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Murphys donkey, Clarissa, dies at 27
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Murphys’ best-fed resident — and possibly its most photographed — died Tuesday from complications from old age.
Clarissa the burro was 27. Since her sudden departure, shortly after 1 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon, it has been a site for mourning. Flowers, notes of remembrance, and even a bouquet of never-to-be-eaten carrots have collected at the gate to the now-empty pasture where Clarissa spent her days. “There have probably been more people here today than I’ve seen at most funerals,” said Joan Kahl, 62, who lives on Church Street property neighboring Clarissa’s former stomping ground. “She was an icon.” Murphys is a town of walkers, said neighbor Walt Wilkinson, 96, and virtually all of them would stop by to give Clarissa a treat. “I think that a walker would feel ashamed to walk by and not bring food,” he said. Clarissa, by many accounts, was a tourist attraction. Wilkinson says that some weekends upwards of 25 people would come by to see their favorite burro. In some cases, people seemed to visit Murphys just to see her. “A lot of people come and ask for ‘the donkey,’ ” agreed Bianca Ruiz, front desk clerk for the Murphys Hotel. Clarissa’s journey to Murphys started before she was born, with a University of California, Davis, program that rounded up feral burros in Death Valley and adopted them out. Through that program, Kirk Schmidt found himself driving a small trailer, rigged with a piece of plywood as wind cover, carrying two feral burros to their new home in Murphys. “It was like having two giant dogs behind you,” he said, remembering their ardent braying. “People were swerving off the road.” One of that pair was Clarissa’s mother, Cass. About six months later, in August of 1982, she give birth to the town’s donkey. Clarissa didn’t find her social calling until about a dozen years ago, when her mother died, according to Schmidt. Then she quickly developed legions of fans. Sometimes the adoration was almost excessive. “People would go to Whole Foods Market in San Mateo and buy organic heads of lettuce to feed the burro,” he said. Other times, it was just ill informed: Some city visitors would bring heads of cabbage and throw them in her pasture. The vegetable went to waste. “They can’t bite it and they don’t know how to play soccer,” noted Schmidt, who lives in Watsonville but owns the property in Murphys. Others liked to feed her Captain Crunch cereal, leading him to post a sign reading: “Burros are strictly vegans, please do NOT feed Clarissa junk food.” Whether the small red barn and patch of earth at the end of Murphys’ Main Street gains a new resident is not solely his decision, Schmidt said. “I have to consult with the town,” he explained. “You know, it’s the town burro.” |
