169. Superstorm Gus

Call FEMA: it’s an official state of disaster.  The Gus-driven gale that tossed the barn a few weeks ago looks like a balmy zephyr compared to this cataclysm.

We did determine that supernatural forces were not at work back then:  yes, Sandy found Gus’s stall door shut neatly, but she can’t swear that it was also latched, so probably he pushed it open without the aid of satanic intervention, and it simply swung closed behind him while he ravaged the barn aisle.  This latest devastation also involves a door swinging to, but the result is far worse.

This time I could almost swear that I properly engaged the latch of his stall.  But in my estrogen-deprived golden years I have a memory like a steel sieve, so I can’t be sure that I did or didn’t do anything.  Also his latch is — through every fault of his own — a bit loose and crooked, making it just a little tricky to shoot home.  Anyway, Gus jiggled it open and departed.

While he didn’t toss the barn aisle as thoroughly as last time, he did again push into the little kitchenette-lounge room. Its flimsy hollow-core door is closed by a string looped over a tack, so gaining entry is donkey’s play.  Here he again upended the wicker chairs, knocked over the little TV, etc., etc.  But this time the door had swung shut behind him, trapping him in a tiny room chockablock with furniture and donkey.  He panicked and, after purging his bowels and bladder, he bashed the door to smithereens in order to escape.  Here’s Sandy's first view:

Oh, but the demolition derby was just getting started.  Gus wanted out of the barn altogether, and when he found its big sliding doors sealed, he simply entered the attached arena.  There he discovered one door left open, leaving just a chain-link gate, which he learned years ago can be pushed apart, its bungee cord notwithstanding.  That’s how he squeezed out into the great outdoors.  Who can say how long he spent grazing and strolling, but probably sooner rather than later he decided to try ransacking the other barn.

Because he loves ransacking that barn, and because its ancient door could no longer fend off a stiff breeze let alone a determined donkey, Sandy and a friend worked long and hard, in the bitter cold a couple of months ago, to replace it with a thick, new door.  Gus must’ve been peeved that his usual entryway was blocked, but I’m sure he never wavered, never quailed.  Plan B is his go-to behavior with any fence, gate, or other barrier:  he systematically tests and probes it until he finds a weak spot.  Sure enough, nosing and shoving along the three-inch-thick half-wall running the length of the barn, he finally came to a section that had been removed and then replaced a few years ago.  His sweet spot!  He rammed with his chest and shoulders, putting his 700ish pounds behind it, and caved in that section of wall.  Here’s how Sandy found him, looking a bit weary from the effort but unharmed and unrepentent: