Skip to main content

I May be Little, but I'm Iced Out

Well, depending on your feelings about ponies and bling, I have bad news and good news. Or good news, and bad news. Or bad and bad, or good and good. You decide.

First, the bling . . . my mother made me this beaded browband. It's not 100% finished, but good enough for my photo shoot! The best thing about it is that I, Fenway Bartholomule, love the color green. Green is grass and orchard grass hay, green is a meadow on a sunny day . . . green like clover, green like leaves, green is the color that looks best on me. FarmWife knows this about me, and that's why I know she loves me. If she didn't love me as much, she would have made this beaded browband in HER favorite color, which is blue and which is also very nice. 

Second, my height. Here goes folks—I'm puttin' it out there. I, Fenway Bartholomule, measure 14.075 hands. No, that's not FourteenPointSevenFive, which would be 14.3, of course. That is FourteenHandsAndAlmostAnInch. The tough thing about this is that it means I am really practically a pony, but the good thing about it is that when I finish my first 50 mile CTR at age 30-plus, the headlines will read, "Ancient, Diminutive International Celebrity Finishes at the Top of his Game." I like it. 

So, here is the wee Fenway in his bootiful new jewelry. I asked the photographer to emphasize my length of leg, and I think she's really captured my essence here. There is more to me than mere inches.

To those of you who love me even though I'm a little bit tiny, thank you. I love you too. To those of you who are horrified, get this: I have nipples on my sheath.

There! Now you've forgotten all about my height. All better.

Love,
Fenway Bartholomule.

Comments

  1. Oh dear Fenway, we will never be able to meet. You see, I have multiple versions of Mycrophobia: equusmycrophobia & homomycrophobia. Though I haven't had the pleasure of meeting a mule < 15 hands, the thought of it makes me nervous so I fear I may have mulusmycrophobia as well. I am able though to continue reading your blog without panic attacks.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ahem.... exactly what is the problem with being dimutive? I am right now about 25 inches, a whole whopping 6.1 hands. My Momma loves me just the way I am and when I am a big girl I am going to learn how to pull a cart just like my bestest buddy Tony Pony. I maybe little but I am mighty, I am LAILA!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. I am the one with the problem. There is nothing wrong with being diminutive. My humans have worked with me extensively to overcome my fears. I am not afraid of larval humans or foals - just small adult humans and horses and ponies < 15 hands.

    You must understand that I am 16.3 hands and my gaze is usually focused about 7' above the ground. I believe the fear is caused by the diminutive's ability to appear out of nowhere - from behind grooming stall dividers, below the windows in the barn, etc...

    ReplyDelete
  4. Fenway, darling, everything that I've ever read about mules says that a 14H mule is about the toughest, truest, most marvelous creature one might encounter. Bonus - we female re-riders can actually get on a 14H mule and you're strong enough to haul us about and up and over obstacles requiring mulish surmounting. My own darling mule, Sadie, is over 15H, and let me tell you, Fenway dear - that's a long way down for this re-rider. 14H is sounding better all the time.

    As far as the rest -- LOL - TMI, TMI, my love!

    ReplyDelete
  5. just think of them as drip tips, like leaves that are rain resilient

    you might need to google that concept but green= leaves, get it???

    ReplyDelete
  6. Dear Little Big Red,

    Thank you for expressing your concerns, but my understanding is that auriculagrandiosis (magnificence of the ears, in layman's terms) is an effective antidote to equusmycrophobia, rendering mulusmycrophobia almost nonexistent. Lending a full two additional hands to my height, my ears would bring me well into your range of vision! The really great thing, though, is that in laying them back I would effectively don a cloak of invisibility, making possible all sorts of terribly mischievous plots and pranks. (Oh, dear. I, Fenway Bartholomule, appear to be thinking like a pony already!).

    Laila, if anyone ever gives you trouble for being little, you tell them that Fenway Bartholomule says you're GRAND.

    And Lady Mule Farrier, thank you for the encouragement. My second-to-last rider was a 300 pounder, according to available information, so I can attest to the strength of mules through personal experience. FarmWife may be long of limb, but she's not too much rider for me!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Upupaepops, I would think of them as drip tips, except that outside of botanical circles that sounds a little bit icky. Let's just ignore them altogether, shall we?

    http://longearsmall.com/mt/articles/mammothjackstock/archives/2007/10/anatomical_diff.html

    At least I am not the only guy out there with this little anatomical eccentricity!

    ReplyDelete
  8. Fenway, your new bling is quite lovely, and 14 hands or 15 hands, heck who's counting. You are spectacular!

    ReplyDelete
  9. FB you are a beauty of a boy. Bring on more bling! You have the panache to pull it off...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thanks in Advance for Your Mulish Opinion!

Popular Posts

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

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 ...

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...

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...