How Solomon Donkey Saved the World
Bob Livingston sat at his breakfast table, sipping coffee and watching the video feed from a security camera on the West Road out of the Donkey Hotel. Nothing much was happening, at least so far. Livingston glanced again at his newspaper, but his gaze soon returned to the video screen.
Solomon Donkey looked in on his friend and guardian through the open kitchen window for some time, not without curiosity. It had been two weeks since Solomon’s return from Washington, DC.
At the request of the American Secret Service, Solomon had traveled to the United States. The US President had lost the ability to understand human speech, but mysteriously could understand Donkeys. After they confirmed that Solomon could converse with the President, the kindly donkey thought that he would be able to help pass along instructions from the President’s advisors. At the last minute, the Vice President called it off, simply because Solomon was a donkey. Solomon was happy to return to his home at the Donkey Hotel, East of the Canadian town of Kamloops, but he did worry from time to time about how the US President was getting along.
“Haw haw-hee haw-n?” brayed Solomon at last.
“I don’t know what’s going on, just yet,” replied Livingston. He tapped his newspaper. “What I do know– Air Force One landed at Kamloops Airport again, last night. The Secret Service Agents might be coming back to visit us. I can’t be sure...”
Livingston’s attention was caught by a dust cloud at the edge of the security camera feed. A black dot in its centre resolved into a black car, pulling a black horse trailer.
“Never mind Solomon. Now I am sure.” Livingston set down his coffee cup and got up from the table. “Let’s go meet them.”
2.
The Black sedan pulling a black horse trailer, pulled to the side of the gravel road and stopped. When the black-suited agents got out of the car, Bob waved a hand in greeting. Solomon flicked one ear, but remained silent as they approached.
“Welcome back to the Donkey Hotel,” Bob said. Solomon nudged him, and Bob continued. “What’s going on?”
Bob shook hands with the first agent. It was hard to tell by looking at the agent’s face, what with the dark sunglasses and all, but the agent seemed sad and a bit ashamed as he looked down at his dusty black shoes.
“We– We need...” stammered the agent, “If it’s possible, we need to borrow Solomon again. Something has come up. We need to communicate with the President again.”
“I thought you were going to find an Elephant to talk with him,” said Bob. “I remember! You said, ‘an American-born elephant.’ How did that go?”
“Honestly, it’s bad,” continued the agent. “The President spends all day fiddling around with models and eating McDonalds. He seems to like making paper hats from the Washington Post. His staff tries to talk to him, but he doesn’t seem to understand them at all.”
“What about the elephant?” asked Bob.
“Oh, we found several of them,” continued the Agent. “Only one of them was small enough to get through the doors to the interior of the White House. We thought it was going to work at first. The elephant trumpeted, and the President seemed to be listening closely to it.
Then he just started laughing.”
“The President was laughing at the elephant?” Bob queried. “Why was he laughing?”
“The White House Elephant Interpreter told us it was telling him Dad jokes.”
“Elephant Interpreter...Dad jokes?” Bob seemed confused.
“Yeah, Dad jokes.” said the Agent. “You know, ‘How do you know if an elephant’s hiding something? –Check in his trunk.’ That sort of thing.”
Bob groaned, and the Agent continued. “Here’s another one. ‘How can you tell if there’s an elephant in the room? The evidence piles up.’ That’s the one that made the President laugh–And then the elephant let a big pie flump out right on the Oval Office floor.”
“So...” Bob was confused, “The President actually could understand the elephant?”
“Yes. Yes he could,” said the Agent. “But the elephant was only interested in telling jokes. He wouldn’t pass any other messages to the President.”
“It doesn’t sound so bad,” commented Bob. “At least the President has some hobbies to occupy his time. If he’s not hurting anyone...”
The agent sighed, and looked back down at his shoes. “There is one problem,” he continued. “We’ve lost something important. We need Solomon’s help to find it.”
3.
“So you can’t tell me what this lost thing is?” Bob asked.
“Uh, no sir. It’s a matter of US National Security. I’m sorry.”
“Will it put Solomon in danger?”
“Oh no! No danger at all,” said the Agent. “The President has just mislaid something, and we need Solomon to ask him where it is. Then Solomon can come back home, just like last time.”
“Well, I dunno,” said Bob, shaking his head. “It’s up to Solomon I guess.” Bob looked over at the donkey. “What do you say, Solomon? Are you up for another trip to Washington DC?”
“Haw h‘m haw-hee hawm-hee?” asked Solomon.
“Money? What money? Oh! I remember!” Bob turned to the Agent. “Yanno, we never got the year of Donkey Hotel support for the first trip.”
“Oh, uh, it’s on the way,” said the Agent nervously. He stepped away and pressed his earbud. A short time later, the agent began to speak into a button on his lapel.
“Come on, Solomon,” Bob said. “I think they’re just wasting our time.” Bob patted Solomon on the side of his neck, and turned to go. Solomon shook his head.
“What is it, Solomon? You want me to wait?”
“Haw-hee.”
“Well, OK then, I can wait for a bit,” Bob said. Bob looked up. The agent had finished his call and was returning.
“Mr. Livingston, wait!” he was saying. “I had the money wired. Check your account!”
Bob rolled his eyes, and took out his smart phone, and dialed into the Donkey Hotel bank account. “You should know very well,” he said to the agent, “That even wiring money takes at least 24 hours. There’s no way– Well, son of a gun! It’s here!” Bob smiled. Then the smile disappeared and he cocked his head to one side. “You mean you could have paid us at any time, and just didn’t do it? That’s low...”
Bob looked over at the donkey. “I dunno Solomon. You don’t want to go back to Washington DC, do you?”
“Hee he-‘m’hee.” said Solomon.
“Needs you? Who needs you?”
“Hee-muh haw Hm,’ Solomon replied. “Haw hee muh haw.”
“You gave your word?” asked Bob. “Oh that’s right. They swore you in the last time you were down there. I guess you’re a Donkey of your word. So you’re going then?”
“Haw he-haww.”
“All right then.” Livingston told the intrepid donkey. He beckoned to the Secret Service Agent.
“It’s just to answer a single question, Mr. Livingston,” said the Agent. “We’ll bring Solomon right back. I promise.” Bob looked doubtful. “Please, Mr. Livingston. I wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important.” He took his dark glasses off, and Bob could see the pleading in his eyes.
“Haw Haw-hee Haw!” Bob looked up. Solomon Donkey was heading to the back of the trailer again. As if he had done it a hundred times, Solomon gave the door a gentle kick. When it opened, he got into the trailer.
The Secret Service Agents scrambled into action. One shut the back of the Presidential Horse Trailer. Another jumped into the driver’s seat. The third Agent was pumping Bob’s hand furiously. “You’ll never know how important this is! We’ll be back soon!” And they were off, heading West to the Kamloops Airport where AirForce One awaited, fueled and ready on the runway.
“Goodbye Solomon.” Once again, Bob found he was waving as he watched Solomon being driven away. “I wonder what Solomon has gotten himself into this time.” Bob smacked himself on the forehead. “Everything happened so fast, I forgot to take off his saddle and saddle bags!”
4.
The motorcade streamed through traffic from Joint Base Andrews, where AirForce One had landed only minutes before. In any other city, an escorted motorcade would have drawn attention, even alarm. It would have been a major curiosity that the motorcade included a limousine pulling a black horse trailer. But this was Washington DC. The residents often saw motorcades like this, and it didn’t draw much attention.
After a surprisingly short time, the limousine with its horse trailer was ushered through the White House gates, and Solomon Donkey was, again, brought inside.
The Secret Service Agent was met at the door by JD Vance, and the two men walked briskly down a White House hallway.
“You are certain this, this Donkey can be trusted?” Vance was asking the Agent.
“Yes sir, Mr. Vice President. His owner had reservations about letting Solomon come with us, but Solomon Donkey himself made the call. Sir, he remembers the oath he took to serve the President! That’s why he’s here!”
“I hope you’re right,” said Vance, still not fully convinced. “And why is he wearing a saddle with saddlebags?”
“We picked him up fast, sir. There was no time to take it off.”
“No matter,” replied Vance. “Even though he’s a Canadian Donkey and totally unpredictable, I suppose we have no other options.”
Vance looked down the hallway, where the other two agents, straight from their trip to Canada, were leading Solomon down the hallway.
“Bring him to the Oval Office,” said Vance. “I will do what I can to make the President ready. We’ll be watching him carefully. If there are any missteps, this is on you.”
“Yes sir,” said the agent, and waved his team members onward with the Donkey.
5.
When Solomon got to the Oval Office, he was relieved to find the faint scent of manure where the Elephant had been only a few days before. True, it was not Donkey or Horse manure. Probably some much larger animal; The scent had fragrant notes of pumpkin and sweet Timothy grass. But it reminded Solomon of his barn at home, and that settled his nerves. “I hope there’s hay somewhere,” thought Solomon as he walked up to the great desk.
Solomon had seen the man behind the desk before. He was just finishing folding a hat out of newspaper when he looked up and saw Solomon.
“You’re back!” said Donald. “I’ve missed you!”
“Haw-r-hee haw-nh?” Solomon asked politely.
“How am I doing?” replied Donald. “I’m doing great, now that there’s finally someone I can understand! Come over here and take a look at my models,” said the President, waving the donkey over to his desk. “This one is the Trump-Kennedy Center, and this one is my Ballroom...”
The simple dialog caused the assembled staff to gasp in surprise. They looked at each other, not daring to speak because for the first time in many weeks, the President was having an actual conversation with someone he could understand.
“My God,” breathed Natalie to Steven Miller. “I think I can understand the Donkey too!”
“Quiet!” Miller hissed at her under his breath. “We have to find out what he did with it.”
Miller walked slowly over to Solomon, and stood next to JD Vance. They exchanged meaningful looks. Vance tapped Solomon on the back of his neck, and whispered into his ear.
“Solomon, could you ask the President what he did with the football?”
“Haw-hee.” Replied Solomon, nodding his head. “Haw-ee Haws-uh hee-nh haw hee-haw?”
“Uhh, no Solomon,” Vance replied, surprised that he had understood that much. “The President does not play football. The ‘football’ is an important piece of equipment that the President may have stored in an unusual place. We need to find it.”
“Haw-hee,” Solomon replied in the affirmative, and brayed a question to the President.
The President raised an eyebrow. “So they want to find the ‘football,’ do they? I bet they would!” He drew his face near Solomon’s muzzle, and winked the eye that faced away from the assembly in the Oval Office.
“It’s in a safe place, Solomon. I bet you don’t even know what ‘the football’ really is– Well it’s a briefcase that contains a satellite phone with the US Nuclear Launch Codes.” The President raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at Steven Miller and JD Vance.
"You see Solomon, I’m thinking of burning down Iran. They had several chances to give up, but they are being stubborn. But nukes are hard to argue with. At least, Steve and JD have been discussing it with me. But first, we have to have lunch. Send in some McDonalds! Everyone but me and Solomon, CLEAR OUT!”
There was a lot of grumbling and whispering, but two Big Macs and two Large Fries with Diet Cokes were quickly brought in. The room was soon empty. Donald gestured to the desktop. “Do you like fries, Solomon?”
“Haw haw-muh Hee Haw-nh- Haw Hee-Hawn?” Solomon asked as he watched the President push a Big Mac into his mouth.
“Do I really want to burn Iran?” repeated the President. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just something Steven Miller brought up. I’m not sure I really trust him anymore.”
Donald finished his first burger, and opened a lower drawer on the Resolute Desk. It was full of wrappers from previous burgers and packs of fries. He pushed his empty wrappers into the top of it, and paused.
“You know Solomon,” he said with a crafty smile. “I have an idea about where to hide the football. Come around here.”
When Solomon came around to the back of the desk, he saw the President digging handfuls of wrappers out of the drawer. Under them all, there was a briefcase.
“This,” said Donald, pulling it out, “is the football. Look what’s inside! I can trust you, right?” He opened the briefcase. Inside, there was a small laptop and a telephone handset with a curly cord.
“The laptop starts up when you type in a code. It used to be a lot of letters and numbers strung together,” the President said in a confidential voice.
“I couldn’t remember them. They changed the codes every day. So I did away with all that and just changed it to something I can remember– “You deserve a break today,” the President sang. “You know–like McDonalds! But here’s what we can do–”
The President removed the small laptop from the briefcase. This surprised Solomon Donkey. What came next was an even greater surprise.
“There,” said the President. “That’s an even better hiding place. Miller won’t ever find the computer now.” He stuck the second Big Mac and the second sleeve of large fries into the briefcase, where the tiny laptop had been, and closed the briefcase again.
“Let me just put all my wrappers back in my drawer,” Donald told Solomon. “After he gets the ‘football,’ Miller will probably want my wrappers next, and that won’t do.”
Solomon watched patiently as Donald carefully replaced all the wrappers, and closed the drawer.
“He-hee Hawr-ee Haw-hn” brayed Solomon sadly.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Solomon,” said the President. “I’m the greatest President the US has ever had, even though it is kind of a lonely job.” He patted Solomon’s nose.
“Thank you for being my friend.”
Donald pushed a button on the desk. A Secret Service Agent appeared.
“Bring everyone back in here,” said Donald. “I have a surprise for them.”
Steven Miller and JD Vance saw it first. “The football!” they said together. They looked at each other, both advanced to the desk, grabbed the briefcase, and backed out of the Oval Office with it.
“I could keep it for the President,” Natalie gushed. “I’m always at his side. I would never lose it.”
JD Vance looked over his shoulder as he exited the room. “Thank the Donkey for his service,” he told the Secret Service Agent, “and get it out of here.”
Solomon turned to look at the President, sitting at his desk. He had put the Washington Post paper hat back on his head, and was making zooming noises as he made the model of AirForce One fly back and forth over his model Ballroom. Then, they escorted Solomon back to the Presidential Horse Trailer.
6.
It was an uneventful trip back to Joint Base Andrews. AirForce One had been refueled and was ready to go. Soon they were in the air, wending their way back to the Kamloops Airport in British Columbia, Canada.
The Agent was very apologetic. He provided Solomon with fresh water, hay and oats, and clean straw. “I’m sorry for how you were treated Solomon,” he said. “You’re a good sport, and you have been a great help to all of us. We didn’t know where he had hidden the football, and we were afraid he would activate it and send nuclear missiles to Iran. Now don’t get me wrong,” he said, holding up one hand at the surprised look that Solomon gave him. “Sure the Iranians are bad guys. They’ve killed a lot of people. But no one deserves to get burned up by nuclear weapons.”
Solomon shook his head in agreement.
“Although, if you can keep a secret,” said the Agent, drawing near Solomon’s ear. “I’m not sure I trust Vance or Miller that much either.”
7.
The lingering twilight in the Northern Sky of BC belied the late hour of arrival when the Presidential Horse Trailer finally arrived back at the Donkey Hotel. Bob was still up, and greeted them with surprise.
“Back so soon?” He said. “How did it go?”
“Solomon really came through for us,” said the Agent. “Though you can never be told anything about it, it’s likely that Solomon Donkey has saved the World– At least, for now. You have all our grateful thanks.”
Solomon was led off the trailer, back to the grassy field that was his home.
“About that gratitude,” said Bob. “We forgot to negotiate the reimbursement for Solomon’s second visit. How much do you think it would be worth?”
“Ahh, yes,” said the agent, scuffling his feet. “We really should have talked about that before Solomon’s trip. I’ll talk to the Secret Service Budget Committee about it. I am sure you will see some funds coming your way, probably as soon as next year.”
And with that, the Agents got back into their car, and towed the Presidential Horse Trailer West to the Kamloops Airport.
“Carney was right, eh Solomon?” said Bob, as he walked Solomon Donkey back to the barn. “Those Americans really do sign their contracts in pencil sometimes.”
He looked Solomon over and said, “Oh Solomon! You haven’t been wearing this saddle all day, have you? Let’s get it off you and brush you down, eh?”
Bob took off the saddle, and noticed that one of the saddle bags was not empty. He undid the strap and looked inside. “Solomon, what’s this? Some sort of tiny laptop eh?”
Several time zones away, Steven Miller was undoing the clasps on the briefcase that held the nuclear football. He had gotten it away from JD Vance, no problem. The real difficulty had been in getting it away from Natalie Harp. He made a mental note to deal with her later. Just now though, he had to familiarize himself with the controls inside the briefcase.
He hummed as he worked. “You deserve a break today,” he hummed to himself. “Catchy tune,” he said aloud.
“Soon there will be no breaks for the Iranians. Not ever again.”
After the last of the locks had been released, Steven swung open the cover. His brows furrowed. “Damn it!”
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