by Gary Wietgrefe, Refugio Volunteer
When someone wanted to talk, and didn’t want backtalk, they consulted Dr. Phil.
He listened.
Hilltop Refugio’s local councilor was Dr. Phil—a very old, old donkey. Well, sometimes he would comment to George by rolling up his top lip, lowering his bottom, and show his big ugly teeth as he blabbered. Affectionately, of course.
Why was Dr. Phil at the Refugio? Like every animal there, he had a sad backstory.
One day, Loretta got a call that the cops were going to be called to shoot an old donkey because he couldn’t get up. Loretta quickly turned to George, who was ready for breakfast/lunch after spending all morning at the Refugio.
George hooked up a trailer and went to find what he thought was a half-dead donkey.
There he was—a very old donkey, laying in his manure. He had a boot-sized oozing ulcer on his side. No wonder he couldn’t get up. The donkey couldn’t stand because his hooves had not been trimmed for years. (At the Refugio, horses hooves are trimmed by a professional farrier every six weeks.)
With help, George drug the donkey onto his trailer and took him to the Hilltop Refugio. The first order of business was to inspect and treat the wound. Amongst the puss George could feel a broken rib. Apparently, since the old stubborn donkey would not get up, he was kicked, kicked, and kicked again in the side until his ribs broke. For months salve was applied to the wound to keep flies and worms out until the wound eventually healed over.
A farrier was hired to do weekly trimming on the mangled hooves. By October, when we arrived, the donkey could stand, but not walk on his then foot-long hooves. (Like toenails, if you trim hooves too short, too quickly, they bleed and get infected.)
During one Saturday morning Refugio tour, I walked our group around the alley where the donkey stood—seeking attention. When under the tree petting the first recued horses, someone in our group pointed to the donkey. He had walked out of the horse ally to join our group. OK George said, “He now gets his own pen.”
The only pen open was next to a deaf mare that had just fouled. In the next few weeks, George noticed the old donkey had not only put on weight but had taken a liking to the colt next door. Before George would go home for lunch each day, he would make one last check on the mare, young colt, and get his daily consultation with the old donkey which he affectionately named Dr. Phil.
As George walked away, the donkey brayed his departure, and the young male colt tried to do the same. Since the colt’s mother could not make horse sounds, the colt tried to make donkey sounds. It was hilarious!!! Unfortunately, I only got to hear the colt twice, and I didn’t get a recording.
When I was a child on our South Dakota farm, we would get Saturday baths—whether we needed them or not. Well, Saturday mornings were Dr. Phil’s bath time. He loved the attention. Afterwards, Dr. Phil was taken to his pen and fed a special (yes expensive) ration of alfalfa, cracked grains (his teeth were too worn for whole corn), vitamins, and minerals. I would bring yesterday’s extra corn tortillas to give to the horses and an extra for Dr. Phil.
Dr. Phil would not pay attention to anything or anybody when he had food. When it was gone, Dr. Phil looked for more. (That is the same thing I noticed with the previously starved horses. Once starved, they would eat anything—including their own manure. That is why Refugio horses were taken outside every day, tied under the shade tree so their pens could be cleaned and raked to dry.)
One Saturday I was touring the Refugio with a family. They had two girls—maybe 11 and 13 years-old. As I was standing by Dr. Phil’s pen, the oldest girl asked if she could pet Dr. Phil. I said, “Sure,” and continued my story. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dr. Phil stopped eating while the girl petted his thinning mane.
Then, her sister asked if she could do the same. Dr. Phil went back to eating. Once the younger girl touched Dr. Phil’s neck, he raised his head, stopped eating, and looked so calm. Then I realized, even a previously starved animal, and maybe more so because the were mistreated, only wanted personal attention—affection. They would even stop eating just to have a human touch them.
Every Saturday after that, until Dr. Phil died peacefully one night in his pen (probably from a heart attack), I would ask the tour group if anybody wanted to pet Dr. Phil while I told his story.
Comments