The Old Gal Is Slipping

This morning, I looked out the window and saw the hay truck skid up the icy farm road. The donkeys heard the noise and made a beeline for the driver. He got out of the truck, nudging through the animals, and opened the gate. My breath caught a little as he returned to the truck and drove forward. Would the animals follow him to the barn or sprint through the gate, into the frozen yard? The truck rumbled ahead. And the donkeys trotted onto the  driveway, a place too slick for man or beast.

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