Trauma-informed lessons from the asses in my life

 In April or May 2022, a truck load of donkeys headed to a meat market overturned and many of the donkeys were mortally injured or killed on impact. They were all malnourished, abused and heading for an inhumane death. So the truck over turning is possibly a godsend, but to those that survived, a rather traumatic experience. 

We wanted to adopt donkeys for our farm, to keep predators away from the baby goats, to reduce the snake population and for their abundant grazing. It was a win-win. When I contacted our local SPCA, they had four of these truck-traumatised donkeys, ready for adoption. It was one mother, with her foal. And then she had adopted two foals that had been orphaned in the accident. 

Considering what we do at Life Changer, this seemed like a sign - #bethefamily #widowandtheorphan. So I went off to see if I could pass the vetting process and adopt these donkeys. 

The foals loved human attention from that first meeting. In fact, still named Nibbles, from that day, enjoyed having his ears rubbed while he nibbled my clothing. Mother donkey stood at a distance and watched me with the disdain only a scowling, judgemental, fearful animal could. She never came more than five meters close to me, even when I had baskets of apples or carrots to share. 

Flash forwards through the next details: we passed the vetting, received the donkeys, had to learn quickly that they don't like being around our dogs, made them a comfy space in our lower paddock and presto! We had four donkeys, three of which would come when they saw us approaching and take carrots from us, before dashing away. 

Mamma Donkey, named Gabi, never came closer than five meters. The three foals, Denis, Daphne and Nibbles become friendlier and friendlier. We scheduled the neutering for when the estimated age of the foals would be appropriate, but donkeys did what donkeys do and we ended up with two babies just before said scheduled neutering. So now we have six. 

What was interesting was, which is where this all taught me a lesson from the asses... Denis, Daphne and Nibbles all learned to trust again very quickly. They had all been on that truck, two of them had even lost their mother, but they were then embraced by the super-kind people at the SPCA and then by us, with three little girls who loved the donkeys almost too much. Their trauma was quickly healed by the restorative effect of Love. 

Gabi, well, she was older. She had been manhandled, mistreated and then traumatised on the truck. She was scarred far deeper than the youngsters and for far longer. Now, two years later, she will come up to us when we have apples and stand only close enough to catch the ones that fall or end up only half eaten by the greedy youngsters. 

Of the two new foals born, one is so chilled, he sees us as friends and comes for apples or carrots, quite easily. He was born to Daphne. The second foal, born to Gabi, is wary of us and stands at his mother's side, never venturing close enough and has not yet enjoyed a carrot or apple, as far as we can tell. He chooses to stand away and mistrust. His mother's trauma-informed skepticism, spilling over onto his perception and world-view. Gabi's emotional scars influencing her son's opportunity to have friends in human carers or in the deliciousness of apples or carrots. Like working with traumatised people, trust is a currency and consistency is the foundation of that. 

Another lesson from my asses is that they used to only come closer when we had apples or carrots, they would see the tupperware, see the plastic bag and come running. Sometimes, we would need to make a noise with the container carrying the treats so that they knew what we had. Now, they simply see us and come, and nuzzle us, rub against us, walk beside us, probably waiting for a treat, but definitely wanting the human interaction and affection. It's not only about what we can give anymore. 

If you have ever got to know a beggar at an intersection, greeted them by name and asked how they are, you will be able to testify that they stop asking for money or food, once they know that you're actually interested in who they are and how they are. Not different to these very traumatised donkeys, asking for cuddles rather than "stuff". 

When they came for cuddles today, loving a hug hold like a friendly horse would too, I realised just how far these three foals had come. They survived something horrible but have adapted and learnt to trust - even enjoy - human hands. Their fate was dire and now, as the inspectorate from the SPCA said, they have ended up in donkey paradise. 

Gabi, more scarred and traumatised, has become more trusting, for sure, but will need more time. Hopefully, in her lifetime, she will learn that we love her and that she is safe with us. And perhaps she will pass it on to her son too. But that is the trouble with trauma. It cuts deep, wounds deep and often, long after everyone else has moved on, still leaves a lingering memory that stops us from moving on. What should we do? Well, in Gabi's case, we do what we can to remain consistent. To treat her with extra kindness. Always make sure that she also gets her treats. Never force her to come closer than she is comfortable with. 

In a human, I would include all of that, plus some therapy, somewhere safe to talk and process. Consistency. Kindness. Grace. 

Either way, it's a process we can't rush or expect too much from.

It reminded me of the clients, who take weeks, months, years, to give us their real first names, the real story behind their lives. How they ended up living on the streets.     

Eventually, if all goes well, we will have a donkey and her foal, who are happy to approach for a cuddle, who don't reject the offer of an apple or a carrot. Who may even succumb to an ear tickle. It will be a special day to be able to see that in her own way, in her own time, she has learned to trust us enough. 

If it doesn't go well, or if time doesn't heal these wounds, she will have still been provided a safe, welcoming space, where she can live in peace without fear or harm. Her son, who has adopted her fear-based nervousness, will also be given every chance to expand his heart and accept the affections offered to him, or to stand in his mother's shadow, by her side, living through her trauma-influenced lens. Either way, time will tell. 

So today's moral of the story: never underestimate the lessons that can be learnt, even from the lowly ass.