BIRD LIFE IN WINTER 91 



the stony hills. Cows and horses are occasionally 

 seen, but they do not strike one as native to the place 

 as the donkey does. He is a sort of link between the 

 homestead and the wilderness. The donkey is man's 

 poor, patient, anciently-broken creature, but when he 

 roams abroad in quest of that tough and juiceless 

 fodder on the desolate heath and hillsides a food 

 thought good enough for the likes of him, or the likes 

 of he, as his master would say he fits into the scene 

 as the cow and horse certainly do not. He is not so 

 big, and his rough, dirty or dusty coat of dull indeter- 

 minate greys and earthy and heather-like browns makes 

 him harmonise with his surroundings. His long- 

 drawn reiterated droning and whistling cry strikes one, 

 too, as a voice of the wild incult places. On this 

 account I have a very friendly feeling for him, and 

 was always pleased at meeting with donkeys in my 

 solitary walks, which was often enough, as most per- 

 sons keep one or more in these parts. He is a good 

 servant, and costs nothing to keep. Frequently I turn 

 aside to speak to them, and as a rule they turn their 

 backs or hinder parts on me, as much as to say that 

 they have enough of human beings in the village : 

 here they prefer to be left alone. But when I produce 

 an apple from my pocket they at once think better of 

 it, and gather round me very much interested in the 

 apple, and quite willing for the sake of the apple to let 

 me rub their noses and pull their ears. 



One day, walking softly through a thicket of very 

 high furze bushes, I came to a small green open space 

 in which were three donkeys, one lying stretched out 



