The Small Green Halter

All day the small train of donkeys had walked through the country lanes of central France. Laboring against rain and spring mud, they carried food and medical supplies to the German infantry fighting at the front. There were twelve donkeys in all led and looked after by thirteen-year-old Hans, who was too young to fight in the trenches, and by his grandfather, Ludwig, who was too old. This small band of donkeys had been taken from local French farmers and was the link between a supply base and an infantry unit. They carried food in baskets on their backs, and, because they were sure-footed and small, they were able to walk right into the trenches delivering rations as they went. The soldiers welcomed the donkeys, not just because they brought food but also because their gentle manner reflected a peaceful world, one in which bursting shells, guns and sudden violent death had no part. On more than one occasion, the donkeys had been forced to spend the night at the front because of ice and snow or heavy rain. The soldiers gladly took the small animals into their dugouts and lay down beside them, grateful for the warmth of their furry bodies. Now with heads held low and their long ears flat back against wind and driving rain, the donkeys at last turned into an empty cow barn, where they were to spend the night. Much like the cows, who had until recently lived there, they stood in front of the wooden manger and waited patiently. As they waited, each became the center of an ellipse of water that dripped off their tired, sodden bodies. Hans brought each some hay while Ludwig removed the large baskets and rope harnesses that held them. Soon, the contented sound of chewing filled the air of the old stone barn.