Henry’s Hilarious Morning Munchies!
Some mornings on the farm start quietly, with the gentle crow of a rooster or the soft rustle of hay. Not on Henry’s watch. At precisely 6:05 a.m., Henry the donkey launched his own personal morning announcement: a bray so loud it could wake the entire county. And with it came the beginning of Henry’s Hilarious Morning Munchies.
I stumbled out in my oversized robe, clutching a cup of coffee that was already lukewarm from the early chaos, only to find Henry in the middle of the yard, staring at the feed bin like it was a five-star buffet waiting exclusively for him. The goats and chickens, sensing that the main act was about to perform, hovered nearby, plotting to sneak the best bites.
Breakfast started innocently enough: a handful of pellets tossed gently into the bin. Henry, however, had other plans. With a dramatic flick of his ears and a perfectly timed bray, he launched himself forward, scattering hay and pellets across the yard like confetti at a parade. One particularly ambitious chicken ended up mid-bucket, peering out with a look of pure delight—or mild terror; it was hard to tell.
Next came the carrots. Normally, I dole them out one at a time, but Henry’s enthusiasm could not be contained. He grabbed three at once, leaving me scrambling to keep up. One carrot bounced toward a goat, another vanished mysteriously (we suspect a chicken heist), and the final carrot ended up triumphantly lodged in Henry’s mouth as he strutted around like a tiny four-legged king. He paused dramatically at every nibble, giving me the unmistakable impression that this was not just breakfast—it was a performance.
The hilarity reached its peak when Henry discovered the water trough. Testing the water with one hoof, he stepped in fully, sending a splash across the yard that soaked nearby hay and startled a goat into a leap worthy of the circus. Chickens scattered, braying was replaced by clucking protests, and I clutched my coffee cup like it was the last lifeline on a sinking ship. Meanwhile, Henry looked around proudly, as if to say, “You’re welcome, human. This is art.”
Even amidst the chaos, there’s a rhythm to Henry’s mornings. Every bray, every nibble, every dramatic glance seems perfectly choreographed to maximize hilarity. By the time the sun crested the barn roof, Henry had polished off his breakfast, the goats had enjoyed theirs, and the chickens had claimed their rightful scraps. All that remained was a yard littered with hay, a few stray pellets, and a very content donkey flopped in the grass, sighing with satisfaction.
Moments like these remind me why mornings on this farm are never dull. Henry doesn’t just eat—he entertains. He turns ordinary chores into comedy, and he somehow makes every breakfast feel like a grand performance. And for anyone watching, it’s impossible not to laugh along.
Sunrise, coffee in hand, animals full and happy, and Henry finally resting—it’s chaos, yes, but it’s the best kind of chaos. Because on this farm, breakfast isn’t just a meal. It’s a show. And Henry? He’s the star.
