An offhand comment from my mother meant we suddenly owned a donkey. I loved him – but was embarrassed when I had to ride him to school
I
was four when Cocolo accidentally became part of our family, so my memories are a bit patchy and predominantly sensory (I still remember the pleasant feel of his furry ears). But my mum has filled me in on the details.
We’d gone to live in Jerusalem for a year as my dad was doing some work over there. For a Sunday treat we sometimes went to the American Colony hotel for a buffet lunch, and on one such occasion Mum was chatting with the doorman. A man was passing in the street leading a donkey, and Mum casually told the doorman that she’d always wanted a donkey.
A few days later there was a knock on the door of our flat; my dad answered to find a man with another donkey. “I believe you ordered this,” he said. “Oh no we bloody didn’t,” said my dad. “Oops,” said Mum. “It’s possible we inadvertently did.” “We want a donkey,” my elder sister, Sophy, and I shouted. We’d already fallen in love with him; he was brown and adorable and his ears felt nice. We called him Cocolo – after a donkey in a children’s book by Bettina Ehrlich. Cocolo moved into the garden we shared with our upstairs neighbours.
