As a former wild child, or as I tell people, a child bride, I am lucky enough to have a three-year-old grand-daughter at an age where fellow bloggers have children. She is a delight, the love of my life and nudging Number One Son in the Chosen One Stakes.
This week, I spent a delightful day at the donkey sanctuary with my grand-daughter, along with Number One Son and my friend Pelly. This was a good place to visit because 1) it's close by 2) it's free 3) it takes care of abused animals.
I have mixed feelings about this place. It's rather like Old Ladies' Legacy Land. The donkeys live a life of luxury with no expense spared. The donations boards are full of the names of the great and the good, predominately single females with double barreled names, whose bequests help keep it going. This is not a bad thing. It is lovely to see otherwise abused donkeys enjoying their senior years in the paddocks of Devon.
But I always think if I won the lottery, I would set up a cow sanctuary.
Don't get me wrong. I love donkeys. As a child on the farm, we used to have one every winter. In the summer Rosie would take children on rides along the sand (or mud) at Weston. When autumn came, she would be transported to our farm and be ours for the winter. Or mine, to be exact.
But I have always felt a strong attachment to cows. They give us milk, their beef brethren feed us but when the dairy cows are barren their days are numbered. Are there old ladies to keep them in luxury? No. They end up as dog meat and their feet are boiled up for glue. Is that the way to treat something that has provided us with the sustenance of life? This is why I would make a crap farmer, because I would want to keep the cows in their retirement as a way of saying thank you.
So I did something at the donkey sanctuary I shouldn't have done. I tried to keep it real. Which is not fair when your grandchild is only three and your friend Pelly is a vegetarian. As the grand-daughter went into raptures over the fluffy donkeys I told her that Grumps (aka Mr Grigg) had eaten donkey when we were in Italy last year. In rather too loud a voice she said earnestly, with tears in her eyes: 'But why did Grumps eat a donkey?'. She said this over and over again, as we passed the old ladies who in a few years time would be bequeathing their money to the donkey sanctuary, and as we passed the children just enjoying the fluffiness and cuteness of the donkeys all around them.
Me and my big mouth. A case of foot in mouth rather than foot and mouth, thankfully.
I have Easter to repent my sins, which includes a quiz in the pub and a family gathering on Sunday chez moi for 26+.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
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