I don’t see why that rood norty little Morris should be the only donkey foal to get his silly diary on the internet. I may be a day younger than Morris, but as a jennet I’m much more sensible than a silly boy donkey, so here’s my diary.
37 degrees! I’m flopped out in the dust with mummy Matilde. Even the frogs in the cisterna have gone quiet. But, can you believe it…? The hyperactive Rabit brings all his woodworking tools down to the field and starts sawing, hammering, drilling, swearing and swatting flies, and eventually a badly constructed wooden monstrosity appears at the other end of the field.
Rubi stands there watching the whole procedure, hoping to get the Rabit’s approval for her intelligent curiosity. Silly mare.
“Hello, Rubi,” says the Rabit in his patronising way. “What are you doing?”
Eating straw and looking at you, twit. Just look at that Rubi trying to be his favourite donk with her big eyes. Can’t she see I’m the one with the nicest slim legs in this field? And I’m the intelligent one who knows when it’s a full moon. (Well, mummy Matilde told me really.)
So, the Rabit finally finishes hammering, screwing, swearing at the flies, swearing at his tools, and stands back to admire his handiwork. It is a big box with plastic-coated chicken wire over the top. Big deal. We all go over to take a look at it. He has put alfalfa inside it but I can’t get to it because of the chicken wire. What a bad design!
“It’s a manger,” says mummy Matilde. “You have to put your head through the slats.”
“What? The Rabit’s made us a manger?” I look askance. “Where’s the Baby Jesus then? Where are the Three Wise Men?”
“Three Wise Men?!” exclaims mummy Matilde, with a snort. She’s a bit of a feminist in her way. “You must be joking!”
Mummy and I manage to eat our alfalfa but can’t quite see the point of having it in a manger. It would be much easier on the floor as usual, where we can all trample the food and piss over it.
“Lovely manger,” says Rubi, munching the alfalfa while gazing sycophantically at the Rabit.
Oh yes, “Lovely manger darlings“! I suppose Rubi went to some posh Swiss finishing school for young jennets, where everyone gets taught to eat out of mangers. Tart.