PETE

Meet Pete.  He is listening as I talk to him from our sun room.  He looks as if he would step inside if I opened the door.  If I did open the door, he would bolt and run.  He is friendly enough, but don’t let that fool you.  He does not want to be touched or petted.

We have an 18 year history with Pete.  Our oldest son, Kevin, entered the Bureau of Land Management Program for relocating wild horses and burros.  Pete’s parents were brought to K-C Farm in Harlingen.  Pete’s mother came from the Sonora Desert and his father from the Grand Canyon.  I watched the birth of Pete in February, 1998.

He grew up on that little farm.

Pete was domesticated as a colt.  He was halter broken, petted, and given attention.  Later he was moved with some of our other animals to another pasture for several months.  His Dad was a fairly gentle donkey, but his mother was described by some as mean.  No animal or person got very close to her.  She was a kicker. When the animals were returned to K-C Farm, the mother did not want to get into the trailer.  She sat down and refused to budge.  Finally she had to be roped.  Pulling by humans did not budge her.  She sat with front feet planted firmly into the ground.  Eventually, the rope was put through the front of the trailer and tied to the drawbar of a small tractor.  Our hired man watched with wide-eyed disbelief as the tractor moved very slowly and started dragging her.  When she got to the back of the trailer, she stood up and jumped in.  (Please do not report this to the humane society.  She was not injured or even scratched.)  She did not hesitate to load after that. Pete apparently took notes.

We moved to Stephenville in 2000, and our son followed several years later.  The first animals to make the move to Stephenville were buffalo friends of Pete.  He did not want to get into the trailer with them, so he was left behind.  His parents were gone, so he had the little farm to himself.

Time ran out and Pete had no choice.  He had to move to Stephenville, but he would not go willingly.  He refused to get into the trailer.  Kevin got someone to help and tried again, but Pete won and did not get into the trailer.  The third time was the charm, but it took several people.  A roper friend got into the back of a pickup and first tried to rope him.  He was unsuccessful, so another friend hit the running donkey with a tranquilizer dart.  One dart did not slow him.  A second dart did not stop him, and the vet said not to give him a third shot.  By this time cars were stopping and lining up along the roadway in front of the pasture watching the rodeo.  Finally, he slowed enough that the roper got a rope around his neck.  He was one mad donkey.  He was pulled into the trailer kicking and bucking. It is a long ride from Harlingen to Stephenville.  He was really mad and upset by the time he arrived.  He was fed and watered in the trailer for several days with the hope that he would “settle down.”  He did not.  He was not seen for several days after he was let out of the trailer.  He eventually settled in with his buffalo friends.  He has been here 12 years now and has accepted his new home.

The pasture here was full of briars and brush.  Ken bought some goats to eat some of the unwanted vegetation.  Pete immediately became their protector.  Coyotes were plentiful, but they never got one of our goats.  Pete was with them all of the time.  He played with them, separated them, and herded them.  We decided he had a secret desire to be a cutting horse.  It was fun to watch him with “his” goats.  (We are easily entertained.)

The goats finished their job.  The buffalo were moved to a ranch in South Texas.  Pete was alone again.

An agriculture student at Tarleton asked if he could keep his registered, Show goats here.  They came, and we assumed that Pete would protect them.  The coyotes immediately killed two young goats.  Ken told the student that he would have to pen them every night as Pete was not staying with them.  Pete displayed a disdainful attitude toward the goats totally ignoring them.  If they were around the watering trough and he wanted a drink, he would walk through them without looking to the right or left, get a drink, and walk back ignoring them.  For some reason, he did not like the fancy goats.

Ken inadvertently left a gate open, and Pete decided that the grass in the yard tasted better than the pasture grass.  There was also good water in the bird fountain.  Our dogs seemed to know that he could kill them, so they stayed clear of him.  He developed a built in radar and could appear from the back of the pasture and sneak through a gate in the time it took Ken to drive a pickup through the opening.  At first, he had to be chased to go back into the pasture. Now he sees Ken approaching and starts to the gate without protest.

Pete seems to have no complaints at this time.  My only complaint is that he occasionally reverts to an old habit of braying at daybreak.  We get along very well.