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There's a donkey maybe 3/4 of a mile away from me as the crow flies, on a smallholding at the edge of some disused farmland. His occasional braying comes loud and clear when it's quiet and the wind is in the right direction and I've come to think of it as a kind of Taoist chant, a reminder of the loneliness and absurdity of existence. He's a feisty wee number and comes barrelling over whenever I walk past the fence adjoining his land. I gave him a parsnip the last time I saw him and asked him to keep up the good work.