honey and sting

Somewhere in rural Connecticut lives a horse named Good Boy, and a miniature donkey named Teddy. When Teddy brays, which he does at dawn, and then again, whenever he feels like it, it sounds at first like a baby crying. Then, his nostrils flared and his sides heaving in and out, he runs through the full repertoire of his bray. Every donkey's bray is different, my friend living here tells me, as different as a signature or a fingerprint for humans. Teddy was brought in to keep Good Boy, a large, beautiful late gelding, company, but Good Boy so far is showing no signs of pal'ing up to Teddy. Good Boy is learning dressage, a kind of eqestrian ballet. He is a very impressive horse with a dark coat and a velvety-soft nose. He greets visitors with a soft snort of warm air. Teddy is a fraction of Good Boy's size. He has large, beautiful brown eyes with huge black eyeliner lines around it. His coat is variegated shades of brown, with almost curly fur on his back along his spine, and smoother fur elsewhere. He approaches anyone entering his pen and likes to be pet along his neck and head, leaning in if he is really enjoying it. Sometimes he goes over to the fence adjoining Good Boy's pen, and they touch noses, but when my friend put them in together, Good Boy chased Teddy and nipped several hanks of fur off his back. Now they mostly ignore each other, but we think Teddy is still hopeful of making friends. He starts each day braying at dawn. Maybe he thinks, "today is the day."