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“Yeah? What would my brat name a horse?” Knox steps back as a girl comes to lead the horse out.
“Was ‘Hung like a donkey’ taken?”
I have never seen a horse dick before, and this horse could nearly touch the floor with his.
“He retired last year and now spends his days fertilising females.”
“He's a fuck pony?” I want to touch it, just to check it's real, but that's a line I won't cross.
“Stud stallion. And he makes more money fucking mares than he ever did racing.”
“Horses are too big. I want to see Bog Cotton.” Duck's shoulders are taller than me; that dick is longer than my arm. I'm feeling a little inadequate.
“This way.”
He leads me past a row of giant race horses with weird names, to a stall with no head poking out of the top. That's more like it.
Knox opens the door and releases the thing inside. I have seen hundreds of cow photos, but they never gave the size justice. I was expecting something waist height, but no, Highland cow are as tall as me, wider than a horse and fucking horns. And this one has a sudden desire to lick my face.
“Knox, save me!” I stumble away from the reaching tongue.
“Naw, who's a good Bog Cotton?” Knox digs his fingers into the cow's fur and gives her side a hard scratch. She lifts her head up and towards him, and most importantly, moves away from me.
“OK. I don't want to see a donkey. I had no idea how big cows and horses were.”
“Damn, Porter. You are such a city boy.”
“Yeah, well. Mum never left the house. Me and Annie used to go to the pet shop to their hold a pet day. That’s the closest I ever got to having a pet.”
“You’ve still got to see the donkeys. Please,” Knox begs. “The horses are a business. The cow is a favour, but the donkeys are mine. I rescued them and you just have to meet them.”
“Are they small?”
“No. But they are lovely.”
“I'll look at them.” It's the least I can do. Knox is opening up about his life and I'm too terrified to see it. He regulates the drug supply in the area because he was born into the cartel. He rescues and adopts donkeys because he's still a nice guy. He rescued and adopted me too.
The door to the donkey house is on the corner and much larger than the individual stables. Which is good because there are about twelve donkeys inside. It would be easier to count them all if they stopped moving, but they are excited to get over to us.
Everything I know about donkeys is wrong. I thought they were tiny, like knee height, and that they were all grey with the black line on their back. These are bigger, some much bigger, and all sorts of colours. Brown, cream, black, white, and a few with the grey and the stripe. All of them have big ears and soppy eyes. Seeing Knox fussing over them, telling them by name to wait their turn, really opens my eyes. This man loves all of them.
“Thank you for showing me this.” I even go as far as touching one, which is softer than I imagined it to be.
“I don't often get to do the morning walk, but would you walk them to the paddock with me? It's not far, and you wouldn't have to do anything.”
“OK.”
Knox has enough staff to do this all themselves. They enter and put a bridle on each of the donkeys, even the tiny one that's only as tall as my hips. Which is still twice as tall as I thought.
“Can I walk that one?” I ask bravely, half hoping I'll be told to just watch for the first time. Instead, I get the lead placed in my hand.
Considering I've now decided all donkeys are beautiful, Knox is holding an ugly and scruffy donkey with sad eyes.
“That's Pansy. He came with that name.” Knox gives my donkey a stroke. “This is Matilda. She's the first donkey I rescued. She's thirty now.”
“That donkey is older than me,” I joke.
“She was giving kids rides on the beach in the blazing sun, all day every day. I was fifteen, my dad says it was the first time I really showed passion for something. I paid what the guy was earning in five years and told him to fuck off.”
