Donkey Church
One Sunday at the donkey sanctuary
I made the appointment months ago, two tickets to be with donkeys. My friend Kristi went with me.
At the parking lot entrance, the volunteer sort of danced and said “Welcome to donkey church! We scratch ass!”
I loved this place.
Donkeys are not horses at all, they are really quite different. They are more closely related to zebras. We had Jim, the head donkey guy, the co-creator of the donkey sanctuary as our guide. He talked about them, shared their stories, but I got distracted with petting the donkeys.
They have 27 donkeys as of this writing.
Driving up the freeway on the way there we saw a person waving from their car on the shoulder not in a hi way but in a help way. We thought we should call for help so Kristi called the state police and reported the location and description. I hope they are ok.
It was about a 2-hour drive each way.
Donkeys are smart. They are similar to dogs or dolphins in their ability to learn. They are unwilling to do things that seem unwise. They think about things, or maybe they feel them out. They aren’t skittish in response to threats, they tend to just stand there and access the situation.
They are really designed to live where they came from, dry places like Egypt, Somalia, Sudan. Their natural diet is wood. Like tree bark or small twigs or dry shrubs. Lush grass is too high in sugar and makes them too big, not just in a round way but in a lumpy fat deposit way.
They told us about them liking to play and being rowdy but while we were there they were calm, walked around slowly, stopped. Many walked up to be petted, especially to be butt scratched.
These donkeys all ended up here because they needed sanctuary, a place to live and be cared for, a safe home. Now they are therapeutic for everyone who comes to see them. We were there on a public visit day. They also provide comfort to folks with a variety of backgrounds and specific needs.
Kindness feels everywhere. For the animals. For the people. Jim mentioned a favorite red hen. She got stepped on which caused a broken wing. She was taken to the vet, lost the wing, recovered inside the house. For the rest of her life she roosted in the house at night with her favorite people.
The day before was my poetry party which after today feels like a gathering of donkeys, sweet, authentic, with backstories. A willingness to hang out. To be together outside.
I didn’t know how much I’d like being with donkeys. They are great. And they are in Beavercreek, a hamlet just outside of Oregon City. I like that it’s a hamlet. I looked it up. It means a small village. It is a small village with rescued donkeys who found a forever home, which you can visit on certain days.
Four take-home tidbits:
They can remember things for 25 years.
They can open doors.
Their ears regulate temperature, keep them cool in heat.
Free manure, just bring a truck.
Click here to see all the donkey residents!
