Fur eats feather, feather eats fur, the air is full of dying cries, there it is, the law of nature, fluffy insatiable baby beaks wide open to be fed and soon feathered predators themselves, so it goes in this relentless cycle of birth and death.
Thus it is with a donkey's life suckled at first, loved by children but all too soon sentenced to life with hard labor for no crime at all, we watch its story unfold on screen but this furry fable does nto feed its humble hero lumps of sugar but salt.
There are flowers, flowers crown fur, a girl invokes unknowingly another donkey crowned with blooms, furry funny metamorphosis reversed in a moonless garden when Satan touches Eve's hand having spied her from the church choir, now gifts a death to birth.
The donkey is not trained to act but must perform in the circus as did that wooden puppet-boy transformed into a donkey too to jump through hoops and do tricks before he becomes a real boy but fur stays fur and dies
up there on the screen safe at last surrounded by grazing sheep, his name was Balthazar, his story told by Robert Bresson.