Seymour doesn’t live here on the farm, I only wish he did. He lives next door with Misfire and I told him last night that if he ever wanted to run away he was more than welcome to come live with me. Glenn agreed and we took his measurements to see if we could get him in the front of the truck without being seen.
Seymour is the cutest little donkey this side of Middle Island Creek. He’s also the friendliest donkey. Once I made the mistake of scratching those long furry ears he wouldn’t let me go far enough away to take a decent picture. He head-butted me, rubbed against me, pushed me down the bank, and nibbled on my shorts. Which is why all of his pictures look like this.
Or this.
I would really like a Seymour now.
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