Fortunately I noticed before the donkeys. I slipped on the first coat and hat to hand and shot out to get them back up straight away. The snow lays on the fence lines and the weight brings the lines down lower and lower till a hop skip and a jump and the donkeys could be out. Just got back to find Malc sensibly feeding the donks keeping them occupied out of my way. Being nudged in the back is not something you want on a slippery snowy bank.
I felt quiet guilty out there in my late mother's Alexon pure wool tweed coat; she was very clothes conscious. I got back wet through covered in mud, slush and straw. My mother would have been horrified. "Look on the bright side" says Malc, "you could have been wearing her mink coat"
Turning over in one's grave comes to mind, and I do seem to mention labels rather a lot myself, which is odd as most of my outfits are now from the Laguepie charity shop.
The other donkeys out on a spree were not Anke's but we have been told of two possibilities.
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