I take all of this in stride. As an avid animal lover, I find his behavior endearing since I generally know how to control it and because I'm confident that I am the master of this particular beast. Yes - he's a biter, a surpriser, a puller, pusher, tugger, chewer. But 99% of the time, I know what he's about to do before he does it, and I'm prepared by pushing back or getting him in a little headlock to keep the offending teeth away from people's delicate bits.
99% of the time. That leaves a whole percentage point open for error. When you're talking about a donkey, that's a vast expanse. This long-winded story set-up leads us to a recent day at the land. Jer and I were patting the donkey herd through the "newly" built fence. At this particular moment, we were remarking on the wonderful invention of fences and the beautiful safety and freedom this fence afforded us so as not to always be worried about the donkey sneak attacks we'd grown so accustomed to. With the fence, we created a "controlled environment" in which The Humans exert their power and superiority over The Asses. Order was restored. The world was right. I was enthusiastically discussing the fact of how we so cleverly created a safe distinction between Us and Them; a designated animal space on these wild acres that had gone untended for so many years. At this precise moment I felt something grab me in the most unfortunate place. My eyes shot down in a panic to see that Boo had managed to quietly push his gigantic head through the narrow gate bars while we talked, had managed to slowly crane his neck waaaaaay out towards my chest, had managed to grab onto something and, once there, managed to tug backwards ever. so. slightly.
HOLY OUCH. Needless to say, I screamed and flicked him hard between the eyes until he finally let go, snorting proudly at this crowning attack to top all previous sneak attacks.
We called him Boo for his birthday and then Boo because of how he continually shows up and surprises us. But now? Now, we just call him Boob.