I found Zipper this morning. He was laying on his side in the donkey shelter. His eyes were hazed over, and his tummy was bloated. He had been gone for quite a while; he likely passed shortly after chores last night. How could this big, strong, beautiful donkey be gone in just a flash? A flash for me, probably hours of anguish for him. I didn’t know he was in trouble. I didn’t know.
Zipper was a birthday present in August 2012. We wanted another Mammoth riding donkey. I had been riding our Mammoth, Chewbakkah (A.K.A. Chewie) — but always by myself since we only had the one riding donkey. In fact, I had been riding my donkey so much that I put my motorcycle up for sale. Since Scott and I’s time together riding our motorcycles had diminished, we wanted another riding donkey in order to spend time together in the saddle. We found Zipper for sale online and drove several hours one-way to get him.
When we pulled up to his former home, the silver, speckled, Mammoth stood in a pen with a bunch of miniature donkeys. His keepers were young children who gave him treats hand over fist. He was a bit rotten in that regard and he never quite got over his expectation that every hand contained a treat.
Scott wanted to saddle him and take him for a “test ride.” Once saddled, Zipper laid down. He just laid right down on the ground. “Quite the riding donkey” we thought and began to wonder if we had traveled all that way for naught.
Once we got Zipper back up on all fours, Scott determined that Zipper had, indeed, been taught to be a riding donkey and we agreed to the sale. The previous owners had a fancy leather halter on Zipper and that’s what he was wearing when we led him to the trailer to load him for the long trip home. Once we arrived at the door of the trailer, Zipper balked. His body language sent the message loud and clear: He was not going to load into that trailer.
We pulled and the previous owners pushed. At one point it looked like Zipper would have his way. The fancy leather halter snapped, shredding like a piece of thread. It was only after a price reduction that we continued to try to convince him to load. After much human exertion and even some not-so-nice forms of human-to-donkey communication, Zipper eventually wound up in the trailer and we were on our way home to Alpine.
Once home, Zipper was introduced to D.D. Donkey, her nearly 2-year old foal Pumpkin, and Chewie, the other riding donk. There was a little bit of jostling for the alpha position, but all of that passed quickly and the four came together as a herd quite nicely with the youngest, Pumpkin, taking the role of most bossy. Zipper acquiesced to Pumpkin and the two of them became obvious friends, closer to each other than any of the others.
Just a few months after he arrived, one evening in October we were saddling the donks. Chewie’s saddle had been placed on his back; Zipper was not yet tied. Something spooked Chewie (the calmest donkey to ever live at Wassermann Wranch). As Chewie took off, the saddle flopped wildly — it had only been partially cinched. The sight of the flapping saddle then spooked Zipper. Driven by adrenaline, Chewie managed to stop just short of the fence. Zipper, however, ran right through it. We caught him shortly, he didn’t go far at all, but he was bleeding profusely. He had gashed his head; the fur on his forehead peeled away making his skull bone visible.
The mobile vet was called, and Zipper received stitches that night — lots of stitches. Scott had the job of holding up the head of the tranquilized Mammoth donkey. It was an exhausting job because that Mammoth head was heavy. Zipper’s gash healed without issue. He didn’t even have a visible scar. And he nor Chewie ever spooked like that again. In a way, I think the incident became a bonding experience where Zipper discovered that we would look out for him and take care of him, that there was nothing to fear at Wassermann Wranch. Instead of that incident leaving him with a bad memory, it seemed to make us his and the trust grew.
Zipper became much, much better at loading into the trailer. We found that if we led him to the door of the trailer and gave him time, time to look at the inside of the trailer, and time to see that it didn’t contain any donkey-eating monsters, he would happily step up — usually within five minutes. Sometimes humans don’t want to give donkeys time to see for themselves that there isn’t any danger. That’s when donkeys balk. That’s why donkeys have a reputation for being stubborn. They aren’t stubborn. Donkeys are cautious. There are stories about people listening to donkeys who suddenly stopped in their tracks. Those stories usually end with the human life being saved thanks to donkey’s cautious insistence.
Zipper and I would load up and go to the ranch of my friend, Cinda, where we would ride our donkeys together in the wide-open spaces south of Marfa. Those are beautiful memories; sweet moments in the saddle, talking and laughing in the sunshine. Cinda and I call ourselves Donkey Chicks — we appreciate the unique qualities of donkeys: The loyalty, the patience, the intelligence, and those beautiful long ears.
Beautiful Zipper also gave hundreds of children the gift of a ride on his back. I don’t know how many children have had their first ride on an equine atop Zipper. Chewie, being over thirty years old, was retired from riding. That means Zipper had to pick up all the slack — and he had a nearly perfect record. There was just one incident during his time giving rides in which a child fell off and broke her arm. Thinking back on that incident, I believe it unfolded the way it did because the child was so relaxed during her ride. She felt safe in the saddle and wasn’t hanging on tightly when Zipper elected to take just a couple of quick side steps. It was an odd, unexplained, moment that sent that poor child to the emergency room. It was a sad day because pain is not what we want the children who visit Wassermann Wranch to experience. However, I never blamed Zipper. I can say that I learned from that experience and afterward I always asked kids to hang on tightly while in the saddle.
Life is that way, isn’t it? We walk a fine line between holding on tightly and relaxing and letting go.
Sometimes kids were afraid to ride, after all, Zipper was a Mammoth standing 14 hands high. When sitting on Zip those little kids were suddenly on top of the world — something that was unsettling for some children. Others found the experience exhilarating. I saw it happen more than once. A child would be lifted and placed in the saddle and a light would come on in their eyes. When Zipper took a step and the child felt the huge animal move a wondrous look would come over their face and a smile that stretched ear-to-ear would break out.
Equally as exciting to me were the times fearful children would lean into the process. Even though they were afraid, instead of demanding to get off Zipper’s back, they would trust the process and remain seated for “just one step.” When they understood what it was like to feel Zipper move, they would trust again for just a few more steps. When they were ready, Zipper was led a short distance. The anxiety did not always disappear during those rides, but upon returning to the starting point the child could dismount knowing they had just stuck with something that was difficult. I always hoped they were better for the experience. Hopefully they gained a lesson about sticking with something through the fear and coming out the other side.
I can’t believe Zipper is gone, and I don’t know what Wassermann Wranch will be like without him. We haven’t been doing any donkey rides since the COVID shutdown, but I know there are kids who will ask. At Christmas time, Zipper had accompanied Chewie to our town’s live nativity. Chewie has carried Mary for the last ten years, and since he’s getting up there in years, we thought it was time for Zipper to be introduced to the event. While Zipper didn’t get on “stage” this year, he seemed to enjoy being there and I knew he was ready to take over for Chewie when the time came. We didn’t know that Zipper would be the one whose time was short.
Zipper was a quiet, laid-back donkey. He always wanted treats and he could be grabby about getting them from your hand. He worked hard when asked. He was beautiful — I called him a silver-dappled donkey. I wish I knew what caused his death — it was so sudden. We may never be able to figure it out. I’m crying as I write this. I love donkeys so much — I value their unique characteristics, I see their personalities — all of them different. They are considered throw-away animals by so many, but I see them as so incredibly valuable, full of life-lessons, loyalty, and love. I learned so much from Zipper — and I will be a better donkey chick because of my time with him.
Scott said Chewie was watching me as we walked through the barn yard to say our goodbyes to Zipper. Chewie is so sensitive and knows when people are hurting.
We got our first donkey in 2010, and we went an entire decade without feeling this pain. I’m willing to feel grief in order to experience all that I have with donkeys. I guess I needed to sit down and write this out so that I could get to this point, so that I could figure out I’m still willing. Thank God for donkeys. Please, God, take care of Zipper — and watch your fingers, he’s kinda grabby about taking treats.
]]>Chapter 1
Scott and I were thinking about going to the movies one evening back in August, 2016, when the phone rang. I heard him ask "How old is it?" followed by a couple of mmm-hmm's ending with an "OK, we'll be right there." Our neighbors had been listening to the cries of a baby Aoudad near their house for three days and their hearts were about to burst so they had decided to give us a call.
Knowing that the young animal had been crying for three days, we expected to find a babe near death. The little Barbary Sheep looked bright-eyed but was very thin; more than six inches of umbilical cord was still attached. "How did she survive without its Mom?" we all wondered, "Did she get enough colostrum?"
Not knowing whether we were setting ourselves up for heartbreak if it died or insanity if it survived, with the baby Aoudad in my arms, Scott and I headed home.
We presented a bottle of goat milk replacer to the baby Aoudad. It took a few tries, but eventually she caught on—and then she drank and she drank. Her little tail twirled with delight. With a tummy full of milk she made cute little sighing noises transmitting content. She snuggled up to me and slept soundly right up until the moment, about every two hours, that she jumped straight up on all four feet and announced it was time for another bottle.
Chapter 2
We named our baby Aoudad Gabby and soon discovered that raising an Aoudad in the house is quite an undertaking. Besides the obvious issues (like the fact that Aoudads can’t be litter trained), Aoudads can jump—really high. They can hurdle recliners. They jump from chair to chair. Quite often it sounded like someone with high heels was galloping across our laminate floors. Gabby, our baby Aoudad, treated our living room like a mountain. The couch was merely a stepping stone to the kitchen counter.
It was only natural as Gabby grew that we began spending more time outside. Our Old English Sheepdog, Daisy, put her natural herding instincts to good use making sure Gabby stayed out of trouble and didn’t wander too far from the house. The pair ran, romped and even rested together.
It was bright and sunny the fall morning when we led Gabby into one of our alpaca pens. The introductions went smoothly. All of the animals demonstrated a friendly curiosity toward each other and the alpacas seemed to recognize that Gabby was young and needed some “special” attention.
Letting the alpacas tend to Gabby was easy during the day. But after the sun went down and the temperature began to drop I began to worry. “Will she be warm enough?” I fretted. After watching me stew, Scott grabbed a flashlight and invited me to walk with him out to the alpaca pen.
The entire barnyard was quiet and still. The air was a bit crisp and quite cool. Scott shined the flashlight around the alpaca pen and we located the alpacas all cushed together in their three-sided shelter. There was no sign of Gabby.
Suddenly, as the light of the flashlight made another sweep across the front of the shelter, a little head popped up from the very back of the group. It was Gabby! The alpacas had settled her into the warmest spot in their home. The little Aoudad had nestled in perfectly with our big-hearted camelids. Whatever it was about Gabby that made me instantly love her seemed to have infected the alpacas, too.
Chapter 3
I silently began to worry about Gabby when she was about six months old. Physically, she was in good health. Her little tummy was round, her muscles were firm, her coat was beautiful, and her horns were sharp. Emotionally, she appeared “happy”--if there is such a thing for Aoudads. She still appreciated getting her chin rubbed or head scratched, but not like she used to when her eyes closed and her entire little body leaned toward me as if our connection was the most comfortable place on Earth.
Gabby’s connection with the other animals at Wassermann Wranch wasn’t as stable, either. Those little horns made each of our four dogs yip at least once. The Alpacas put up with Gabby's grain-grabbing appetite--or maybe they, too, were afraid of those pokey little horns
As I watched Gabby run and jump through the yard I found myself wondering whether she felt the call of the wild Aoudads nearby. I wondered if she was ever lonely. I wondered if she’d stay at Wassermann Wranch. The thought of Gabby leaving reminded me to be fully present during each of those moments—moments that kept stretching farther and farther apart--when Gabby closed her eyes and leaned toward my outstretched hand.
Chapter 4
It is now June, 2018. Gabby no longer seems content in the alpaca pen at Wassermann Wranch. While she will still occasionally let me pet her, Gabby’s desire to interact with humans is running low. During a chance meeting with Brandt Buchanan, a conservation biology student at Sul Ross State University, Scott mentioned that it might be time to release Gabby. Brandt, who was familiar with Gabby because he had visited Wassermann Wranch, immediately made inquiries for us about the feasibility of releasing Gabby back to the wild after spending more than 18 months in our care. It was Brandt who introduced us to the staff at the Chihuahuan Desert Research Institute.
Scott and I have been so appreciative of the way the CDRI staff thoughtfully considered the idea of releasing our young Barbary Sheep on the CDRI premises to (hopefully) join the herd that already roams the area. They’ve been considerate of our emotional attachment while maintaining an objective decision-making attitude about what would be best for Gabby and the CDRI.
The staff has fielded concerns from those who would prefer not to add another animal to the area. Aoudad are not native to Texas. They were introduced in the 60’s and now compete with cattle for valuable forage and may even challenge the native Big Horn Sheep. We are grateful the CDRI staff made the decision to accept Gabby. Native or not, Aoudad are part of Far West Texas. The experience of raising Gabby has been a joy. To Scott and me, this plan appears the most amenable for all. Gabby will be able to be a real Aoudad in an area where she is least likely to be a nuisance to ranchers as there is plenty of land to graze at the Institute.
We will load Gabby into our livestock trailer early Sunday morning and make the trip to CDRI. We have placed a white tag in her left ear. The number “100” is on the front of the tag and a big red peace sign is on the back. We hope it will be a signal to humans who encounter Gabby--just in case she steps closer than a “normal” Aoudad would.
Our hope is that our arrival Sunday will coincide with the daily routine of the Aoudad herd that grazes through the CDRI property every morning. Ideally we will park the truck, open the trailer door, and Gabby will step out into a grand Aoudad life; a life filled with plenty of grass for grazing, mountains to climb, and others to be with—creatures just like her.
You were first introduced to Gabby, the Aoudad, in last month’s CDRI newsletter where you read that our attempt to integrate Gabby with the herd at CDRI was not successful. Here is the rest of Gabby’s story.
Chapter 5
After releasing Gabby at CDRI that Sunday morning in June, Scott and I were exiting through the main gate when a tire on our trailer went flat. Scott pulled onto the shoulder of Highway 118 and went to work changing the tire while I stood in the bed of the truck looking through binoculars trying to catch a glimpse of Gabby. I focused the lenses just in time to see Gabby take two giant leaps in the right direction. She was headed toward the Aoudad herd we had spotted just over the hill. Despite the fact that I was blubbering like a mama who’d just left a grown child at college for the first time, I was thrilled to have witnessed Gabby leaping in the air. It soothed me and made me feel that everything would be alright.
The staff at CDRI promised to keep us informed of “Gabby sightings.” Three days went by and we hadn’t heard a peep so we assumed that Gabby had found the herd and was off doing Aoudad things. Then came day number four when Gabby spotted some hikers and followed them back to the Nature Center and once she found the “two-leggeds” Gabby seemed determined to remain with them.
Gabby loves anything with an engine: Car, truck, or tractor—she is drawn like a magnet and will be on it or IN it if she can find a way.
Gabby on board a tractor at Wassermann Wranch
Staff witnessed this first hand as they stood on the porch of the Visitor’s Center yelling at guests to “Close the car door!” They had to shoo Gabby away from the doors and windows of the building after she stood on her hind feet attempting to peer through the windows. Eventually the decision was made to close CDRI for the day. Gabby was just too friendly and inquisitive, and her horns were just too sharp.
Scott and I drove to CDRI and loaded Gabby back into our trailer without a struggle. When we arrived home, she leaped out of the trailer and trotted back into her pen to join the boy alpacas she’d known since she was just a wee babe. As Scott and I did chores that evening we both chuckled at the thought that Gabby had been gone just long enough to have possibly come home pregnant!
Chapter 6
While waiting for Scott and I to arrive that afternoon after closing CDRI because of Gabby’s intrusion at the Nature Center, Lisa Gordon, CDRI Executive Director, started reaching out to help find a place that would better suit our Aoudad’s needs. One of her contacts at Fossil Rim Wildlife Center reached out to one of their neighbors, Jim Berry at Pony Creek Ranch. Jim was willing to take Gabby!
Jim described his private ranch, which is full of exotics that roam freely and are not hunted. One of the animals, a twelve year old barren Aoudad named Lilly, is frequently found hanging out by their pool. Lilly sounded like a perfect friend for our Gabby.
On Monday, July 23rd, Scott and I loaded Gabby into our trailer one more time and headed toward Pony Creek Ranch which is near Glen Rose, Texas. Triple digit heat greeted us during the trip which lasted over seven hours. We made good time and arrived at Pony Creek Ranch at half past two in the afternoon. The first order of business was letting Gabby out of the trailer. As we were doing so, Lilly greeted us—along with about 15 friendly whitetail deer. Our usually vivacious little Aoudad seemed a little intimidated. She didn’t even want to try the corn that Jim was handing out to all the animals that surrounded us.
Jim was anxious to show us around, and we thought Gabby would stay near the ranch headquarters with all the other animals, so off we went in an ATV with Jim as our tour guide. We saw two varieties of Zebras…
…Watusi, Elk, a rare Somalian Ass, Przewalski’s Horse, Ostriches, and a wide variety of antelope and deer that all came toward us when they heard the ATV approach. It was likely a once-in-a-lifetime experience to get so incredibly close to these amazing animals.
When we returned to Pony Creek headquarters Gabby was nowhere to be seen. Scott and I called for her and shook the bucket of sweet feed we had brought with us. No Gabby, no chance for a real goodbye. As Scott and I traveled the ranch road back toward the highway, he could tell I was feeling uneasy. He summed the situation up like this: Maybe Gabby had given us a gift by wandering off the way she did. It would have been difficult to watch her walk away from us—and even worse if she had decided to run after us as we pulled away.
Gabby is the first animal I experienced as a bottle-baby. It was such a sweet experience to bond with her that way. She entertained hundreds of Wassermann Wranch visitors by jumping on picnic tables when she was a baby and showing her black tongue to the kids. I know that our pen could not contain the energy of an Aoudad and that re-homing her was the right thing to do. We would have never forged a relationship with CDRI or experienced the wonders of Pony Creek Ranch if it weren’t for the gift of Gabby… the little orphaned Aoudad.
Gabby at Pony Creek Ranch
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I asked him how old he was. “Five!” he replied holding up all the fingers on one hand to assist my understanding of his declaration. I opened the gate to start our Wranch tour and the young visitor’s body stiffened. He stood perfectly still. The little dark haired bundle of enthusiasm became tree-like, overwhelmed by the sight of a group of our alpacas running across the yard to meet him.
After enclosing the alpacas in their pen, my new friend was at my side once again. He relaxed and began to enjoy the fuzzy, long-necked, brown-eyed critters. With the fence between them, Jalen’s personal space had been re-established. My new friend was hand-feeding the alpacas and posing for pictures. I was trying to build Jalen’s interest in our alpacas, animals that, to me, are proof that God has a sense of humor. “How many different colors do you think alpacas come in?” I asked Jalen.
“Five?” he asked.
“Higher.”
“Thirty? –no, wait…do they come in blue?” he asked excitedly.
“Alpacas come in twenty two colors” I told Jalen, “but not blue” I added, hoping he wouldn’t be too disappointed. The impossibility of seeing an alpaca that was his favorite color did not dampen Jalen’s spirits. He fed handful after handful of grain to the fluffy camelids giggling at the sensation of alpaca lips tickling the palm of his hand.
Wanting to move our tour forward before Jalen’s interest waned, I asked if he’d like to meet some donkeys. The answer was a resounding “Yes!” and off we trotted toward donkey world.
The donkeys ambled toward us. Unlike when the alpacas had run toward us, Jalen was not alarmed by the sight of five donkeys headed his way. The donkeys, seeing a youngster, stopped in front of us and Pumpkin, the leader of the herd, lowered her head as she stepped forward to meet Jalen. Chewbakkah was next, and the 30-plus year-old donkey remained as still as a statue while the youngster touched the Mammoth donkey’s soft, velvety nose. Jalen stood on his tip-toes and reached as high as he could, wiggling his fingers, wanting to touch the donk’s big ears. Those ears were out of reach as Chewbakkah’s head was as big as the youngster’s entire body. I asked Jalen if he’d like to ride a donkey and the squeal that escaped from the small boy unmistakably meant yes. I headed toward the barn to fetch a halter and saddle.
Zipper, our silver-dappled, riding donkey looked handsome wearing his turquoise halter and brown leather saddle, but as he is a Mammoth donkey standing fourteen hands-high, he was, at first, an intimidating sight for Jalen to behold. We started off by touching Zip’s soft nose and petting his neck. Then I asked if Jalen would just sit in the saddle to see what it was like. I made it clear that if the boy didn’t like it he could immediately dismount. Hesitantly, Jalen raised his arms so that his Dad could lift him up to sit in the saddle on Zipper’s back. Jalen settled into the saddle and a look of discomfort came over his face when he realized how far off the ground he was. I told Jalen to hang onto the saddle horn and guided his little hands to the leather-clad prominence on the front of the saddle. My little friend looked confused, but his nervousness began to subside once he had something solid to hang onto. I asked Jalen if Zipper could take just one step so that he could feel what it would be like to be in the saddle as the large animal’s muscles moved beneath him. The youngster looked me in the eyes, his eyebrows scrunched with concern, and gave a slight nod to let me know he was willing. “Hang onto the horn,” I told Jalen as I gave a slight tug on the lead rope. Zipper moved one leg and then another and I quietly whispered “Whoooooaa” so the donkey would stop and stand still. When I looked up at Jalen the boy’s eyes were wide as saucers, but he sat several inches taller in that saddle and his confidence was huge.
“Can we keep going?” I asked. Jalen gave a huge nod and his grin stretched ear to ear. It was as if he was filled with a new kind of electricity, he was lit up from head to toe. I tugged Zipper’s lead rope and we started off down the driveway, Jalen swaying slightly in the saddle as Zipper took each step. “Just hang onto the horn,” I told Jalen to reassure him that everything would be alright. When I glanced back at my passenger, that confused look had returned. “What’s the matter, Jalen?” I asked, hoping the excitement had not worn off. “This horn won’t honk!” Jalen replied, his voice full of consternation.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud. It was one of those moments that touches me so; the beautiful innocence of children.
We returned to the starting point where Jalen proudly posed for pictures. His Dad lifted him down off the donkey and once on the ground Jalen’s excitement poured out of him. It seems he had a wonderful time in that saddle, even though the darn horn didn’t work.
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