Bon Voyage and Send Me a Postcard

Mum says that these poor little fellows are being loaded onto the bad lorries, the ones that take them to either Italy (for the salami trade) or to a local killing place.

I wish I could be there to warn them, don't go in, jump the fence, run like stink. But I'm not, so they don't. If only I was Vodka Superdonkey I would swoop down there with my cloak flapping and scoop them all up and keep them safe. But I am only a very young but large brown French donkey who, while clever and smart, can't solve all the bad things that happen in the world. I am leaving that to Mr Obama - maybe he could do a flying visit to the butchers fairs and declare them unconstitutional or something. Equines don't like this idea of special rendition, we would prefer to stay at home please.

As an innocent young donkey, if I'd been there, would I have known that jumping ship now was a very good idea. Tunnel while you can, become a puissance donkey capable of jumping any fence and literally running for my life. Thankfully, though this was my destiny, I dodged it.

If fate hadn't intervened and given me that huge lucky break, what would I have done, gone on the lorry or had a tantrum. I suspect, that given how cowed, submissive and frightened I was, I would have gone one. I guess the brave Cazaux, my erstwhile companion, might have put up a bit of a fight, but being a gentleman, if I'd gone in I'm sure he would have too, just to look after me. I wouldn't have known any better. And anyway I wouldn't have been given much choice, as if you don't go, they beat you. So eventually you follow the others. And that's it, trapped.

This is the last time you will see the sky, taste grass, have a drink of water, enjoy a stretch, have a snooze. However long your journey, you probably won't be fed, or given any rest or water, you will just trundle on all through France, heading south to the barbaric country that is Italy.

Mum says it's a shame that such a cultured nation can have such peculiar habits, which extend to killing foals, killing pregnant mares. At least the French draw the line at that, you have to have the baby before they kill you.

The last thing you see at the market is sticks waving, folks shouting, and that's pretty much what you are going to see at the end of your final journey.

Bon voyage.

Death's Waiting Room for Horses

This is death row, this is the poor little meat horses who have been sold to the butcher - this could have been Vodka donkey, been weighed, price paid for me, ready to go on the lorry on my final journey.

Mum says it is so painful to see these pictures, all the poor innocent young horses, all dead now, hanging up in a Boucherie Chevaline by now. Most of them never had names, never knew much kindness in their short brutish lives - and they died a pretty nasty death.

She says that whenever I am a bad donkey, I should remember these pictures and appreciate what a lucky girl I am. This was my destiny and I evaded it.

I am concerned that it may still be lurking behind a bush, waiting to catch up with me, but mum says destiny doesn't tend to work that way. It wasn't my destiny to go for the chop, or be made into chops.

I am so relieved, it makes me very ashamed that this morning I attacked Ferguson, tried to pull his rug off, hung from his neck, bit his short stumpy legs, then chased him around in circles - he would never admit it but he loves it really. When he has had enough he boots me fair and square and I give up.

These poor little ponies won't get to play any more. I shall have to think of ways to save some of them.

The Poor Mother Horses And Their Babies

Mum says when she looks at this picture of the mares and foals at the butchers sale, she can't stop crying.

The total waste of breeding a nice little foal, and then to send the foal and its mum to be killed - and the anguish of the little mare, trying to protect her baby, but she can't.

She will be driven onto a lorry with all the other horses, all in together, with her baby, with all these strange horses she doesn't know. They may attack her, or her baby and there is nothing she can do about it.

The last thing she will see is either her baby being killed right in front of her, or she will be killed first if she tries to fight to protect it too much.

Mum says that countries in Europe were at the heart of civilisation centuries ago, but that they seem to be slipping back to the dark ages in terms of their cruelty and callousness to gentle horses.

Have to say I agree with her totally, and I am only an ass.

The Poor Baby Horses

Mum has showed me this picture of the baby horses, at the butchers' fair in October, all penned up,ready to go to their deaths.

They look nice little foalies, charming, sweet, nice natured - probably scared out of their minds in this strange place, with all the noise, people prodding and poking them (to see how heavy they are), sticks waving to make them move.

The sad thing is, these little chunky babies make exactly the sort of riding ponies that people want, 14-15 hands high, built to carry weight, suitable for a child or adult, calm temperament, easy to learn, just what the doctor ordered. But they won't get the chance to show how they could have won rosettes, got their clever horse diploma. They are considered worthless, other than for the value of the meat on their bones.

As they are all unused to people, and unhandled, it makes it all the more scary for them. What they don't know is that they have very little time left to live, they are going either to the local butcher, or off on a ride to Italy.

Either way, it isn't a good future. However brief.

My Second Anniversary

In October 2007, I arrived in France. I didn't know it at the time but this is a very very dangerous time to be in France if you are an equine, or even a donk.

This is the time that all the lazy people who don't want to pay for their horses over winter, having used them all summer, throw them away. Riding schools, tourist attractions, carriage horses from the major tourist cities, petting zoos, petting farms, anywhere a horse can be useful, and has done a summer's work, well this is the thanks they get.

They get sent for slaughter. There are big markets, where thousands of horses ponies and donkeys are penned up, and the butcher comes round and buys them.

Being an innocent donkey, I had no idea that the timing of my arrival in France could be so tragic. Mum says she has now seen some pictures of these fairs, and it breaks here heart to think of me there, all alone, or with my mum, or maybe with my old mate Cazaux. Bless his little cotton socks.

Like me, he was lucky. We didn't go to the butchers fairs, but we did have a pretty miserable winter, out in the fields, fighting for food, we got cold and thin, we got lice, we got long feet. But we didn't die. So we were lucky.

I cannot stop crying when I see all these poor creatures just waiting to go on the death lorries. I know that they haven't been saved, as the ones in these pictures are now dead. A few might have been bought by kind people who wanted to save them, but there just aren't enough of these people around.

Caladeux and Eclipse

Aimee had a hoof in saving the lives of this little mare and her baby, Eclipse.

Poor Caladeux has not been handled, and is very shy, not had much of a life so far, just loads of babies. Her little filly, Eclipse, is a beautiful young lady and hopefully will learn that people are nice to her. Cally hasn't had much experience of them being nice, so she is very timid and wary.

I am so proud of Aimee, even though it galls me to say so. The charity work she does, and the generosity of local people who give her money, have given this little pair a new life and a future.

2009 has been a dire year for horses, home and away. It has been a very dangerous year to be an equine.

Lily - Saved by Aimee

You may remember the sad little chestnut filly that Aimee, our star fundraising donkey, helped to escape from the fat farm.

Well Lily is doing so so well, much happier. Here is a picture of her when she first arrived, you can compare the two pictures.....

Saffy Has Surgery Again

Poor old Saffy cat has been in the wars again. She has a big lump removed from her face, a few months back, and some nasty lumps appeared in her neck.

Mum is very worried, thinks it isn't very good news, but the lumps have been removed and everyone hopes that Saffy makes a full recovery. Here she is sleeping it off after her operation.

Vodka Is Photographed

I have been snapped, some strange people came to do what they call a photo shoot - the word shoot alarmed me......I come from a place where shooting is a real life hazard, i.e. they shoot horses, ponies and innocent donkeys.....

I was so relieved that it was just with a camera with funny lens thing and moved - Spencer the sheep had a go at eating it....

Naturally things didn't go smoothly. Mum kept us in and spent about one whole hour coming and grooming me. I had every knot untangled, and had my ear fluff trimmed, everything done. Aimee and Ferguson also were groomed. I had my rug put on and of course what did I do, I rolled....there was a lot of muttering about how I was even worse than I had been before she started.

She said I was a very very bad donkey and that she was now going to leave me to ponder my wrong doings and come back about 10 minutes before the camera to pretty me up again....

So when the camera and crew arrived, I was photographed in the stable with the two scottish stumpies. Then it was decided some action shots outdoors were needed, so they went out to do a recce. My chance. I rolled for all I was worth!

One side of me, nice and clean, the other side, totally plastered with shavings. When everyone came back, and saw the state of me, mum looked thunderous. They even took pictures of my bad side.

I then had this funny tinsel stuff put on me, and we did some action shots of me in my big field, the scottish stumpies kept trying to get in on the act - after all Aimee was in the same competition BUT DIDN'T WIN. I let her join in as she has been so depressed about coming last....poor old donkey, class will out.

So we are crossing hooves and waiting to see if I look perfectly stunning - I know I will, it's the problem of being let down by others in the pictures.