On a rainy June day in Ireland, my husband held tightly to the steering wheel in our rented compact car that sometimes felt like the size of a Mack truck hugging the twisting country roads.

There were more than a few wrong turns, some near sideswipes and lots of not-so-family-friendly language as he concentrated on driving on the left side of the road, and I attempted to figure out whether Google Maps was giving us the best directions (mostly yes, sometimes no).

For me, this was the most anticipated part of our 10-day journey across the charming Emerald Isle, which was filled with an abundance of music, spirits, stunning landscapes (so many shades of green!) and friendly people as we spent time in Galway, Dingle, Kinsale and Dublin.

The drive that was supposed to take us a couple of hours turned into three as we finally reached our destination — the tiny village of Liscarroll in County Cork. We had traveled more than 3,600 miles across an ocean and navigated rural roads to meet Richie.

A pandemic discovery

Pictures of Richie show a striking fellow with kind dark eyes dressed in his trademark brown and white coat. His profile describes him as “inquisitive,” “loves to make his presence felt” and “well-liked.” He was beautiful.

However, this is not a story about meeting a handsome Irish man on a dating website (I’m guessing my husband wouldn’t like that). Richie is a 17-year-old skewbald donkey rescued by the Donkey Sanctuary Ireland when he was only 10 days old after his mother succumbed to blood poisoning. During the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, I adopted him, which anyone can do for about $25 a year, and eagerly awaited updates on Richie and his fellow equines on the sanctuary’s social media accounts. The adoption packet included a personalized certificate, a pencil sketch print, your chosen donkey’s story and periodic updates.

Sure, Richie was a random discovery — along with a variety of useless kitchen gadgets — during those long days stuck inside the house. But donkeys have held a place in my heart ever since my late grandma Irene Kilkelly, who lived in Bayport, Minn., gifted me a stuffed gray toy donkey when I was a toddler.

When my mother, Sheila, died last year, my grief took many forms as I searched for ways to keep her memory alive. Not long after her death, an adorable Instagram post popped up in my feed (on my birthday, no less!) showing Richie rolling around on the ground, taking a “dust bath.” It was then that something clicked. Richie was that living symbol of my Irish roots and I was determined to meet him in person.

An Irish welcome

As we pulled into the Donkey Sanctuary Ireland’s Open Farm, a group of smiling school kids huddled under a tree eating a snack as the drizzle started to pick up steam. The facilities — free and open to the public Friday through Monday — sit on 35 acres of lush green rolling hills with a view of Liscarroll Castle at the top.

Entering the cozy visitor center, which offers numerous donkey-themed items for sale, from key chains and puzzles to T-shirts and toys, it’s hard to miss the wall of framed glamour shots featuring the sanctuary’s stars — the adoption donkeys. I spied Richie right away, striking a camera-ready pose.

Sinead Brinn, who started volunteering at the sanctuary six years ago as a donkey cuddler and is currently visitor services manager, offered us a warm greeting. She explained that the Donkey Sanctuary Ireland cares for more than 1,700 neglected and abandoned donkeys and mules from across the country, with the Open Farm home to more than 130 of them.

“They have these massive brown eyes,” she beamed while describing why people find donkeys irresistible. “They are so gentle and loving. When they give a hug, it’s the best hug, better than any human hug because they wrap their head around you. It’s lovely to see them trusting people.”

It’s easy to understand why Brinn fell in love with the sanctuary and quit her stressful corporate job for what she calls “donkey heaven.”

“Once the phone call comes through, and we get to save the donkey, they’re under the care of our sanctuary forever, so they never have to worry again,” she said. “There’s a happy feel to the place. The minute you get out of the car, you sense it — it’s the start of a new beginning.”

Earlier this year, County Cork named the Donkey Sanctuary Ireland best tourist attraction offering free admission. Visitors can see donkeys, have a picnic and explore the peaceful grounds lined with trees and benches dedicated to the memory of loved ones.

The sanctuary relies primarily on public donations, including donkey adoptions and estate gifts.

As it turns out, my quest to visit Richie wasn’t unique. People from around the world come to meet their adopted donkeys, and many more end up adopting one after a visit. It’s also a popular destination for field trips and group outings.

“It’s like therapy,” Brinn said. “The donkeys communicate with people. You see the kids and their faces light up. We get people from nursing homes in their wheelchairs, and their faces light up. Many of them have happy memories of the old days when most families in the countryside would have had a donkey, or they would have known of one, and they were very well-treated. Donkeys are part of the culture here, especially in the countryside.”

A heartfelt meeting

We exited the visitor center, taking a left to where the adoption donkeys are located. The first to greet us was Bocelli, a shaggy brown hair jack who is blind, followed by Echo, who Brinn has dubbed the “George Clooney” of the farm. Unfortunately, the drizzle turned to steady rain, and Brinn told us donkeys don’t especially like to get wet, so many were sticking to sheltered areas.

But before I knew it, Richie had appeared from one of the barns, slowly walking toward us with a confident, strong stride. He looked me right in the eyes and let me scratch his neck for a minute.

Then, with one last glance at us, he turned away and slowly made his way back to the barn.

It’s hard to explain what happened during my brief but meaningful encounter with Richie. My eyes didn’t well up with tears, and there were no visions of my mother or grandmother. But my body felt warm as it swelled with emotion. My heart was full.

Meeting Richie was a spiritual bookend to earlier in the week when my husband and I visited the small country church where I believe my great-great-great grandparents were married in County Clare. We lit a candle there for all my Irish relatives who are no longer with us. At both the church and the Donkey Sanctuary Ireland, it felt like they were right beside me. Thank you, Richie, for showing me the way. Until next time, my four-legged friend.