Phoebe came into my life as a result of tragedy. We had just suffered a dog attack on our sheep flock. I lost 2 rams and 5 ewes in that late night spree, and both the sheriff and the vets said the same things. I needed to get a rifle, and I needed to get a livestock guardian. The rifle was easily procured, but I pondered the livestock guardian for a moment. Training a guard dog took time, and you had to watch it constantly with the sheep, and also make sure it didn’t claim territory to patrol that was beyond your farm (a common occurrence around here with guard dogs). Plus, they had to be fed separate rations away from the sheep – AND most importantly – they could NOT be pets. Llamas were another option, but they seemed pretty lame and not that effective against predators. Donkeys though, seemed to fit the bill nicely. They’re large, but they eat the same stuff as sheep, they’re very smart, they hate all canids (dogs, wolves, coyotes, foxes) and they’re low maintenance and easily trained. So a donkey it was. Now where to get one? Luckily nearby was a farm owned by a crazy old DuPont heiress. Helen Dixon had a little bit of everything; camels, zebras, exotic cattle, tarpan horses, and running through all of it, a herd of donkeys of all colors and sizes. When I called her up, she said she did have some donkeys for sale, and that I should come out and take a look.
The very next day found me riding shotgun in her old pick-up truck as she bounced through her fields towards a herd of about 35 donkeys. They all quickly gathered around the truck and stuck their noses through the window to get the cookies she was handing out as treats. “See anything you like?” she asked. Not knowing anything about donkeys, I pointed to the one I thought looked the nicest. “Good choice” she said. “She’s a young jenny. Two years old. That’s her father over there (pointing to mid-sized spotted donkey), but her mother was a Mammoth (as in Mammoth Jackstock), so I image she’ll probably get a bit bigger still.” So we agreed upon a price and she said she’d have one of her farm workers deliver her the next day.
Now this was back in 2000 and I hadn’t built a proper barn. All I had was a small corral area. So I hurried home and hastily built a small little ‘stall” inside the corral. The thinking was that I could put the donkey in the stall and have the sheep in the corral and they could all get used to each other before I let them out in the pasture. The donkey was delivered and I was a bit taken aback at how tall she was. The farmhand led her into my ‘stall’ and untied the rope that held her and said “here you are.” And there I was. I had a donkey. But no idea what to do next. I petted her and gave her some hay and a bucket of water and let her settle in. I realized I was going to have to get her a halter and a lead, and I was going to have to figure out a way to handle her. It was all pretty daunting. The first problem was a name. But Steve, my boyfriend at the time, solved that by informing me that her name was “Phoebe.” “Why Phoebe?,” I asked. “Well, first because that’s the name of the shepherdess in As You Like It. And second, because she looks like a Phoebe.” And indeed she did.
The next day I came out to see if I could release Phoebe among the sheep and see how they all would interact. When I got to the corral however, Phoebe had already kicked apart my flimsy ‘stall’ and was contentedly munching away amongst the sheep. So, no worries about the guardian part. But how to make sure I could handle all 700 lbs of her? She was a big animal, easily over 13 hands (13.2 it turned out). I went to the tack shop and browsed their halters. It was clear with a head as large as Phoebe’s I needed something draft horse sized, but also a little narrower too so it could be fitted around her face. A bit of a problem, but I found something that I thought would work and took it home. The big question was – how was I to get it on her?
Here’s a donkey that has basically run wild in a herd, and her only interaction with people was getting a cookie treat now and then out of a pick-up truck window. I’d been around horses for years, but never had to ‘break’ an animal and wasn’t sure how to begin with a large donkey. I needn’t have worried. Phoebe was as curious about me as I was about her. She welcomed the attention and was a really quick learner. Within a week, I had her standing at attention for comb outs, letting me lead her around on a halter, and taking her weight off of a hoof when I said “lift.” When the vet came to check her out he was surprised to hear that she’d come out of Helen Dixon’s herd only a week ago. “How’d you manage that?” he asked in wonder. I didn’t have an answer for him. To this day I’m not sure how or why Phoebe and I got along so well together. But we did.
That was 25 years ago. Since then Steve and I parted ways, the farm grew, I changed careers, and a lot happened. But through it all Phoebe the donkey and Ceres the cat became the two stalwarts that saw me through the ups and downs of dating, farming, and losing my dad. Phoebe was the one I would confess everything to when I’d come home late at night from yet another disappointing date or challenging day at the office. I’d whisper into her long ears and she’d sigh with understanding.
She was a super friendly animal and truly loved people. Within a few months I was riding her bareback around the farm (which she tolerated) and she gave donkey rides to every kid who came to the farm (which she loved). Her large size intimidated both children and adults, but her gentle nature soon won them over. She had an outsized personality and absolutely loved the attention. The sheep were tolerated, but people – they were to be sought out.
It wasn’t until Phoebe was 9 years old that she met Keith. But it was love at first sight for both of them. I used to be defensive about this and say that she only liked him more because he was the one who gave her the treats, while I was the one who tied her up when the farrier came. But, you couldn’t deny the bond between them. Keith fussed over her like nothing I’d ever seen. He had his own set of commands for her, and she was constantly checking his pockets for another carrot or apple or store-bought treat. She’d hee-haw across the farm if she saw him in the distance or heard his voice. He even set up a Facebook page for her and gave her a middle name (according to Keith her full name is “Phoebe Lynn Zuschlag.”)
So life was good with Phoebe. She did her job, she entertained all of our guests, she was always ready to be at our side. And she did it all with such a sense of joy and happiness to be alive. It’s always a temptation to ascribe emotions to animals, but I don’t think it’s anthropomorphizing to say that she had a twinkle in her eye that clued you in to her joie d’vivre.
She was a bit bossy and thought she ran the farm, and took this office seriously, but she had plenty of time in her schedule to visit with guests and keep tabs on Keith.
All was good until this Spring. At age 27, she was slowing down. Her coat had dulled, and her eyes lost her famous sparkle. In June Phoebe didn’t seem quite right. Her playfulness was gone and she lacked her customary eagerness to inspect every new thing. She hung back when before she’d charge ahead. The vets ran all kinds of tests. They quickly ruled out a virus or anything that was communicable. But her blood tests showed anemia. We were prescribed a special diet and the vets expected she would bounce back in short order. But she didn’t. She got worse. She started to get sores on her legs and her face that wouldn’t heal. She didn’t seem in pain, but she clearly was flagging. More bloodwork was ordered and we finally got a definitive diagnosis in July. She had a bone marrow cancer akin to Leukemia and only had a few “T” cells left. There wasn’t much that could be done. She wasn’t in any pain, but sooner or later she’d get an infection that she wouldn’t be able to fight off. While the vets talked around it, it was clear that they were telling us it was time to let her go. We weren’t ready to do so. But we agreed that when she could no longer walk or showed any sign of pain, it would be time to say goodbye. So we waited and hoped that she could enjoy at least some of her remaining time with us. Keith bought every treat he could think of to tempt her and spend as much time as he could with her. We’d sit on the pond bench and Phoebe would stand next to us and together we’d stare at the pond and the fields beyond.
By mid-August she had no T cells left and no ability to fight off any more infections. She knew and we knew it was time. The vets came and we led Phoebe near to where her final resting spot was to be and said good-bye.
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Saying goodbye to someone or something you love is the hardest thing there is in this world. Yet we all must do it. And, if we’re lucky, there will be somebody with us to say those goodbyes.
