I'm reading the sweetest little book called Travels in a Donkey Trap by Daisy Baker. At seventy-something years of age, she gets a donkey and cart to travel down to the sea and the nearby village. She lived in England at the early part of the twentieth century.
She would usually find herself daydreaming as 'Darkie' clopped along the path. Here's a small nugget where she talks about one of their outings: "When I am thinking over all this in the donkey cart along a quiet lane I may suddenly "wake up" and find that Darkie has stopped. Not to eat, not even to rest, for there is no reason to do so when we are not on a hill."
"Like me she seems to be just dreaming, her tall ears at slightly different angles, her large eyes looking at nothing, her body in repose between the shafts. A daydreaming donkey, and in the middle of a journey, too. But who am I to chide her? There are indeed a pair of us, drowsing in warm air, motionless, enclosed for the time being within ourselves, looking, no doubt, like last-century travellers carved on the road."
"I flick the reins with a gentle word for her, and as we move on again, I think what a pity it is that I cannot impart my thoughts to her, nor she to me. For I would love to know what she dreams about."
Isn't that sweet? I'd love to ride with her in the donkey cart down an English country lane with hedgerows on either side. I bet there'd be a hedgehog or two to see!
Note: I know this photo isn't a donkey, but it's the closest thing I could find. I don't know any donkeys!