Walking into the kitchen one morning I found the ould lad cooking the out of date sausages, no dumping of out of date stuff in our shop.

 “What you up to today” says he
“I thought I would clear the ditch at the back of the old house” says I
“Scrap that I have another job for you” says he – Oh Oh FML
“The Donkey’s feet need paring”

 Now a donkey’s hooves are a bit like your nails, they grow and if left they grow too long and get uncomfortable for the donkey. Usually performed every two or three months it required you to remove any loose substances from the hoof, trim the frog on the sole of the hoof into a healthy V shape and rasping the outer layers until the hoof is nice and tidy. Easy…

 Our donkey was never easy, he resented the manicure with a vengeance. The last time I performed this task he was in such a vicious mood it took me 3 hours and a bruised backside. You just didn’t lift his feet without first filling out your last will and testament.

 “No way” says I with feeling
“Needs doing” says the ould lad
“No way” says I
“Cruel on the donkey” says he
“No way” says I
“The tools are outside the back door” says he
 Sigh, just sigh….

 Right, plan of action. I gathered the tools and went down to the field, collected the donkey and brought him into the barn. I tethered him up keeping clear of his yellow teeth that were trying to strip the fingers off me.

 Head secured, I put a rope around his left rear leg and tied it to the side of the barn and went about doing the right rear leg. I picked myself up from where the flashing foot had dumped me and had words with the frigging donkey. The way he was tied he could not jump around and he only had the effective use of his right rear leg. But fecking effective it was. No way was I going to get this sorted.

 Two more attempts and my leg was beginning to go numb. Now Tommy Brown was the local blacksmith and I decided, feck it, I’ll pay to get it done and he can take the pain. I limped up the village past the shop and the ould lad was looking out the window. The look on my face must have prevented any comment because he stayed quiet.

 “Tommy, you busy” says I
“No” says he
“Donkey needs paring” says I
“Can’t you do it” says he
"No” says I
Lead on” says he gathering his stuff.

 We arrived down at the barn and Tommy proceeded to untie the donkey and leave him totally loose. Now Tommy wasn’t your typical blacksmith he was a small wiry man in his seventies who looked like a puff of wind would knock him over. He put his apron on and backed into the donkey and lifted his leg and put it between his. I was ready to catch him when the animal lashed out.

 The fecking little Shite of a donkey was as placid as anything, not a murmur, no movement and Tommy completed all four feet less than 20 minutes.

 “Nice quiet animal” says he
“Hrmmmph” says I

 I paid him and he ambled off. I stood looking at the donkey, and I swear, he put his tongue out and laughed at me before trotting out into the field