Good Thing I Chew Slowly!

Dear Readers,

FarmWife is often in the habit of approaching the fence with a little morsel of something tasty, and I am often in the habit of waiting near the fence as a result. She thinks that I wait near the fence because I love her. I do, but perhaps there is more to the power of these tasty morsels than she thinks.

On this particular day, I was waiting near the fence dreaming of pop tarts and Omolene when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a nice handful of black oil sunflower seeds! "Yay, hooray!", I thought. I like to look after my coat (you may remember my all-important Life Lesson Number 20—Shine) and I welcome any opportunity to imbibe some Omega-6 fatty acids from a vegetable source.  

I ate them. I took them up with my lips, carefully and just-so, so as not to cause any discomfort for the hand (which was, after all, attached to my beloved FarmWife). I took them up and I began to masticate them. They were, how shall we say . . . not quite right.

FarmWife travels the farm with two pockets, one on either side, in her favorite green coat. This coat came from Scotland, originally. It has good, deep pockets, not too linty, and well stitched. No seeds are lost. The left pocket is for carnivore snacks (usually cheddar cheese, known to the herbivore set as fungal bovine mammary secretions—blech!) and the right is for herbivore snacks (usually some combination of grain, seeds, and bits of hay). There is nothing else permitted in these pockets, and there should be no reason for the FarmWife to have need of carrying anything else, anyway. She has other pockets that are perfectly suited to carrying hoofpicks, or photos of her darling Fenway Bartholomule, or . . . well, for instance, money.

That, it turns out, is what was wrong with this particular handful of tasty morsels. Shockingly, and quite by surprise to both of us, FarmWife had accidentally fed me a money-infused mouthful of sunflower seeds.

She could tell the moment I began to chew that something was not quite right. "Have I fed him a bit of cheese by mistake?!," she frantically wondered, as I worked the seeds with my lips and tongue before crunching them in my powerful molars. As I continued to work the foreign body down toward the outlet at my lips, FarmWife began to feel a growing sense of concern. "Have I given him a linty bite? Has he got a tooth infection?" After about two seconds of worried consideration, imagine FarmWife's relief (and guilt, poor woman!) when I dropped a spit-shined silver dime on the ground at my hooves. There in the dirt lay good ol' Franklin Delano.

So, dear readers, I am now the proud owner of ten cents U.S. currency. I have never had my own money before, and I am really kind of excited about flexing my financial chops. Advice is welcome—any investment recommendations to maximize my returns? Any markets to avoid, or cautionary tales? In the meantime, I've got my money stored back in FarmWife's pocket (no, thank goodness, not that pocket). I should think she'll be more careful with it in future.

Your friend,
Fenway