By Jim Carlton | Photographs and video by Philip Cheung for WSJ

COLTON, Calif. -- Jeanette Burton braked an SUV to a halt while driving through Reche Canyon last week and approached a trio of wild burros lounging in a field.

"You see how happy they are?" the 63-year-old gushed as the gray-colored females -- one very pregnant -- stared back blankly. "This is why we are fighting."

The burros are among the lucky ones that evaded capture in a roundup that has rocked this bucolic canyon 60 miles east of Los Angeles. Over several weeks last winter, a Texas company called Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue corralled 256 of the 1,000 or so that roamed the area after some residents complained of property damage and road hazards.

But the operation proved controversial as donkey defenders organized a Burro Watch and accused the company of mistreating animals and splitting up their families. Police were called to referee one showdown. San Bernardino County in January canceled its contract with Peaceful Valley.

That hasn't stopped the braying.

A petition began circulating for a sweet-faced foal named Tiny Red to be reunited with her mother, dubbed Big Red -- along with the return of the rest of the herd.

"It was very traumatic for the community to lose the ones we lost, it was very heartbreaking for those of us who love them," said Mickey McDonald, 68, a resident who started the petition.

Known for their pointy ears and soulful eyes, wild burros are a living relic of the Old West, descendants of the African donkeys used first by Spanish explorers and then by prospectors. More than 10,000 roam the West, reproducing so fast the federal government carries out roundup and adoption programs.

But critics call the roundups cruel, arguing for more humane techniques like sterilization. Indeed, Peaceful Valley in 2009 was approached by the Bureau of Land Management about helping to thin a herd in Reche Canyon that then numbered about 250 burros, said executive director Mark Meyers.

"But the Facebook loonies got involved and got it stopped," he said.

By 2024, the numbers had exploded. Raymond Delgado, 50, said his daughter hit one, causing $14,500 in damage to her car. Heather Tutton said they denuded so much vegetation she and her husband had to spend thousands building retaining walls to keep two hillsides from eroding on their property.

"I think the burros serve a great purpose, but they have been allowed to completely overrun the area," said Tutton, 52.

Officials in San Bernardino County said they contracted with Peaceful Valley because it was prepared to act quickly. "Donkeys were not only putting themselves at risk, but also residents and visitors," said Josh Dugas, county public health director.

Meyers, whose roundups elsewhere have often drawn fire, said he has gotten death threats before and warned the county "it's gonna get ugly, be prepared."

The operation began in mid-December, catching many by surprise. "All of a sudden we had people showing up on our Ring cameras trying to corral donkeys," said Mandy Miller, 44. "We were thinking like what is going on?"

She and others were livid to learn Peaceful Valley had disappeared entire herds. The burros are popular in part because they mow down weeds and grass that fuel wildfire. They are also adorable, like a now missing jackass that Miller called Sweet Man.

"He was just a gentle old soul," Miller said. "He loved scratches and he liked to hear you talk to him."

Burro lovers kicked up a fuss. Miller started an online petition to yank the burro contract. Brandi Augerstein, 42, said the burro estimates used by the county are inflated and that they weren't causing nearly the problem officials claimed.

"I don't believe everything they say is truthful," Augerstein said at her family's small ranch, where she added burros sometimes hold "poop parties" on her porch.

The burro activists accused Peaceful Valley of cramming donkeys into trucks and leaving them without water. Meyers said donkeys by nature lean on one another while trailering, and can go five days without water.

Some Peaceful Valley supporters spoke up. "There is a small, misinformed and disrespectful group of your citizens who are trying to stop these heroic efforts," Melinda Cohen, a donor, wrote the county.

Although Meyers said his crew tries to keep mothers and foals together, Burro Watch activists said they counted at least a half dozen orphans. Dorre Yamashiro, 54, said she and her daughter would often run into Big Red and Tiny Red -- so named for their unusual reddish color -- while trail riding.

"This baby would approach us, momma was always behind her," Yamashiro said. "One day my kid was riding after the roundup and baby was by herself. Baby went for 10 days with no momma to be thin, depressed, eating sticks."

The orphans were rehomed at a local sanctuary called DonkeyLand, where some could be seen trotting with the adults after bales of hay dropped off the back of a truck in a fenced enclosure. Meyers said he has no record of Big Red.

The attempted rescue of an orphan led to a confrontation one cold night in early January when DonkeyLand volunteer Candace Manwill and her partner Adrian Mendoza drove into the hills to pick it up. They inadvertently drove onto a private dump, interrupting an apparent burro roundup. No one would let them out of a locked gate, she said, as both sides called police.

Police questioned the visitors but let them go. Meyers said they happened to get stuck behind a gate where his crews were finishing some work. "They called us Texas thugs," he said.

The county signed a new deal for DonkeyLand, founded in 2011 with funding from the late game-show host Bob Barker, to embark on a castration program and relocate any problem donkeys to its sanctuary nearby. That wasn't good enough for the burro lovers, who have demanded their return.

"This is their home, just as much as it's mine," said Lee Ahumada, 40, tending to goats and chickens on his farm as some wild donkeys heehawed nearby.

Meyers said the corralled burros aren't coming back, in part because they've all been micro-chipped as they're sent off to new homes in Texas and elsewhere and his company could be held liable if they caused damage."And also," he added, "the venom that this group has spewed at my organization has caused a lot of bitterness."

Write to Jim Carlton at Jim.Carlton@wsj.com

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

April 30, 2025 20:00 ET (00:00 GMT)

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