Six Dogs...and a Donkey

Adventures in Fuerteventura

In February 2019 I went on a solo budget adventure to Fuerteventura, one of the the Canary Islands (part of Spain but off the coast of Africa, near Morocco). There I stayed for a month in an amazing little enclave in the desert, owned by an Italian couple. I had my own area down a small hill from the main buildings with a beautiful yurt, a bathroom and shower, and large bunkie that was a self-contained kitchen/living room…all for my sole use. Up the hill was the main area with a large building divided into four apartments, the owners’ house, and an attached common area with a communal kitchen/dining room and hang-out space.
Our language differences (the owners spoke Italian with a smattering of English, the other guests spoke only Italian or Spanish, and I spoke English with some very broken Spanish) as well as the location of the AirBnb (way out in the middle of a desert island with no bus route connecting it to the coast and I with only a rented mountain bike) presented many interesting challenges and adventures.
But my first challenge on this adventure was a small and unexpected one.
I present to you…

SIX DOGS…AND A DONKEY:

When Luca picked me up in the city on my first day and we were driving back to the Airbnb, he told me that he and his wife have six dogs, four of which came with them from Italy. And a donkey.
“Italian donkey,” he said. “He come on boat.”

A donkey! Cool. I love donkeys. And I did love this particular donkey for the first five minutes that I knew her. Until I got up close enough to pet her nose and she reached slowly over the fence, bared her long yellow teeth, grabbed a mouthful of my favourite shirt, started chewing it, and wouldn’t let go.
I tugged. She held on tighter.
I stroked her nose and gently entreated her to release me. She dug her front feet into the ground and leaned backwards.
I looked over my shoulder through the window into the common area, hoping no one was watching the new girl tussle with the donkey. She started grinding my shirt between her teeth. I stood helplessly and stared at her. She stared back.
Finally, for no reason that I could ascertain, she decided to let go, spitting my sodden shirt out in disdain and moving on to graze on some bushes. Bored maybe. I carefully patted myself down and strolled nonchalantly back to my quarters.

I have not hung out with the donkey since. She eyes me occasionally with a glint in her eye and I make a wide berth.
And yet, and YET...she still manages to insinuate herself into my life, daily. How? Because donkeys, or at least this particular donkey, have another particularly unendearing quality that I was soon to discover.

The first night, as I lay cozily in my yurt listening to the gentle sound of crickets, a noise rose out of the dark that lifted me several inches off my mattress. I sat bolt upright, clutching my blankets to my chest, looking around wildly. There was silence, and then the noise started again. After it stopped, several minutes went by as my heart regained its natural rhythm, and I slowly realized that the donkey had struck again.
A donkey’s noises defy description. Or, rather, THIS donkey’s noises. I shouldn’t speak for them all.
This is not a braying sort of sound. It’s more like a zombie from the apocalypse, laughing a kind of inhuman laughter combined with a rasping bark. Or like the hooting of a gorilla with laryngitis having its stomach pumped. Or someone having a weird and very loud orgasm. I don’t know what to tell you. I put earplugs in and lay back down. …still audible.

THE DONKEY AUDIO (taken from my yurt in the middle of the night, far far away from the donkey yard)

Every night I go to bed with fingers crossed, hoping that I’ll be asleep before she starts. And every morning I wake to her call...a deranged rooster on steroids. In between her reveille and taps she peppers the day with odd hoots and growls whenever the dogs start barking.

Which briefly brings us to the six dogs, God love ‘em. The AirBnb is located in a rather unique desert valley, where sounds echo back and forth and then disappear faintly into the surrounding hills. One man yelling sounds oddly like several men. One dog barking sounds like a noisy pack...in surround sound. And we have SIX dogs. Six very loud, BARKY dogs. Sometimes it’s really, really peaceful in my yurt. Crickets, cooing doves, and wind. Other times...less so.
I wasn’t quite prepared for six echoey dogs and a maniacal hooting donkey.

Still, don’t get me wrong...I do love being surrounded by animals. Noisiness aside, these are all lovely, mild-mannered, gentle animals (donkey excluded), and I’m actually really grateful for their presence.
But let’s just say that I don’t really love donkeys anymore.