Camping in 2010: "Is this THE Fenway Bartholomule?" and "Can I give him a carrot?" Love the fame. It doesn't hurt that FarmWife is right on top of this publicity business. Out on the trail, for instance:
Stranger: "Nice mule!"
Me: "Feed m . . . "
FarmWife, butting in: "Thanks! He's a blogger, would you like his card?"
All in all, our camping trip was wonderful. Brief, but fabulously sunny and mulishly fun with great friends and good trails. A bit muddy, given the weather we've had, but that's just fodder for my admiring throngs. I plunge boldly through the sucking mud like an actor in an EasyBoot commercial.
I waded through the corner of a lake this weekend, which was my very first girth-high water crossing. It was deliciously interesting! Picture this: a submerged stump here, a floating log there, mud swirling hither and thither in an obscuring cloud, and me, Intrepid Trail Mount Extraordinaire, boldly fording the waters. FarmWife says that I should tell you that Henry Fjord, who is mulishly brazen, had to go first before I would venture in. I don't see how that is necessary.
I practiced ground-driving amid distractions, and performed beautifully amidst the hubub of cantering mounts, mingling humans, and trailers full of arriving horses. I had occasion, too, to pony a chestnut gelding after a companion rider dismounted on the trail with a minor injury. I was tremendous! There is nothing, FarmWife says, like a good gelding. Preferably a mule gelding, seal brown, 15 years old, and 14.1 hands on his tippy toes.