Ruby, Trust, and the Slow Work of the Homestead

Yesterday evening, as the Tennessee air began to cool and the shadows stretched across the homestead, we spent a little time with Ruby.

Ruby came to us on Father’s Day as a gift for Billy. For over a year, he had talked about wanting a donkey, and now this sweet girl has become part of our family.

She has only been with us a short time, but she has already found a place in our hearts.

Ruby is gentle.

She is curious.

She is not afraid of people.

But she is not quite ready for snuggles yet.

She watches.

She studies.

She observes.

Every movement, every sound, every interaction seems to be carefully evaluated before she decides what she thinks about it.

From everything we’ve learned, donkeys are remarkably intelligent animals. They don’t simply react. They assess. They consider. They decide whether a situation or a person can be trusted.

And honestly, there is something I admire about that.

Yesterday we were trying to coax Ruby into allowing us to brush her. We offered treats, spoke softly, and spent time simply being present. She would come close, investigate, and then retreat a little. Curious, but cautious.

Progress isn’t measured in miles with animals like Ruby.

It’s measured in inches.

One step closer.

One moment longer.

One small sign of trust.

There are certainly people who would tell us there are faster ways. We’ve heard plenty of advice about forcing compliance, making an animal submit, or simply showing it who’s in charge.

But that isn’t who we want to be.

Our goal, God willing, is to gentle her.

Not break her.

There is a difference.

Trust cannot be demanded.

It must be earned.

That takes time.

It takes patience.

It takes consistency.

And perhaps that is one reason I enjoy homestead life so much. The homestead is constantly teaching lessons that apply far beyond gardens and animals.

Seeds don’t grow overnight.

Marriages don’t strengthen overnight.

Faith doesn’t mature overnight.

And trust certainly isn’t built overnight.

Everything worthwhile seems to grow slowly.

As I watched Ruby yesterday, cautiously approaching for another treat before backing away to think about it again, I couldn’t help but smile.

In many ways, she was doing exactly what she should do.

She was learning who we are.

And we were learning who she is.

That is how relationships begin.

Not with force.

But with trust.

The truth is, we don’t keep animals simply because they are useful. We keep them because we genuinely love them.

Do our chickens provide eggs? Absolutely.

Do rabbits contribute to our food supply? Yes, even rabbit meat.

Do animals have a practical purpose on a homestead? Of course.

But they also bring something that can’t be measured in dollars, pounds, or production.

They bring joy.

They bring personality.

They bring life.

And sometimes they teach us lessons we didn’t know we needed.

For now, Ruby remains a little cautious, a little watchful, and a little unsure.

And that’s okay.

We’ll keep showing up.

We’ll keep offering treats.

We’ll keep speaking gently.

We’ll keep building trust one day at a time.

Because some things are worth doing slowly.

And a friendship with a donkey might just be one of them.

---

“Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel.”
Proverbs 12:10 (ESV)