One day we came across some donkeys in Krambach. We got talking to the woman who owned them and from that time we were determined that donkeys would roam our paddocks. This would ease our concern that Snowflake, the miniature horse, was lonely and we hoped donkeys might give her some company.
“Wada yer want donkeys fer?” Darrell asked when we next saw him. “Good fer nuttin.”
“I thought I might teach them to follow me around with saddle bags that I could load with wood. I’m finding it difficult lugging the wood up the hill.” I had exhausted the supply around the house and thought this might be a way around it.
“Donkeys don’t do nuttin yer tell em to. What yer need is a pig.”
“What do we want a pig for?” Rod asked.
“Them tourists that stay here’ll like to see a pig.”
That was probably true. “But we don’t know the first thing about pigs.”
“Yers can keep it next to the chickens. Already got a pen there just needs fixing a bit but yer can let the pig out to wander during the day. Just lock him up of a night.”
I was almost sold on the idea. Glancing at Rod I could see he would need a bit more convincing. “Pigs are supposed to make great pets.”
“Did yer see that program on the telly t’other night. Woman had a pet pig. Lived in the house. She even let it go on the lounge. I think that’s a bit much but a pig shore do make a place a farm. I ‘ve got one you can have.”
I looked at Rod pleadingly. “ If you want one you can get it but I still think we should get some donkeys.”
“Thanks darling” I directed to Rod “yes we’ll take him” directed to Darrell “and I agree we should get some donkeys” directed to no-one in particular.
The pig arrived five days later. I was a little disappointed as I was expecting a pink, almost hairless pig but instead we found ourselves confronted with an ugly, black and white bristly haired animal that held no appeal whatsoever. It held even less appeal as the days went on as it was an expert escapologist. No matter what repairs we did to the run next to the chicken house it was out the next morning. Most mornings we found it rooting around in the dam and we feared that it would destroy the little water holding ability it had left. We were at our wits end about what to do when on the sixth night it was with us it disappeared without trace. We are convinced that it became a snack for a dingo or fox but it lives on as a dinner party story told by our friend Helen who likes to tell of the pig named Helen after her who was eaten by a dingo.