The Keeper of the Watch

When Taquito arrived at the ranch, he was so skinny he couldn't possibly be a "Burrito"—so we called him Taquito.

There was no "reason" to have Taquito at the ranch. He served no "purpose." But Taquito needed a home, and what better home than a ranch?

His career had been in tourism. He came from Tijuana, a white donkey painted with black stripes—a Zonkey. For years, he had posed for tourist photos along the famous Calle Revolución. When he came to the ranch, the black stripes faded and Taquito finally got to be a donkey. Every now and again, we’d saddle him up for a trip to the beach where he’d pose with small children and eat cookies. But mostly, he just got to be a donkey.

My favorite memory of Taquito was at the ranch the day Charly died.

Charly was a one-day-old foal who had failed to thrive. In the early hours of dawn, it became clear he wasn’t going to make it. We got down on the ground with him. I held his head on my lap. Seven-year-old Carlitos, Charly’s namesake, kneeled next to me. José slowly, gently milked Choco, Charly’s mom, collecting the milk in a plastic cup. Choco stood perfectly still, even though milking mares is not common practice. I dripped the milk into Charly’s mouth, hoping for a revival. Charly took his last breaths there on my lap. The three of us were on the ground next to him. His mom, Choco, was standing above.

And Taquito.

The entire time, Taquito stood there. Keeping watch. He didn’t move. He didn’t fidget. He held the space for that sacred moment.

That was Taquito.

Yesterday evening, we fed the horses in the parcela—the field where they live. Fifteen minutes later, we drove back past. Taquito was on the ground, dead. It happened fast. He didn’t suffer. We covered his body with a blanket until it could be moved to the ranch for burial.

This morning, as I walked by the parcela, Sorpresa and Pasadita, two young fillies, stood over him. Taquito had been their babysitter since they were foals. He was their buddy.

Now, it was their turn to keep watch. Their turn to hold the sacred space as they stood over his body.

Rest in peace, Taquito. You will be missed.