A few weeks ago I experienced one of my most embarrassing and humiliating moments, and I will begin by setting the scene. It is a Tuesday in mid-May. It is noon. It is an unusually warm and sunny day, and I am alone at the donkey sanctuary where I volunteer.  I started my routine the same way I always do. I changed into my work clothes, greeted all the animals with a stroke or a scratch and a cheery ‘hello’ (not a requirement but something I think is polite) and then went into the tack room to look at the list of jobs. It’s pretty much the same every time; check all the animals have plenty of food and water, give the scruffiest donkeys a brush, wash any dirty tails, put fresh straw in the stables, and clean up their poo with a glorified pooper-scooper. Currently the farm has 16 donkeys, 2 horses, 3 ponies, 5 Shetlands, 3 goats, 2 sheep, 2 lambs, 6 rabbits, and 5 guinea pigs, so the variety of excreta range from small hard bunny balls to grape-sized goat globes to plum-sized donkey drop