“Most donkeys don’t like water, preferring a dust bath,” he says, tying Carrot-top to a post, “but he seems to be the exception.”
I watch as Kane pulls a metal hook from his back pocket and cleans out Carrot-top’s hooves. He disappears into a shed and returns to deposit a bucket of water, a bottle of equine shampoo, and a rough sponge at my feet.
Then he surprises me by fitting his army-green cap onto my head. “Don’t want you burning,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.”
“Anything else you need?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, my heart giving a foolish leap that Kane cares for me in some way. But do I want him to care? What good can come of it? For me, and for him?
They’re questions with no easy answers and they hammer away at me, giving me no relief as I watch Kane shoot me one last, unreadable look before he walks away to apply the fly repellent. I notice he’s still careful to keep me within sight.
Following Kane’s instructions, I sponge Carrot-top down and rinse him off, making sure I splash myself generously as well. Realization hits that for the last hour or so I’ve been humming.Humming!
I’m happy.
Hard to believe, but there it is. I decide to forgo any analysis and simply go with it.
When I finish, I pat the donkey on the neck. “Okay, you, I’m going to rest awhile.”
I flop down on a grassy patch under a tree, my wet T-shirt and shorts providing welcome relief in the heat. A gentle breeze teases my nose with the smell of jasmine. I stare into the distance, soaking up the atmosphere around me, the various animal noises playing like a soothing background track.
Kane’s right. This experience has changed me. I can’t go back to the person I was before this. Funnily enough, I don’t know if I want to. I like this change in myself, even if I don’t understand it or its ramifications.
A warm breath blows softly on the skin at the nape of my neck. Carrot-top drapes his shaggy head over my shoulder, as if appreciating the view with me. Entranced, I hold myself perfectly still, feeling the tug on my heart and helpless to deny the bond forming between us. After a minute, I carefully turn my head and place a kiss on the end of his long nose.
My growing affection for the animals at the sanctuary floors me. I still don’t like the hair that clings to myclothes and the whole manure part, but I no longer want to jump into the shower four times a day and now it’s only rarely I flinch at the approach of a sanctuary animal. What really impacts me is their forgiving nature. Most of them have suffered and survived terrible, abusive experiences at the hands of humans, yet they still display such forgiveness and trust.
Is there a lesson here for me? At the end of this ordeal, can I be as forgiving toward Kane?
#
Later that morning, there’s a scheduled visit from a farrier to trim hooves. Ross escorts me to my room and locks me in with a quick apology. I sit on the bed and swing my foot and stew. It’s little incidents like these that pull me out of the fantasy that I’m a part of this life. It’s so easy to forget sometimes I’m a prisoner.
I’m dozing on the bed when the door opens and Mel steps inside.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
“Just peachy.”
“I’m going to work in the veggie garden. Want to help?”
“Not particularly.”
Kane wouldn’t ask. But Mel’s not Kane.
When Mel’s further attempts at conversation fall flat, she leaves to work in the garden. I stare moodily after her. My emotions are all over the place. One minute I’m enjoying the company of my kidnappers and going all gooey over the animals, the next minute I’m consumed with anger and resentment.
I sigh, knuckling my eyes. I’ve stepped into a whole other world of confusion.
59
AMY
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Tuesday, July 20
