We thought we'd just go to a donkey shelter here, in our state, and try to relieve some of the pressure by adopting locally. Alas, there were no shelters in Idaho and, believe it or not, I hit a mushy wall of indifference on the part of BLM contacts to identify a pair of burros we might adopt. We were referred to a number of auctions in Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado, but when we asked for pictures, case histories, adoption lists, and so forth, we were told that there were currently no donkeys available for adoption, but that they would be happy to provide auction information on mustang programs should we want a wild horse.
Having essentially abandoned the idea of helping through adopting, I read about Longhopes and was impressed with the straightforward nature of their efforts and the uncommon levels of common sense and love woven throughout their web site. I forwarded a copy of my initial letter (that I had sent to the first shelter), and heard back from Kathy Dean almost immediately. She was not encouraging about adopting out of state, but neither did she close the door on the idea. But she answered. And she answered from the heart. And she called. And she followed through. And she took the idea to her board. And she coordinated, and she advocated. And she bent over backwards to make sure we understood about the burdens of responsibility and requirements for unconditional love before she extended that gift of trust to us. In the end, she enabled.
After that, it was a matter of maps, trailers, photos, e-mails, shelter construction, cross fencing, Coggins testing, and a full weekend of boot-camp training at Longhopes.
We learned to halter, to lead, to trim feet, clean ears, clean eyes, innoculate, feed, supplement, record, groom, scoop, and trailer. And we formed a strong and functional bond with Kathy, her husband, and her volunteers. We pulled out at about oh-dark-thirty hauling our beloved Chloe, Ciely, Ginger, and Josie home to the Teton Valley of Idaho.
We learned to halter, to lead, to trim feet, clean ears, clean eyes, innoculate, feed, supplement, record, groom, scoop, and trailer. And we formed a strong and functional bond with Kathy, her husband, and her volunteers. We pulled out at about oh-dark-thirty hauling our beloved Chloe, Ciely, Ginger, and Josie home to the Teton Valley of Idaho. A few months later, we accepted an invitation to party with Kathy as she retired, anniversed, and birthdayed and we suggested that, since we were coming anyway, why not pull the trailer and haul back another pair--which we did. Ally and Poppe rounded out our small donkey family and it's been nothing since but grass hay, foot-rasping, grooming, carrots, apple peels, and hossie treats.
Our neighbors welcomed the amazing range of vocalizations, and refer to our girls as our mountain canaries. People come to our place all the time, now, to pop a few carrots, to cuddle, and to bask in the glow of pure donkey doin's.
Editor’s note: John and Alice are correct in saying that the shelter has a policy of not adopting donkeys out of a certain regional area. We do this because we always agree to take the donkeys back if the placement is unsuccessful and we don’t have the resources to transport a donkey 2000 miles back to Longhopes if the adoption is cancelled. We also want to be close enough to provide support services to make the placement work out. In this case, the board decided that making an exception was in the best interest of the donkeys. We think Chloe, Ciely, Ginger, Josie, Ally and Poppe would agree.
Rules are Made to be Broken by John and Alice Sutherland
Alice and I were, until we retired, suburban dwellers who adopted strays and cast-offs and always earmarked a portion of our meager discretionary funds for animal support programs. When we retired to Idaho, we fenced in our ten acre piece of ground, fell in love with horses and woke up to the plight of mistreated and abused equines. As a result, we soon began to receive newsletters from a donkey rescue operation (not Longhopes) with strident pleas for money based on horror stories of slaughter, torture, abuse, and neglect.
We sent what funds we could squeeze out of our animal charity budget, but it never seemed to be enough and the pitiful letters and photographs kept lacing our mail. So, I wrote a number of e-mails, sent a couple of faxes, and even made a couple of phone calls to the shelter, offering to adopt a pair of the needy donkeys, in lieu of further contributions. Curiously, I never got a response until finally, I got a two-line e-mail reply to the effect that the shelter could not adopt donkeys outside their own state, and urged me to keep sending money and to try the BLM programs if I really wanted a homeless donkey.
