Oh joy. Another day. Another Hairfoot.
Just look at him. All muscle and fluff. You'd think with calves like that, he'd trot along happily on his own. But no. He needs a ride. And who better than poor old Eeyore?
And the brushing... What’s the point? Soon enough, his big muddy feet will smear all over me. 'Grooming the donkey,' he says. He probably thinks it’s bonding. I think it’s preparation for indignity.
Still... I suppose it’s better than being ignored.
Barely.