Henry’s Heavenly Day: Blue Skies, Sweet Treats, and Pure Joy
Some days on the farm are ordinary: feed the chickens, collect the eggs, sweep the barn. Other days, the sun shines just right, the breeze carries the smell of fresh hay, and the world seems to hit pause. This particular day was one of those rare, perfect days—and Henry the donkey made sure everyone knew it.
It started with the sky. A brilliant blue stretched over the pasture like a painted backdrop, the kind of sky that makes you want to pause, breathe, and maybe take a selfie—even if you’re covered in mud and hay. Henry, ever the morning enthusiast, greeted the sun with a bray so loud it echoed across the farm, as if announcing, “Good morning, universe! Today is mine!”
Breakfast was first on the agenda. While I sipped my coffee, Henry nuzzled me with a nudge that said, Hurry up, human—I smell something sweet. I laughed and held out a tiny treat: a sugar cube, his favorite indulgence. His eyes sparkled with sheer delight as he chomped it down like it was a gourmet feast. That tiny gesture—blue skies above, sweet treat in hand—set the tone for what became Henry’s heavenly day.
Next came a stroll across the pasture. Henry pranced in that way donkeys do when they feel the world is in perfect harmony, ears flicking, tail swishing, and hooves tapping in a rhythm that could only be described as “happy dance.” Chickens scattered in confusion, cows looked on with mild envy, and I couldn’t stop laughing at his over-the-top joy.
At one point, Henry spotted a pile of hay bales stacked like a mini fortress. Without warning, he launched himself onto the nearest bale, managing a precarious balance that defied all logic. From that height, he surveyed the farm with the solemnity of a king inspecting his kingdom. Then, with a dramatic bray, he leapt down and trotted over to me, as if to say, “Witness my glory, human!”
After a quick nap under the shade of the apple trees (because even heavenly days require rest), Henry’s final indulgence arrived: the ultimate treat—a carrot that was perfectly orange, slightly sweet, and just the right size for optimal munching. The way he savored it, slowly and deliberately, reminded me that pure joy isn’t about grand gestures—it’s about noticing the little things.
By the end of the day, I sat on the porch, watching Henry graze lazily in the late afternoon sun. The sky had turned a soft gold, and the air smelled faintly of hay and earth. He lifted his head, gave a final satisfied bray, and plopped down in the grass, looking as content as a creature could be.
It struck me that Henry’s joy was contagious. Blue skies, sweet treats, simple pleasures—he had a way of making everything feel brighter, lighter, and infinitely more hilarious. I realized that sometimes, the best days aren’t planned—they’re just lived, with laughter, love, and a donkey who knows exactly how to enjoy life.
