I turned the corner and there he was: the town donkey.
Well, at least that’s how I think of him. Or her.
I’d seen her once before on a different patch of grass on the outskirts of town. Someone told me she and her companion, a mini-horse, get moved around.
Days later the donkey and miniature horse are still in the patch of grass behind my building. A new friend tells me both animals belong to gypsies. “The gypsies get certain privileges here,” she told me. Like the ability to have their donkey dine on town property, apparently.
“Buy why own a donkey in the first place?” I asked.
“They put it out here to show they have some power here.”
This mystifies me. I now live in a culture where a donkey denotes power?
I know little of the gypsies, their history, their rights. I guess I need to do some more research.
But in the meantime, I’ll enjoy seeing her (or him?) around town. Kind of like our very own live version of Where’s Waldo. . .