I have a brown coat, my donkey coat, covered in burrs and with pockets seemingly full of straw. I wore it this morning to go out down in the fields to repair the donkey fencing. I was working away bent over next to one of the woods which roll off down a steep valley, when I heard voices and then gunshots. With pounding heart I heard thuds behind me, turning I saw apples falling off a wild apple tree but I suddenly thought to a half blind man with a gun I could be taken for a sanglier. I ripped off my coat and was relieved to see I was wearing a red spotty blouse. The voices,gunshots and shouts moved away and I sat on a grassy hummock and heaved a sigh of relief. The sun came out leaving only the mist in the valley bottom and I continued taking out and replacing posts and electric line embedded in clumps of brambles and rose briars. All day I have been out there, but one field is done and the donkeys braying and cavorting are now in pastures new.
The donkeys may be cavorting but I certainly won't be.
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