On most farms, donkeys are the dependable background characters: strong, steady, hardworking. But not on mine. No, my donkey—Henry—isn’t satisfied with pulling his weight quietly. He’s a four-legged comedian, a barnyard prankster, and the star of every chaotic story I never planned to have. Forget late-night TV—this donkey’s got jokes, and he delivers them daily.
Take mornings, for instance. Most animals wait patiently for breakfast. Not Henry. He insists on performing his “wake-up routine” at 6 a.m. sharp. It begins with braying at top volume—loud enough to make roosters jealous. Then, when I stumble out in my pajamas, Henry greets me with what can only be described as a smirk. If I’m carrying the feed bucket, he sidesteps just enough to stick his nose in and steal a mouthful before the chickens even know it’s coming. It’s less “feeding time” and more “comedy improv.”
And he’s got impeccable timing. One morning, I tripped over a hose and landed flat on my back, the bucket of feed scattering everywhere. Before I could sit up, Henry strutted over, gave me a long, judgmental look, and started eating the spilled feed—right off my shirt. If donkeys could laugh, I swear he was doubled over.
Then there’s Henry’s knack for pranks. He’s figured out how to unlatch the gate with his nose. I discovered this the hard way when he broke into the garden, sampling every tomato plant like it was a buffet line. He didn’t eat them all—oh no, that would’ve been too polite. He took a bite out of each one and left the rest, just to make sure I knew who was in charge.
And let’s not forget the time Henry decided to interrupt a farm tour. A group of families had gathered near the barn while I explained the daily chores. Just as I started my big “educational moment,” Henry trotted over, brayed louder than I thought possible, and shoved his head into my pocket—where, unfortunately, a half-eaten granola bar was hiding. He yanked it out, chewed with dramatic flair, and then turned to the crowd like a seasoned comic hitting his punchline. The kids loved him. The parents laughed harder than they laughed at me. Henry stole the show.
Even the other animals are in on his act. The chickens scatter when Henry starts prancing, the goats chase after him like sidekicks, and the dogs just roll their eyes. He’s the self-appointed ringleader of farm shenanigans, and somehow, he always drags me into the bit.
But here’s the truth: for all the chaos, I wouldn’t trade Henry for anything. His antics make the long, messy days bearable. He reminds me to laugh when chores go sideways, when fences break, or when I end up knee-deep in mud. Sure, he’s mischievous. Sure, he’s a menace to unattended snacks. But he’s also proof that humor can live anywhere—even in a donkey’s bray at sunrise.
So, while other farms might brag about prize-winning livestock or top-quality produce, I’ll brag about Henry, the farm’s resident stand-up star. Because this donkey’s got jokes—and every day with him is one long, hilarious routine.
