How many trucks does it take to get to Shelbyville?
written by Lori Howard with assistance from Marnie Jones of www.braysofourlives.com
A couple of years ago, we were considering buying our first two donkeys. Who would have imagined then that it would turn into this? Two trailers, three trucks, and twenty-plus donkeys later, we’ve made a trip—an exciting, tiring, stressful, fun, and expensive trip— to the show ring.
Just a few months ago, we decided it might be fun to take a few donkeys to a show. Wouldn’t it be great to sit in the bleachers and cheer our babies on? Yes! This would be great, we thought, and so we began to search for someone to take our little ones and train them towards sure victory.
Easier said than done, it turns out. We were a bit surprised to learn that there wasn’t a line out the door of people clamoring to take our donkeys in for training! It seemed there were a lot of good trainers with full barns, other obligations, or long waiting lists. With show day approaching, we decided we would do it ourselves. Failing even to find a trainer with time to show us the ropes, never mind our donkeys, we found ourselves looking for elusive books and videos on donkey show preparations. How common are such guides? I’ll give you a hint—not very!
We found a few tutorials, and we made a plan. My husband, Phil, isn’t big on sitting for hours watching videos on how to train your donkey. (I should have known, judging from his reaction to the three-hour video on trimming hooves I had so proudly presented to him as a previous birthday gift.) He suffered through most of it, promising to work with our donkeys at least twice a day. The only donkey show we had even seen was at Shelbyville. We knew how to get there, there were still a few months until show day, and it seemed perfect. We’d set our sights there.
Which donkeys would we take? With a very small trailer, we were limited to three. We knew we must take Millie—cute, special, friendly Millie, the first born of our breeding program. And Olive, of course—we had to take Olive, who belongs to our three year-old grandson Ryder. She had to go for the experience, if Ryder was to show her some day. Oh, but then there was Sadie— a better candidate than Olive, really, but we didn’t have room for both. We would work with Olive and Sadie, we decided, and let one earn her trip. And then there was Magic Time who is so doggone handsome. He had to go. (In a glimmer of understanding about the trouble we had finding a trainer, I am beginning to wonder—who in their right mind would even consider taking a five year-old breeding jack, untrained and never taken off the farm, in a trailer full of jennets to a show?) As our dream took shape, though, optimism was high. We were rookies, he was a rookie—if it could be done, we’d do it. We thought of our good friends Lee and Sandy Thomas. They are excellent with the donkeys, and we knew they could teach Magic to walk, trot, and stand pretty. Off our boy went to Lee and Sandy’s for a month to learn there might be more to life than wine, women and song (I mean water, jennets, and braying).
As that month passed, the donkeys began to shape up. Magic was a real trooper and performed wonderfully at home. Olive was doing well, her excellent behavior earning her a spot on the trailer. Sadie, the prettier donkey of the two, would have to stay home. This was probably a good decision for several reasons, one of which was the issue of a previous ear injury (sustained when Sadie decided to eat through the wall of the barn to get to the hay on the other side). So Millie, Olive and Magic Time were the ones.
The countdown to show time continued with ten days to go. Millie, Olive and Magic Time were our lucky contestants, and it was time to clip. Oh, how to explain this experience—well, in the interest of space, I won’t! Let’s just call it a fiasco which ended, thankfully, without injury to either human or donkey.
Sitting at work, counting down the last days ’til the show, I began to panic. Our trailer was so small, and it was so hot in July! I couldn’t possibly force the donkeys to risk heat exhaustion in such close quarters. We began, with one week left, to hunt for a bigger trailer. We succeeded in finding one, and I broke some good news to Phil—“We can bring Sadie too!”
“What do you mean, Sadie?” he asked in alarm. “I haven’t worked with her and she’s not clipped!” With three days remaining, we still had to pick up and register the new trailer and install a gooseneck hitch and electric brakes in the truck. Phil, being the wonderful husband that he is, let the insanity continue. On July 4th, we worked into the night clipping Sadie. We would leave on the 6th.
Donkeys clipped. Trailer purchased. Hitch and brake controller installed. I was excited, but Phil didn’t seem himself. “Is there something wrong, honey?”
“ I don’t think our truck will pull the new trailer,” he said.
“WHAT? It has to!”
My parents came over to see the new trailer, with my dad gently stating his agreement with Phil. My truck was not strong enough to safely do the job. Luckily, Phil had spotted a truck that might work, and after a little haggling at the used car lot it was ours. Our new (used) truck had higher mileage but a higher towing capacity, and it even matched the trailer. We spent a harried day installing electric brakes (again), licensing the new vehicle, having a locksmith out to rekey the trailer, getting Sadie’s hooves trimmed and her Coggins pulled, building a trailer ramp and a safe divider for Magic, and picking up our show clothes from the cleaner—it was about midnight, and we were going to rise at 5. We hated this show business.
It wasn’t long after we crawled into bed that we heard the alarm. We were up and feeding in the dark, and then with all four donkeys loading beautifully we were on our way. It was time to let out a big sigh, sit back and enjoy the 9 hour drive to Shelbyville. About three miles down the road, Phil mentioned that I might check the paperwork.
“What do you mean check the paperwork? You know how particular I am about that stuff and besides I’ve checked it half a dozen times!”
“Just thought it would be a good idea,” he answered. Well, it turns out it was—the donkeys’ health papers were nowhere to be found. We were close to home, at least, and so we turned around.
We live on top of a small mountain and there is quite an incline at the beginning of the road to our place. As we pulled the load up the incline, we began to hear a disconcerting engine noise. “Check the gauges” flashed alarmingly. We made it home with our brand new (used) truck overheating and got on the phone.
Phil contacted the truck’s seller, who thought it just needed water but that we ought to take it in to the shop just to be sure. While my husband agreed with this suggestion, I ran for the other phone and called the Ford dealership. A truck we’d seen on their website was no longer on the lot—had it sold? It turns out it hadn’t, but that it had been sent to the upholstery shop and would be back in two hours. “Keep me posted,” I told them, and “I’ll talk to my husband.”
After filling our overheated truck with water, we headed towards town. On the way the gauges lit once again and the truck began to smell hot. Hysteria was setting in and I mentioned to Phil my hesitation on going forward with this truck. I knew he wanted to be fair to the man who’d sold it, but I just wasn’t comfortable. Could we not just return it—you know, like at WalMart? To my relief, Phil agreed. In the meantime, the Ford salesman checked in with an update—in an hour and a half (which we did not have), the other truck would be available.
With the clock ticking and our panic rising, we headed down the road towards the dealership. But, look! What was that? A for sale sign on a truck beside the road? Phil said that he had already called about it a few days earlier. It did have a gooseneck hitch, but it cost more than we could spend. “I don’t care. We’ll pay. Just stop. Please??”
We stopped, we looked, and we settled on a price—and then, raising suspicious looks, we mentioned that there was a catch. “We’re on our way to a donkey show and have animals in that trailer. Our truck is overheating and we can’t go on. We’ll buy your truck, but we don’t have time for paperwork now. If you’ll let us (complete strangers) take your truck now, we’ll give you $1,000 toward the purchase and complete the paperwork when we return.” The owner, a mechanic, agreed to trust us.
The race was on to switch out the trucks, hook up the trailer, and return the overheating vehicle. At that moment, my parents called. “Where are ya’ll? Are you almost there?” Since we were actually sitting at the end of their road at a little gas station, we asked them to come down and return the overheated truck. They agreed. (Aren’t parents great?) We hit the road, drove straight to Shelbyville without further incident, and arrived very late to the show grounds. Luckily, the barn office was still staffed and we were able to settle in. We bathed the donkeys until well past sundown and made plans to arrive early the next morning. In addition to last-minute preparations, we’d need time to show the donkeys the showgrounds, the arena, and the chaos they were to face.
The morning arrived sooner than expected and we were excited to face the day. We arrived at the Celebration grounds early and got started. Our good friend Peggy had come to cheer us on and boy, were we glad! She gently pointed out that our clip jobs could use a little touching up, and while I didn’t really see the importance of getting ALL the hair out of their ears (after all, God had put it there for a reason) or what difference it made if they had a few whiskers, she insisted that our donkeys deserved to be presented at their very best. With Peggy’s help, we proceeded to groom our donkeys to perfection. The three hours we had allotted seemed like three minutes, and we still hadn’t had a chance to walk them around and show them the ring.
Finally—three trucks, two trailers, and many late nights later—it was show time.
The girls handled the new sights and sounds very well. Millie was a trooper and performed beautifully, placing third in her class.
We were ecstatic. Olive was up next and decided, after months of trotting perfectly at home, that today was the day to refuse. She placed nonetheless. Two ribbons!
Next came Sadie’s turn–our least prepared donkey faced a large class of 13 and yet still managed to place. Three classes, three ribbons—we love this show business!
And then, Magic’s turn.
Did I mention that he is a five year-old breeding jack with no prior show experience? The poor guy was absolutely terrified. When Magic Time is scared he freezes, and oh, boy was he scared. He wouldn’t move. Once he did decide to move, he completely forgot how to behave! Poor Phil. We were back to hating this show business. Did the judge really need to see his teeth? Magic couldn’t figure out why Phil’s hands had suddenly turned black and he was having no part of that crazy business. We had been told to wear gloves while training but had obviously forgotten. It was a lesson learned. I watched while the judge spent an awfully long time discussing something with Phil—the halter, it turns out, was too loose. Finally, the judge turned in the results (and none too soon as far as Magic and Phil are concerned) and our team again managed to place.
Magic was in one other class that afternoon (in a borrowed halter, graciously offered by Gilder Cantrell of Glee Creek Miniature Donkeys, thanks Gilder!) and placed again. Five classes, five ribbons! We were really loving this show business by then!
Overall, we felt a great sense of accomplishment. What we did, we did ourselves (with the help of the greatest donkeys in the world, of course). We met some great donkey folks who offered help and encouragement when they witnessed our struggles. Aren’t donkey people just the greatest? If it weren’t for the kindness of several at the show we might’ve given up. Dianne Sears from Troytown Acres jumped to our aid and did a tremendous job calming poor Magic Time down between his classes. She gave us numerous pointers and it made all the difference. Harvey and JoAnn Jordan from Hickory Hills Donkey Farm were also a tremendous help. Without their guidance, Olive and Sadie would have never made it on time to their classes. There were many others cheering us on and we appreciate them all.
If you have ever considered showing but are hearing that little voice saying “I can’t do that,” we are proof that you certainly can. Go for it! It will be the time of your life. If you can get it done with less than three trucks and two trailers, then that’s all the better.
Oh and did I mention that between classes Phil lost his wallet?
