How to Get A Mule Like Me

link to pictured mule

Dear Readers,

There are more nice mules on www.dreamhorse.com than ever before, and I know that this is because the universe is conspiring to get YOU a mule of your own. With exception to Katie Scarlett, Surprise, and Maisy, I am not sure that there are enough mules in my audience to satisfy all of my readers' longear needs.

Shopping on Dreamhorse is all well and good, but even with the plentitude of mules listed, I don't know if there are enough great ones for ALL of my 129 fans, so I have thought of another way.

First, check Dreamhorse. You might find a nice mule like this one, who would be prettier in brown, or this one, who deserves a rider who knows that one does not place 85% of the foot in the stirrup under normal circumstances. If you live in Washington, you should go get both of them today!

Second, broaden your search to include quality horse mares. You might end up choosing someone like this, who's got looks and mad skilz. Then, you search the world over for a donkey jack who deserves her. You will probably spend less on the stud fee than on the mare, especially if you buy thi$ mare that I already recommended.

Breed the two, wait 11 and a half months (yes, mules take longer than horses to cook because they are harder and more important to make), and Voila! A baby.

YOU ARE NOT DONE!

If you truly want a mule like me, you must then assess the baby. Does it display perfect symmetry, with possible exception to it's nostrils? (I have one horse nostril and one donkey nostril, which tends more towards the endearing than the grotesque.) Does it combine strength and grace in every feature? Does it exude class from every pore, and demonstrate elegance in every motion? Does it understand the importance of frequent meals and energy conservation? Does it grok the true meaning of Rest and Relaxation?

Once you are sure you have a very likely candidate, you must raise it right. This means exposing it to all sorts of challenges . . . slopes to summit, rivers to ford, threats to bypass, and snacks to root out and devour. Do not expose it to the Evil Lines on the road, unless you want your very good mule baby swallowed into hellfire before you even get to ride it.

If you successfully raise a beautiful, athletic, intelligent, level-headed mule to adulthood you may ride it without any further fuss. Do not worry about sophisticated, advanced training; if your mule is just like me, he will do just fine without any careful attention to the establishment of communicative aids. He will read your mind, though he might not always read your direct rein.

I hope you enjoy the new mule that you will have if you follow my instructions. You're welcome!

Love, Fenway

P.S. Once you have your mule, you must give the relationship tender loving care by following these guidelines: Always meet him with a snack; never force him to work beyond his fitness level; never force him to work within two hours of a meal; never forget his daily ear rub; use a rubber bit or hackamore unless you want to spend half the day warming cold steel before a winter ride; never underestimate his intelligence, emotional sophistication, or appetite; and don't let your mule establish a website of his own unless he promises not to steal my customers.

Comments

Here are the Cloud Dog's X-Rays

Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery. Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance. Ears to you, Fenway

Continued . . .

Vegan Spring Rolls

I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a vegan: of course I only eat plants, not people! My human is too, so I'm sharing my blog with her today so that she can participate in the 2014 Virtual Vegan Potluck ! When you're done perusing the recipe for these delicious spring rolls, click "back" or "forward" for the entire potluck experience! Virtual Vegan Potluck: Spring Roll Appetizers Beautiful? Check. Healthy? Check. Delicious? Check. Easy? Check. Fancy? Check. Quick to clean up after? Check. Vegan? OF COURSE! If you're looking for something portable, colorful, and crowd-pleasing for your next potluck, look no further than these simple vegan spring rolls! The best part? You can substitute ANYTHING. I never make these the same way twice, so play around with cilantro, kale, cabbage, scallions, or whatever you think sounds good! Ingredients Veggie mix: 2 carrots (grated) 4 oz mung bean sprouts 1/3 cup chopped peanuts (raw, or roasted and salted) or ...

Continued . . .

2025 State of the Farmlet Address

A red stag photographed by Farmwife in Scotland, from whence the family descends and to where they voyaged in September 2024. Dear Mules and Countrywomen, It is my pleasure to report to you today, from my forested vantage point, that the Farmlet is well. It has been eight years since my family had a Farmlet to report upon, and this one is among the best. It is 25 minutes south of Casa de Bartholomule-Teaspoon, where you may remember the family lived for a time, and situated on the same verdant island. It is 120 minutes south of Bent Barrow Farm, where the ancient rhododendron still blooms and where FenBar's old barn of many colors still stands and shelters farm machinery. This place has rhododendrons, too, encircling a lawn which slopes down to my barn and paddock. We call the barn Hoofhouse, and it is going to be painted black in the spring to match the house and my companion, Puck. My paddock, by design, does not overlap the lawn but instead winds through a mix...

Continued . . .

Catastrophy

This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. I was going to entertain you with more haiku today, but something terrible has happened. I need your support. Today was supposed to be a regular spa day—a nice little hoofie trim, a fresh mane roach, an ear massage, and a handful of sunflower seeds (for shine). Instead of merely taking care of my beauty routine, however, FarmWife spent a full hour in contemplation of and attention to my overall physique. The upshot? A revision of my condition from Plump to Obese. (Her actual words, upon removing my blanket for the first time in a few days, were "Oh my God! You've ballooned!") She has decided that my fatness has become a health risk, and has resolved to exercise me as often as possible. It gets dark at 4:30. Her husband gets home at 5:30. She has small children and no sitter. This, my friends, means that I will end up being longed. Longed at the end of a stupid, smelly old rope. Forced to walk and trot...

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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