.

This strange person said that she was glad that the rug was the right size for me, as it didn't fit the other donkeys (who are they - where are these other donkeys) and she had held onto it after Mouse had died in case another donkey might wear it one day.

It isn't quite Paris fashions - but then I never did keep up to date and anyway they often use FUR (what poor creature did that come from), but it feels warm and cosy and I think quite suits me.

She hugs me and says she wishes she could take me home now but that I must rest for a few days and get stronger and then she will come back and collect me - does this mean I will have to leave Cazaux? I'm not sure he cares any more, he is so interested in the other donkeys here that already I think he is forgetting me.

Cazaux Is Braver Than Me

From the moment he woke up on his first day of freedom, Cazaux started to sing. He whinnied and called and sang and chortled and yelled and stamped his feet and wanted everyone to come and say hello to him.

I wouldn't have dared - I stayed well at the back of the stable, eating cautiously, keeping very very quiet just in case the bad lorry came back for me. You never know, it might be parked just up the road waiting for naughty donkeys who have been stupid enough to believe that they have been saved. I've heard of stories like that, people tease the donkeys who are going to die.

But Cazuax had decided that life was going to be good - he had a bash at the Marseillaise - he is not very tuneful - until someone came to make a fuss of him and tell him to shut up, he was disturbing the peace! I don't understand much of what they say. They use funny words and have a funny accent, it's all very strange to me. Cazaux says we should have been given some audio tapes so that we could learn the lingo before we got here - maybe the fact we didn't means that they will send us back?

Our First Day of Freedom

I was so scared at first, didn't know where we were. I hadn't slept much and I was too frightened to eat as well, just stood there, dozing, worrying.

Then it was daylight and the sound of voices. I wondered if they would hurt me but no they had brought me strange things to eat - I believe it was an apple but I've never seen one before, and when they held out their hand to me and offered me a slice of it, I didn't know what to do.

They kept on saying try a bit you'll like it but I wasn't sure, maybe this is how they kill you, they poison you. This woman kept saying to me, oh lass you are so so skinny, nothing of you. Try to eat. Finally I gave in, I took this funny thing and chewed it - it tasted sweet, nice, like nothing I had ever had before. I liked it. I looked up, hopefully, was there another bit? Yes, there was.

Maybe this funny foreign food could be ok - I would have to be careful as you never know how they might try to trick you but so far it seemed ok.

I hoped that Cazaux was getting some of the food as well, as he was very thin too and needed lots of food to make him well again.

They Unload The Lorry

It was so dark, well into the night. I was so so tired. I could hear Cazaux snoring gently then suddenly we stopped.

The ramp was lowered, we didn't want to come out - we couldn't see where we were. But we had no choice, this was the end of our journey.

Then I found myself in a warm stable, with hay, and water. They were saying funny words I couldn't understand. One of them was crying and saying poor wee thing, what a state to be in, I flinched when they came near me. I just wanted to hide.

They took Cazaux away to another place - I couldn't see him and I was too frightened to look out, I just hid at the back of the stable, covering my face with the haynet so no one could see me. Was this place ok? Was it all a trick? Tomorrow would I be going to my death. Cazaux called to me, courage he said, courage. It will be ok.

My Friend Cazaux

At the farm in France, I had one good friend, an older donkey called Cazaux. He was kind to me and looked after me.

He didn't know why he was there either. He had been a good donkey all his life, tried his best, and in the past he had known people who liked him and treated him kindly.

Something happened and he found himself like me, in this funny place, with all the other horses and ponies. He tried to keep his spirits up by braying a lot, and telling me funny stories, but a lot of the time I could see that he wanted to cry. He couldn't understand why the people he had cared about didn't want him anymore and why they hadn't taken care of him forever.

Me, well I've never had any human to love, they just ignored me so I don't understand what he meant when he said 'they betrayed my trust - I worked for them, did my best all the time, tried to be good and always work hard, why did they do this to me?' He used to have quiet moments sometimes when I swear I could see a tear in his sad brown eyes.

I think a lot of the time he was brave so that I wouldn't be frightened as he was older than me and bigger and stronger. He tried to make me eat and keep up my strength, even when I wanted to give up and lie down and not get up again.

But even Cazaux was frightened when we went on the lorry. He rubbed my nose and said Adieu - I didn't understand this, was he not going to be my friend any more, why such a final goodbye not see you later. This made me all the more scared, if Cazaux thought we were going on the bad lorry, what hope did I have?

My Long Journey To Safety

I was lucky though I didn't know it at the time. When the lorry came for me, it was a different one from usual. They didn't shout at me, they didn't get angry with me when I didn't understand what they wanted.

I found myself in a little compartment on my own in the lorry - some of my friends were also there but I couldn't see them. Even though these people were kind to me, I was still so frightened - nothing much had been good in France, why would it change.

We had a long long journey which took several days. I was very weak and very tired. I was given hay and water, and at night we were asked to leave the lorry and were put into stables where we could lie down and sleep. I didn't sleep much, it was all too too scary.

I got by somehow, most of the time I tried to sleep as I was standing in the lorry, dreaming of days when I was with my mum, and how much I had loved her. I don't know where she is now - maybe she went on the bad lorry. I just don't know. I cry for her sometimes as I am only a very young donkey and she could have taught me so many things.

The best way I could cope was by trying to hide my feelings and just be numb. Who knows how it was going to end. Despite everyone being kind to me, I still could not believe that perhaps it was somehow going to be ok. I just kept my head down and my eyes closed and thought of mum. Does she remember me?

Vodka in France

This is a picture of me in France, I am all muddy and cold. I didn't like it much.

There were lots of other horses and ponies, and other donkeys. We were all miserable and scared, there were rumours about these big lorries which arrived from time to time and took lots of my friends away - they fought and cried but were herded on board. We never saw them again.

We couldn't understand where they were going. Little foals with their mums - how could they work? Mummy horses who were ready to give birth - accompanied by their other babies - why were they going - was there a big nursery for horses we didn't know about? An equine creche they could leave the babies in while they went to work?

Old horses that were thin and tired, who dreamt of retirement - were they going to a retirement complex where they could rest and spend the rest of their lives?

No one ever came back to tell us. If only they could have - we would have known the awful truth that we were all going on this lorry and to travel a long long distance. People would hit us, shout at us, we would be hungry, cold, thirsty and tired, and no one would help. Then finally we would be herded out of the lorry - stepping over the poor old horses and foals which had died on the way - and into a big frightening building. This would be the last thing we would see.

Vodka Donkey Arrives In Scotland

This is the personal diary of Vodka, a 4 year old French donkey who arrived in Scotland on Saturday 8th March 2008.

Vodka had to flee France to escape being transported to Italy to be turned into salami.

After a long journey with her travelling companion Cazaux - a large French lager lout donkey - she finally reached safety.