D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
December 2009
Donkey Business
At Lucy's Pasture, a donkey-rescue ranch near Deming, it's four-legged standing room only at the mangers.
By Jeff Berg
On 100 acres, just a smidge south and east of Deming, live Mary and Winn Kapping, and one of their three children, daughter Candice. They live a quiet, peaceful life. Winn is retired from the US Customs Service and Mary was once a respiratory therapist. Originally from Indiana, they, as many do, fell in love with southern New Mexico and moved here, living the last four years on this property, not too far from good and understanding neighbors.
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Lucys Pasture founders Winn (2d from
left) and Mary Kapping (right), with daughter Candice Meyer (left), volunteer Lyn Smith and Lucy the donkey. |
The Kappings have raised three children: Candice, a son who is serving in the Navy, and another daughter who is living in Indianapolis.
Oh, I've neglected to mention that the Kappings share their acres with 17 donkeys, 3 mules, 5 horses, 5 miniature horses and donkeys, 19 goats, 11 dogs and 12 chickens. Also a few ducks and geese, and Petunia the Pig, who refused to get up and acknowledge our presence during a recent visit to "Lucy's Pasture." Did I mention the six cats?
One thing that they don't welcome too much are rattlesnakes, such as the big, fat four-footer that blocked the road as he sunned him/her/itself just before the turnoff to their home on the day of my visit.
Always animal lovers, the Kappings now run Lucy's Pasture, which started as a rescue service for donkeys. But please, PLEASE do not plan on taking your donkey or any other critter to Lucy's, as they are unable to accommodate any more creatures, legged or feathered or otherwise at this time.
"We are one of seven licensed donkey and horse rescue operations in New Mexico, and even we are maxed out now," says Winn. "We can't have anymore. We are at our capacity, which is 30."
Wendell is the first-four legged beast I meet upon arrival. Mary explains that Wendell is a newcomer — a very recent newcomer — the first donkey born on the place. He is about thigh high, a bit shy at first, and still a bit unsteady when he does get up to greet us. He loves having his muzzle scratched, and his coat and mane are stiff and dusty. He is as sweet as can be as Mary suggests we kneel down so as to not look as intimidating, size-wise, to Wendell.
His mother, Rosa, watches us closely but does not make any attempt to interfere, which is amazing, since she still mistrusts humans.
"We found her in the desert with a rope around her neck, and think she was used for packing," Mary says. "We don't do any breeding here, so Wendell is a first."
Wendell leaves to go have a snack, courtesy of momma Rosa. "She'll nurse him for about six months. When he was first born, we had to bottle-feed him for the first three weeks, every two hours," Mary recalls with a note of exhaustion. "Rosa was filled with too much milk, and that was another issue."
In a nearby pen, a lanky German Shepard is play-racing with another donkey, Clyde. The dog, Reno, is a regular visitor, with his human, Bob, who helps the Kappings tend to the menagerie almost every day.
It all started with one donkey, Lucy.
"A neighbor came by and asked if we could take her donkey," Mary Kapping recalls. "She still loved it and it was well taken care of, but she could no longer afford to keep her. Word got around" — as it always does for such endeavors — "and then some other people wanted to give us their donkeys. One at a time they just started calling and being brought by. Then, Jackass Jill [aka Deming artist and author Laura Leveque, www.jackassjunction.net] said, 'Why don't you just start a donkey sanctuary?'" So they did.
The Kappings started Lucy's Pasture from scratch. In four years of operation, they have seen most everything.
"A lot of the animals that come here have been badly abused," says Winn Kapping.
Mary quickly adds, "But they never leave unless someone adopts them."
Donkeys, of course, used to be used for packing supplies and such, but Mary notes that doesn't happen much anymore, since the advent of ORVs.
Donkeys are smart. The Kappings have had to make special arrangements, shall we say, concerning the gates on their pens. Mary says with a note of humored annoyance, "They can open gates."
She also offers a lesson in Donkeys 101: They can live up to 40 years. They are sometimes used to guard herds of sheep, cattle and goats from coyotes, as their kick is not something welcomed by that regal songdog of the West; however, baby donkeys can sometimes be dragged off by coyotes, which means that Wendell gets an extra watchful eye. Gestation varies from 10-14 months, and many donkeys have the marking of a cross on their backs, which has always helped make them special to the pious residents of Mexico. "Donkey" is an all-encompassing name for any domesticated ass — two- or four-legged.
I am also surprised to learn a bit later that donkeys need less food than horses, and if fed too much, they can get sick. And they may be quicker than you thought, as their walking pace has been measured at 4-5 miles per hour, and a full gallop, although only for short distances, can reach 20 mph.
Donkeys will gang up on coyotes, and there was at least one case where a donkey picked up a menacing cougar, shook it, and gave it a toss.
Mary adds, "Lucy [the original donkey] once picked up one of our goats and shook it up."
We move on to the next pen to meet Clyde, who apparently would be much happier to be meeting a female donkey or other likely mate for, ahem, breeding, rather than us. He is excited, but not in the way we were on meeting Wendell.
Clyde is quiet and docile, gladly taunting Reno a bit. The dog has worn a track around the pen, while trying to play with him. Clyde is an old timer and Reno's best friend.
The Kappings next take us to another good-size pen that contains a mix of miniature equines — donkeys, mules and horses. The Kappings do have limits, however, and are not interested in housing llamas and especially not peacocks. Mary explains. "The noise they make makes them sound like they're dying. They're pretty, but"
She indicates the mixed herd of miniatures and says, "There were 15 miniature horses on this one ranch, and Rebecca Porter [a local animal lover and advocate] told us about them. We got them here, and they were in such bad shape that they didn't even know how to eat anymore. That miniature mule over there, the lady that owned him just moved away and didn't want him. We've found homes for the rest of the miniatures, but we'll keep taking care of the rest."
Mary points to the back of the pen at Molly, a beautiful white mule who arrived at Lucy's with a broken pelvis, a mysterious injury that may have been caused by an accident or a beating. "We couldn't prove it was abuse, so charges couldn't be filed against the former owner. He gave us a sorry song and dance."
Walter, another white donkey, stands quietly with Molly nose to tail, brushing flies off one another. Walter is old in donkey years, blind and suffering from arthritis. "He does okay," Winn Kapping says. "We leave him in this pen, and sometimes he will bump into the fence, but doesn't get hurt."
In a more open area are a number of horses, mostly standing, dozing or eating, although a couple of them, way in the back of the fenced area, are a little frisky. Clyde would be impressed. Some of the horses come to the fence to check us out or to fantasize about a handout, but one remains immobile near the back of the fenced area.
Winn explains that this particular animal was brought to them by the Bernalillo County Animal Control, which had rescued it. "They said the horse was 34 years old, and the owner didn't want it anymore. He said that the 'old-fashioned' way of getting rid of an unwanted horse or mule was to starve it and not give it any water. So, that's what he was doing."
The abused horse continues to stand quietly at the far end of the facility. Even though she has been tended to by a vet and is being fed and watered, she does not want any human company at this time. Who can blame her?
We head for another part of the sanctuary, where more donkeys stand nearby or munch lunch in another roomy pen. Mary Kapping points out that two of them are called Jethro and Ellie.
"They've been together for 20 years. Donkeys mate for life, and are often inseparable. She points at another pair standing nearby, a mother and daughter. "These two can be a little feisty," she says with a laugh. "The vet gave the mom a shot a while back, and the baby bit him on the shoulder."
Reno, the loopy German Shepard, is still trying to get Clyde involved in a race, but the now much less excited Clyde is not at all interested.
Volunteer Bob and daughter Candice are busy covering stacks of feed with tarps, since the wind has picked up and clouds are gathering for a possible late-season rain.
"A 4 x 4 x 8 grass bale lasts about a week," Bob says when asked about how much feed is needed to keep everyone in clover (so to speak). "The horses get alfalfa, and all told, we go through about a ton and half of feed a week, not counting grain."
And that ain't hay. Lucy's Pasture is operated entirely out of pocket and by donation. Two vets and a farrier visit on a regular basis, and all of the animals are well tended to medically — another expense that the Kappings handle.
They do receive some help from local grocery stores that sell to them at bulk. But it doesn't allow for much.
Mary laments, "If we can't afford them, then we can't keep them."
Adoptions are possible, although infrequent. Mary says that a lot of her informal adoption policy is intuitive, and she asks for a $250 donation. "That way, I will also know if they can actually afford to adopt an animal."
The next stop is an area where the smaller animals — mostly goats — are housed. Several of the 11 friendly dogs vie for attention in the large fenced yard nearby; some of the dogs are also available for adoption, while others are permanent residents.
But first, we try to meet Petunia, the Pig.
Comfortably napping in her own quarters, Petunia fulfills the imagined stereotype of a pig. Large, especially for a potbelly pig, Petunia is not about to get up to invite us in, so she remains splayed out in the clean hay of her shed.
"She was dumped off here and is not for adoption," Mary says. "I like to make her spaghetti."
Nearby are a rooster and the chickens, which net me a bonus — a box of ultra-fresh eggs to take home. There are 12 chickens, and none will ever end up as chicken fingers. Says Mary, "One of them was raised in Candice's bathtub for a while, and one of the 'girls' turned out to be a rooster."
Next are the goats, which outnumber everything else. One is perched on top of one of the sheds, giving us the eye, while some of the younger goats come up for a bit of attention, which they hope will involve food. Upon seeing that I don't have anything in my hands other than my notebook and pen, one young nanny decides to try to have my writing tools for lunch. "And she would eat them both," Mary says matter of factly, as I wrestle with the goat that was so cute a moment earlier.
More vigorous combat is taking place among the geese, one of which is 16 years old and had to be given up by her previous owner, an elderly lady who fell and broke her hip. "She couldn't get around very well after that, so we took it in," says Mary.
One duck in the small flock, which is a mix of ducks and geese, has an injured leg, and is kept in a small pen and shelter by itself. "As soon as they figured out that it was hurt, the others tried to kill it," Candice shares. Survival of the fittest, indeed.
Spike, another duck, so named for the Mohawk haircut-type feathers on top of his head he has always had, is being chased by a another duck, for reasons that only the ducks know.
Some of the goats, with their horizontal-pupil eyes, keep hanging around hoping for a tidbit, and several of them starting butting each other with their small horns. Nannies and billy goats both have horns. The one that tried to eat my notebook still has his eye on it, probably wishing he had a little mayo to make it go down smoother.
All of a sudden, there is a chorus of animal sounds — quacking, squawking, baa-ing and honking. Some of the dogs join in half-heartedly, and Reno comes by to see what the commotion is about. Nothing really, or at least nothing that is visible to humans. The Kappings all have noted sometime during this visit that each of their charges has his, hers or its own personality.
We talk some more after deciding to skip an adventure that may or may not allow us to visit with some of the six barn cats on the Kapping property.
"The day starts at 6:30 or when the light is up. We clean all of the pens every morning, and Bob is here every day, aren't you Bob?" Mary says as she turns to talk to him over her shoulder.
"Almost every day," Reno's human replies.
"There is still a lot to do, I want to build two new smaller barns and finish the other two, along with the new shelters," Mary says.
She confides, "I'd rather be with animals since they can't help themselves. Now that the [two-legged] kids are grown, I can really be a 'nut,' and I don't know what I'd do without it now. It's just kind of evolved, and it has all of these personalities."
While we look at Wendell one more time, as he tugs on his mom's teats, Mary makes sure Winn is within earshot, then adds, "I'd sell my husband just to get enough money to feed the donkeys."
Lucy's Pasture could use your help. You can donate online at www.lucyspasture.com or mail your tax-deductible donation to: 4745 Franklin Rd SE, Deming, NM 88030. Fun T-shirts are also available for sale, and there is also a flea market at the ranch the first weekend of each month. Call for details, 546-8399.
You are also welcome to visit, but please call first. Group visits from young and old are also encouraged.