|Exhibit A: Satan's Chicken|
|Exhibit B: Satan's Goat|
When it comes to spooking strategies, we mules have horse-brain moments (in which we attempt to Flee) and donkey-brain moments (in which we attempt to Examine). It was not even a horse-brain moment. I, Fenway the Humble, will confess that it was a moron-brain moment. FarmWife, keeping her seat and her wits, shouted WHOA in such a tone that my donkey-brain was reactivated and I was able to compose myself. Being a mule, I never slipped! For this, we are thankful.
Luckily, FarmWife and I mended fences rather quickly. I made up for my terrible moron-spook by striding boldly through every puddle along the remainder of the trail, something that I usually only do under duress. Just my way of saying "sorry." When that wasn't enough to earn her full forgiveness, I offered to write off having heard her refer to me as "Fatty McFatterson" when she thought I wasn't listening. At this, she accepted my olive branch and offered full forgiveness and a fresh start.
So, the deer question. FarmWife insists that Satan's Goat was no such thing, but I am sure she is wrong. I have seen deer (exhibit C). This was no deer.
|Exhibit C: Deer|
We're all safe in Wickersham—at least until Satan's Guinea Pig (Exhibit D) rears it's ugly head.
|Exhibit D: Satan's Guinea Pig|
Ears to you,