by Timmy Reed Joel Timothy “This obsession with donkeys has got to stop,” my mother told me. I lowered my head and looked at the dirt. There were little plastic mule faces on my shoelaces, clamping them shut because they were always coming untied. The mules had long floppy ears and were supposed to look stubborn, but to me they looked sad. She was probably right, I realized. We had been at the park for hours and I had been talking near constantly since we left the house, neve