B. Morris Allen

The Orange Donkey

My name is Jules, I am a boy, 12 years old, and I live on a farm. When I saw Alfred (that was the only name that fit him), I knew I had to have him. I was on my way back from the town school, and I ran the rest of the way home. I slammed into the house and stood a few minutes panting.

Ma came out of the kitchen and said, “Why Jules, what’s the matter?”

I said, “Ma, can I have a donkey?”

“I’ll have to talk it over with your father.”

Well I was really impatient and I just couldn’t wait till Pa came home. Ma got to talking to him and it seemed as if she had forgotten my donkey. But then, all of a sudden, she said, “Bob,” (that was Pa’s name), “can Jules have a donkey?”

Pa thought it over and finally said that I could have a donkey if I paid for his food and for his medicine if he got sick. I would have rushed out to see him, if it hadn’t been getting dark.

All that night I dreamed that somebody had stolen or bought Alfred in the meantime. I rushed out to the farm right after school and yelled for joy when I saw that Alfred was still there. I bought him right then and there. But the next day Alfred’s old owner was at our farm and I thought that I would have to take Alfred back, but the man was only here to tell me something. He told me that it was a custom, to paint your new donkey your favorite color, and leave it that color for a week. Well, I thought about it and decided to paint Alfred orange. So the next day I went out and bought a can of orange paint.

Well, I pretty well covered Alfred with orange paint but he didn’t seem to mind. At the end of the week I tried to take the paint off poor Alfred, and soon found out that it wouldn’t come off! I had used the wrong kind of paint! Since that day Alfred has always been known as the Orange Donkey