When I was 18, my obsession with horses was at an all-time high. I quit my day job to work as an assistant manager for a barn manager who was also my personal trainer. She was a brilliant and brave rider who I aspired to be. And my job at the barn mostly meant my days consisted of shoveling manure, hauling hay, watering and feeding in the morning and evening, helping with riding lessons, and saddling and cleaning up rental horses. And I loved every minute of it. I kept the 25 stalls for our boarders clean, and their horses fed and watered. If they wanted their horse to go out in the pasture daily, I did that too. It was an amazing time in my life… 40 years ago.
I loved that job more than any other that I ever had.
Except for Abner and Abe.
Meet the Outlaws 
Abner and Abe were a bonded pair of pint-sized white donkeys—one solid white, the other white with gray patches. They were brothers, they were spoiled rotten, and they were mischievous trouble in a small package. They were also two of the funniest, most calculated criminals I have ever encountered in barn life because they were also very smart.
These donkeys belonged to an old-school horse trader who looked the cowboy look but talked the Georgia Southern gentleman. White hair always neatly combed, clean pressed shirt with a bolo tie. A true Southern gentleman of the 1940s and old-time small horse trader. He bought and sold horses all over north Georgia. As a small-time trader, he simply supplied grade stock for trail riding, lesson horses, or pets. He had a big heart for people but was a shrewd trader who left more expensive trading to the big barns. And his personality and no-nonsense approach to horses made him the perfect handler for his donkeys Abner and Abe.
The Great Deception
The donkeys' official job was pulling a cute little wagon for parades and special events. I always found this hilarious because when they were home, they were not exactly the precious, docile creatures you’d picture happily clipping down Main Street.
They were a two-man wrecking crew.
These two rascals ran the pasture. They would chase the full-sized horses away from the gate at dinner time, kick, bite, and execute coordinated tactical strikes with the head mare at the gate. You quickly learned to have a healthy respect for their hooves, and a downright terrifying respect for their teeth.
Every now and then, they’d try to trick you—put on a sweet act, making you think, “Oh, maybe I’ll go in their stall and brush them today!” Big mistake. If you entered that stall without a peace offering of food, you were lucky to escape with your shirt intact.
Breakfast and Pandemonium
I was completely comfortable around horses. I could read their body language, brush them, and generally figure out what they were thinking. Horses made sense.
Abner and Abe did not. My primary memory of those two involves their ears pinned flat against their heads in permanent sports-mode.
Part of my daily routine was feeding and watering the dynamic duo. Their stall connected to a fenced chute that led out to the main pasture. The protocol was simple:
- Feed them.
- Block off the barn entrance.
- Open the pasture gate.
- Open stall door.
- Stand back behind the swinging stall door.
They would come flying out of that stall like heat-seeking missiles—shaking their heads, snapping their jaws, and bucking wildly, absolutely thrilled for the freedom and chaos. Any horses in the way moved pretty quickly away from the gate. Or watched with interest as they kicked and galloped their way out.
The Donkey Whisperer
Their owner, the horse trader, was matter-of-fact with them and completely unfazed by their shenanigans. He’d stroll right into their stall while the rest of us watched from a safe distance, holding our breath.
“Hey! Hey now!” he’d bark.
And just like that, the demons would vanish. They’d instantly behave, let him slip their halters on, lead them out of the barn and right up the ramp into the trailer. The little wagon would get loaded into the truck bed, and off they’d go to a parade, looking like the most respectable, angelic little donkeys you’ve ever seen.
Then they’d come home, get unhooked, and immediately return to normal Abner and Abe.
40 Years Later...
I worked with a lot of horses back then. Some were stunning, some were difficult, some were gentle, and some taught me lessons I didn’t realize I was learning at the time.
But more than 40 years later, it’s those two little monsters I often think about. Maybe it’s because they had so much personality. Maybe it’s because they were just dangerous enough to keep me on my toes. Or maybe it’s just because the world has never seen another pair quite like Abner and Abe.
