Spring grasses. I am allowed out to eat these in moderation because I, Fenway, am an easy-keeper but not too fat.
Baby animals. I, Fenway, am allowed to commingle with them–baby goatlings, larval humans, etcetera—because I am gentle and courteous.
New tack. I wouldn't quite see the appeal myself, except that the joy on FarmWife's face when she comes out with some comfy new contraption is contagious, making tack wonderful enough for the both of us.
My tail. Thank you for noticing, commentators! FarmWife has never prepared my tail for full effect—if you like it now, then you must try imagine how the muddy dangly bits would do with a washing and combing on show day!
Katie Scarlett. Still my valentine.
Writing. Having this blog has been just wonderful for me. I, Fenway Bartholomule, have so much to say, and FarmWife so enjoys helping me say it. Thank goodness for her nimble typing fingers, and her 90 words per minute to my two.
Fences. I, Fenway Bartholomule, have the esteemed honor of being contained this morning behind a single strand of baling twine that I might mow the approach to Bent Barrow Farm. This is because I respect fences—all and any fences, in all and any of their various forms. I respect and honor them, and never use them to scratch an itch.
Goats. Don't let their creepy square pupils fool you—they're darlings, really. This is not obvious at first, but if you give them time goats will show you their wonderful side.
Precipitous slopes. I am very good at navigating them, as I am good at jumping over things on command and otherwise performing as a Stupendous Mount. We are lucky enough to live in the Foothills. The Foothills, despite their having been named after a unit of measurement comprising 12 inches, are really rather big.
Things that go, "bray!" I would like to have a miniature donkey sometime, because I think that a voice like Hank's would make a lovely accompanyment to my "brayyyhhhssscccreaaaammmm!" falsetto.
You. Dear readers, you make blogging fun. Thank you.
Love,
Fenway
Posts
Dear Fenway, You make everything fun. Thank YOU for blogging.
ReplyDelete~jenn
Fenway, you know what I enjoy? Those fish. The ones who use to swim about at the bottom is the screen... :( Where did they go...? I miss their fishy food chasing antics...
ReplyDeleteFenway~ Please come to my farm and teach my perchie about fences. She seems to think that they are suggestions, not actual boundaries. You are such a good mule!
ReplyDeleteThey're baaaccck! And thanks, guys. Beth . . . I'd be happy to, except that most Percherons in my experience speak a strange French dialect that I have trouble with.
ReplyDeleteThank you for returning the fish! :D
ReplyDelete