This summer I went to The Donkey Sanctuary of Canada – a beautiful working farm where donkeys that have been abandoned or abused can live out their days in comfort. The Sanctuary’s website warns, “Be prepared to be charmed” for good reason.

The donkeys at the Sanctuary are used to visitors and seem to love being patted, brushed and generally adored.

On my first visit to the Sanctuary, a donkey named Misty took a shine to me. She laid her head on my chest, rubbing her ears and cheeks on me. Then she put her head on my shoulder breathing rhythmically in my ear. I was enchanted. I felt special, chosen.

A few weeks after that visit, I eagerly returned to The Donkey Sanctuary to see if Misty and I were still an item or if it had all been a fluke.

Spotting me, Misty strolled over and laid her big head heavily on my shoulder. I happily wrapped my hands around her ears and rubbed her forehead. This was proof to me that I was indeed the donkey whisperer.

Then one of the Sanctuary’s volunteers rushed over declaring “I am concerned about Misty’s behaviour. This is aggressive. Please step away!” She would not accept my protests that Misty and I had a special, cross-species love. Oh no. Eventually I was sorrowfully convinced to “move away from the donkey.”

And so, once again in my life, what I thought was love turned out to be nothing more than some ass trying to dominate me! Ba dum bum.

And here, my friends, is your wise nugget for this post. If my ego hadn’t been so thoroughly engaged, could Misty have made such an ass of me?