Too Much of a Good Thing

Short Story By Jackie Brewster

“Happy Christmas, Dad.” Molly, laden with bags of gifts, gave her father a hug.

“Before we go in, I need a quiet word with you about your mother.” Her father glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Why?” Molly frowned. Then she heard it, a low mournful braying. “That’s funny,” she said, “I thought I heard a donkey.”

“You did.” He grimaced. “It’s under the carport.”

There, next to the bins, was an old grey donkey regarding them balefully.

“Are you alright there fella?” Molly approached the animal cautiously. “What’s it doing here?”

“It just appeared here.” He shrugged helplessly. “And now I’m stuck with it.”

“You can’t keep a stray donkey.” Molly was horrified. “It’s probably escaped from the donkey sanctuary in the village, have you called them?”

“I was about to,” he said, shivering in his Christmas jumper. “But then your mother saw it.”

“And?” Molly had an awful feeling she knew where this was going. Molly’s mum loved donkeys. Over the years they’d bought her donkey tea towels, a donkey charm for her bracelet and a donkey teapot. Molly had even bought her, yet to be unwrapped, a donkey­shaped cushion for her armchair.

“Mum thinks this is her Christmas present,” Molly said flatly. “Doesn’t she?”

“She might have got that impression,” her father said sulkily. “And she seemed so thrilled, I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“You’ll have to tell her sometime,” Molly insisted. “There’ll be people looking for it.” The donkey brayed softly as though in agreement.

“How can I?” he protested weakly. “She said it’s just what she’s always wanted.”

“Why don’t you just give her your real Christmas present instead?” Molly suggested. “What have you bought her?”

“A set of donkey mugs,” he replied, “to match her teapot.”

“That might work,” Molly nodded, though she doubted it. She noticed movement through the kitchen window. “Don’t look now but she’s watching us.”

“Is she coming out?” he asked in alarm, just as Molly’s mum appeared on the back doorstep.

“Happy Christmas, darling.” She hugged her daughter warmly. “How do you like my present from your dad?”

“He’s very chatty,” Molly said brightly.

“I’m going to call him Gabriel.” Her mother stroked the donkey’s ears. “After the angel.”

“Very festive,” Molly agreed. “He does look hungry though.”

“There’s carrots in the shed.” Her mother was forever practical. “Be a love Jim, nip and fetch them?”

Molly’s father sloped off up the garden path, no doubt glad to get away.

“Don’t tell your dad, but I’ve called the donkey sanctuary,” her mother confided quietly. “They’re sending someone to fetch him now.”

“You knew it wasn’t your Christmas gift?” Molly felt lost. “Why pretend?”

“I saw your father wrapping those awful mugs.” Her mother laughed. “So I thought I’d wind him up a bit.”

“Awful?” Molly was shocked. “But you love donkeys!”

“You know, you can have too much of a good thing.” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully no one will dare buy me another donkey­-themed present after this.”

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