A few weeks ago, I bought a plastic burro at a thrift store. 😐
If you’re a regular reader, then you may remember that I have a weakness for little plastic farm animals.
I wasn’t going to buy this one, but he was perched on a ledge about six feet off the ground and he caught my eye.
I held him for a moment, then I put him back and tried to chuckle off my impulse to purchase. He had lived a rough life and it showed. I didn’t need him, so I left him on the ledge and walked away.
I wandered through the rest of the store, trying in futility to look for other treasures. I was distracted all the while and almost certain that I heard him braying my name.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I had to go and get him. I rushed back, overcome with anxiety, and was relieved to see that no one else had scooped him up in my moment of parental neglect. He was meant to be my baby and I had left him alone. 😳 I wouldn’t do it again.
I paid twenty-five cents and brought him home. Twenty-five cents!
And this week?
This week, I named him Donkey Xote.
And I painted him a house – a colorful, cheery house with a night sky, so he can rest and dream…