Boggs Funny Farm’s Donkeys: Hilarious Help Needed!
If you’ve ever thought donkeys were calm, quiet farm animals who simply graze and mind their business—please, come spend a morning at Boggs Funny Farm. Our donkeys are less like humble work animals and more like mischievous toddlers in oversized pajamas. And let me tell you, they require more “help” than a reality TV star on laundry day.
It all began when I innocently carried out a bale of hay for breakfast. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong. The second the donkeys spotted me, the calm morning exploded into a braying chorus that could wake the entire county. Their cries weren’t polite requests; they were full-blown demands, like I was late delivering a five-star room-service tray.
The biggest culprit was Henry, our resident hay hog. He has a special talent for wedging his nose directly into the bale before I can even set it down. Meanwhile, his partner-in-crime, Daisy, sneaks behind me and unties the back of my jacket with her teeth. Have you ever tried balancing 50 pounds of hay while also fighting off a donkey determined to undress you? Not exactly the glamorous farm life Instagram promises.
And then there’s Leroy. Oh, Leroy. If Henry is the hay hog and Daisy is the prankster, Leroy is the escape artist. While the others munch, he’s busy testing the fence like a Jurassic Park velociraptor. Pushing, nudging, kicking—he’s certain there’s a world of snacks beyond the gate, and one of these days, he’s going to find it.
I try to restore order, but it’s like herding comedians instead of animals. One morning, Leroy got his head stuck in a feed bucket, running in circles like a headless horseman while Henry and Daisy looked on as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. I finally wrestled the bucket free, covered in slobber and dust, only for Henry to immediately steal my glove and take off like a thief in the night.
“Help!” I wanted to yell to the heavens, but really, what could anyone do? These donkeys don’t need feeding help, fencing help, or grooming help—they need a full-time referee, therapist, and maybe even a comedy coach.
Neighbors have learned to tune out the chaos, though occasionally someone will stop by just to watch the show. “You really should sell tickets,” one of them told me as Daisy tried to shove her entire head into my pocket for treats. Honestly, they might be right. Watching these donkeys is pure entertainment—messy, loud, unpredictable, but absolutely hilarious.
By the time breakfast is over, I look like I’ve been through battle: hair full of hay, clothes tugged loose, boots muddy, and pride in tatters. The donkeys, however, look smug and satisfied, bellies full, eyes twinkling like they’ve just pulled the world’s best prank.
So yes, Boggs Funny Farm’s donkeys are lovable disasters. They keep me on my toes, test my patience, and provide endless material for laughs. But as much as I joke about “needing help,” the truth is—I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Their chaos is our comedy, and every bray, every bucket mishap, and every jailbreak attempt is just another reminder that life on the farm is supposed to be funny.
