BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

http://minneapolis.craigslist.org/dak/for/1767982626.html Wheels for the driving set . . .

Living as I do in Wickersham, it's easy to forget that the rest of the world exists. We have everything here: wilderness adventures, lifetime friendships, homegrown food, endless hours and days of food and fun and family and the never-ending call to improve our one green acre. When I do venture out, however, its to be reminded that we live in a wonderful region. Working in Bellingham one day per week doesn't serve to refresh my memory correctly; my employer is in an industrial and commercial neighborhood, full of shipping plants and big box stores. A downtown springtime Saturday, however, is another matter. Even in the rain, Bellingham is beautiful. Gentrification has crept in, but with a unique Northwest-sustainable/hip vibe. The Farmers' Market , pictured above, bustles even in the grey drizzle of our February-in-May (with which we are apparently paying for the May-in-February that we enjoyed this winter!), and the festivities around our annual Ski to Sea race satisfy de...

Yesterday FarmWife and I enjoyed the first ride in some time! After nearly a month off on account of some no-good, stupid, inconsequential swelling (which never hurt a bit and which all along caused FarmWife far more worry than it ever caused me), I was positively chipper! I jigged and jogged, offered a canter when asked to trot, and even did a bit of Joyful Sproinging. FarmWife, who is not a brave rider, actually laughed out loud at my Joyful Sproinging. Had I been doing Sour Sproinging, which is a close cousin, she would not have laughed at all but would rather have gotten off and lunged me or some such nonsense. As it was, we had a lovely ride in the arena (er, pasture)  and thoroughly enjoyed a good thirty-minute workout with no ill effect. The ride went south when FarmWife, who has asked me to drag a rope hither and thither and across and around on many an occasion as part of my driving training, brought out a Mule Eating Device of Unparallelled Sadistic Apocolypticism (...

FarmWife rather liked the horse-drawn hearse in Saturday's parade. Wanting, as she does, to be cremated, she shall never have any use of it. Perhaps in another eighty-odd years, when I, Fenway Bartholomule, go to the great meadow in the sky, we can squeeze me in the pretty glass box for one last farewell tour of Wickersham?

Update  on the free jenny in Lynden, WA . . . she is still available, according to her owner, as her last potential adoption fell through on the home check. Sounds like her person is determined to find her a good, responsible home! See her here:  http://www.braysofourlives.com/2010/05/free-standard-jenny.html

 . . . then don't click without grabbing your tissues! Photo Gallery of Neglected Equines More Details from the HSUS Video 49 emaciated horses, donkeys and mules were seized this weekend from a horse trader in Wayne County, W. VA. I haven't any more details on the story, but the photos are terrible. Readers—please write in with your updates if you have them! In the meantime, I'm going to stop my foolish braying about getting no more than two scant flakes daily of good orchard grass hay plus limited grazing, occasional treats, and an enriched salt block. I've got it good. Your concerned friend, Fenway

Mule: Bray heartily. Imbibe one scant flake. Walk eight paces to the manure heap. Defecate. Turn on the forehand. Eleven paces, soft right turn. Fourteen paces. Halt at the gate. Paw. Turn on the haunches. Fourteen paces. Enter shed. Vacuum scraps. Practice prehensile lip exercises. Stand, gazing into space. Blink. Humans:  Go into town. See a parade. Eat lunch at a cafe. Attend a magazine release party. Get a free t-shirt. Network, hobnob, mingle, and mix. Return home. Feed the mule . . . one more scant flake. Let him out, if it's dry enough, of his sacrifice paddock. He's praying you will. 

Mule ownership can have its perks—and who knows? It may extend your life, or at least your appreciation of what years you're allotted. Here, for your edification and enjoyment, are five reasons why a longear a day keeps the doctor away, improves your overall well-being, and justifies the expense and trouble of large-animal husbandry. 1) Mules make you smile and laugh. We are funny, endearing, interactive and amusing characters. Studies show that time spent with a pet can boost endorphins, alter mood, and lower blood pressure.  If this can be said for a two ounce parakeet or an eight pound chihuahua, surely a 900 pound mule can offer these benefits and more! 2) We give you a workout without breaking you down. Like horses and cattle, we mules produce many pounds of useful manure every day. This gives you, the humans, the chance to get up and muck out our accomodations—a healthy move in this sedentary modern life! The musculoskeletal and cardiovascular exercise is sure to add y...

 . . . continued from previous . . . . Judy, 90, about a week before her death. Pictured with the author and daughter D. Elizabeth, center, teaching at the University of Pennsylvania Before my mothers there were their mothers, and before them, theirs. I was fortunate to know my two wonderful grandmothers, Liz and Judy, before they died in 2007 and 2009, respectively. My oldest daughter was lucky enough to know seven of eight great-grandparents, none of whom are now living. Elizabeth, my mother's mother, was a talented musician, playing the viola in a chamber group into her last year of life. She had a  magically green thumb, and grew great, abundant organic produce before "organic" came into style. She was an accomplished scientist, a loving parent, an inspiring teacher, and a ray of sunshine in the lives of everyone who knew her. With a Ph.D. in biochemistry, Granny Liz held positions of influence (Director of Medical Technology at the University of Pennsylvania, for ins...

Today, FarmWife has a busy day of tomato gardening and contract editing ahead. I can't seem to rope her into a long transcribing session, but I was able to hear her singsong nonsense as she made her feeding rounds this morning. I'll quote her, here, for those of you who enjoy such silliness. To Jasper Jules: ♫  ♪  He's a goat, he's a goat, and he's broader than a boat in the water on the high, high seas . . .  he's a chap who is fat, he is wider than a raft as it sails upon the salty breeeeeeeze . . . .  ♪   ♫ To the baby goats, Pigeon and Dove:  ♫  ♪  Bird girls, bird girls, cutest in the world girls, every single word I say is truuuuuuuuue . . . sweet girls, neat girls, dancing on your feet girls, there is no one else like yoooooouuuuuuu . . .  ♪   ♫ To Missy, Empress of All that the Light Touches:  ♫  ♪  Who's a good goat? You're a good goat. Missy McMischief is feeling her oats. Getting in trouble is Missy's MO...

Standard Jenny Donkey - $50 (Lynden) Date: 2010-05-19, 7:59PM PDT Reply to:  sale-w4b29-1749915019@craigslist.org   [ Errors when replying to ads? ] Looking for a home for my Donkey - hopefully one with a friend for her to keep her company. She is not so old, and very sweet but still a bit shy and cautious. Can be stubborn but leans fast. She'll come when I call her, loves carrots, will let me lead her ( if she wants ) and loves neck scratches. I can lift her feet but have not progressed to trimming yet. All my large animals have found new homes as I'm not expecting to be around the farm enough to enjoy them. Free, but $50 donation to Whatcom Humane Society required. I will check your home before releasing her. Al Location: Lynden it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests PostingID: 1749915019

These bloodsucking flies come out of the swamp and eat me bodily, especially along my chest, girth, and underline and in my majestic ears. They seem to love the taste of DMSO, having come on thickly since my treatment began. Natural fly repellants work for about an hour, and chemical insecticides (pyrethrin-based pour ons, even!) hardly work at all. They are bigger than a black fly, smaller than a deer fly . . . I think.  (Not 100% sure on that point, since I am not a deer.)They are awful. They cluster on me so thickly that when FarmWife wipes my hide with a wet cloth it comes away dotted with a dozen insect corpses. My fly sheet offers some protection, though inadequate, and my poor sensitive skin is riddled with scabs and swellings. If there was an airtight barn into which I might be secreted for the duration of the springtime, we would consider it. As it is, there is only a shed, and it offers little relief. Barnyard sanitation does not seem at fault, as I maintain a clean m...

On the advice of a friendly reader, I have created this handy graphic for those of you interested in the progress of my harness fund. I'm saving up for a Comfy Fit beta breastcollar-style harness from Chimacum Tack, though tips on alternative synthetic harnesses and/or second-hand sources are welcome. Click THE GIFT  for further details, or to help color the mule and make FarmWife's birthday wishes come true!

Surely you know by now that I am A) interested in becoming a driving mule, B) resting my swollen hock, and C) able to appreciate fine art. FarmWife reads me picture books from the bookmobile when our back issues of Dressage Today and Mules and More  run out, and this week she happened upon a gem without knowing what she was grabbing! Pennies in a Jar , written by Dori Chaconas, is unique for the quality of its illustrations. Artist  Ted Lewin  paints beautifully the street horses of World War II America, and while there are no mules in the book I was able to study the detailed and accurate harness and enjoy the beautifully rendered draft animals. A Google search reveals that Ted Lewin also illustrated the cover of FarmWife's very favorite novel of childhood, Jean Slaughter Doty's The Monday Horses , as well as additional book covers and picture books. If I had opposable thumbs, I might set myself to painting. It runs in my adopted family; FarmWife's paternal grandp...

You may have noticed my dedication: To my husband, who makes me a better person; to my mule, who makes me a better wife; to my mothers, and to my daughters. I have three daughters, and more mothers than that. My beloved mother—Joan, the real one—worked harder than anyone should have to work to raise me and my half siblings. She was alone for much of my childhood, having been widowed by my brothers' father and divorced from my own by the time I was three. When my quarterlife crisis struck around the time of my third pregnancy, and one psychiatrist after another suggested Prozac for my discontent, Joan reminded me where to find my peace. She bought me my mule.  My mother and I have always been close. As a teen, I never rebelled, though I do recall a brief phase when she could provoke me to utter mortification by taking silly, large steps in the corridors of the mall. We always have been, and remain, close friends. My mother-in-law, contrary to common patterns, is the other best woman...

Dr. Josef Knipp, FEI "I" judge, as quoted in Dressage Today: "If you go to the barn and the horse doesn't nicker to you . . . why do you want to go to a horse show?" I, Fenway Bartholomule, would add that a bray beats a nicker, but the idea is the same. This whole thing is about the relationship, isn't it, between us equids and you humans? Enjoy the bond. Today, I gave FarmWife a little demonstration of my affection to make up for several days of silent treatment. You see, going to see Dr.— scared me more than I would like to admit. I was shaking like a leaf in his torture chamber, and FarmWife was there asking me to hold still and tolerate things that no one should ever be asked to tolerate. I ran through her, shoved her aside, ignored her requests in the general pursuit of self-preservation, and generally acted like an unmulish flibbertygibbet. She could have cried at the sight of my flaring lips and my trembling legs. I really thought I would die....

(Photo: this was the view from the kitchen sink before I was banished from the gardens for eating the plum trees. Their loss. Now there is no fun at all in washing dishes.) I have had some setbacks lately, sure; a trip to Dr.—, banishment from the gardens and orchard for having eaten the plum trees and the raspberry canes, revokation of access to the precipitous slopes that I love to summit. At the end of the day, though, I am still a mule, and being a mule is a darn good thing. Here's why: 1. Mules are attractive, smart, and strong. Who doesn't want to be all those things? It's easy to like myself, with all those qualities, and good self-esteem is a key to a happy life. 2. Mules have a reputation for excellence and a documented natural superiority. This makes it easy to make friends, since everyone hopes it will rub off a little. 3. Mules have a great capacity for feeling, and we are great at expressing this with our lovely singing voices. This makes it easy...

First it was raining at a time when it ought to have been sunny, and then my winky started to hurt. Then my hock got big and FarmWife refused to believe that it was all her imagination. Then I got put on a diet, and taken to Dr.—, who tortured me to within an inch of my life AND messed with my winky, which by the way feels fabulous today (thanks for asking). Now I am not allowed to summit precipitous slopes for at least two more weeks, and FarmWife has had to slather my hock with disgusting medicine. This medicine transpires through my hock and straight to my mouth, where it infuses my breath with the odor of rotten garlic and dead things. Meanwhile, FarmWife has left me and gone to work, where she spends Saturdays sitting inside earning money. Unfortunately, it is only a small amount of money and not nearly enough to pay for the assassination of Dr.— which she probably would not be in support of anyway.She actually likes that guy. Tomorrow I am going to pull myself together and pu...

Free Itty Bitty Donkey in PA Standard  Jenny at Voice for Horses Rescu e Free Older In Tact (sic) donkey in NC Free Older Molly in KY Free 3yo Pony Mule Gelding in CA Please post to my facebook fanpage or email me at fenway@braysofourlives.com with news of free, cheap, homeless or slaughter-bound mules and donkeys. I will try to keep a current list here (see tab above), but of course no mule on earth could keep tabs on them all. Your help is welcome and brayfully encouraged. www.searchtempest.com is a great resource for worldwide Craigslist searches. Ears to you, Fenway

"Dr.— is a very nice man," she says. "You'll like him," she says. "He's going to help you." Dr.— stabbed me. He drugged me. He washed my mouth out with soap. He stuck things up my butt, messed about with my willy, and called me fat.  For all the the respect and love that I have for FarmWife, I must say this: She is a TERRIBLE judge of character. Your groggy friend, Fenway

R&R for the ol' hock means plenty of leisure time, and in this family leisure means reading. Just this afternoon, FarmWife was reading me some back issues of Dressage Today—formerly the official publication of the U.S.D.F. —and she found this letter to the editor, published in their third issue, November of 1994. (Incidentally, I was one month old at the time!) I thought we should share it with you, my readers. After all, there are plenty of you out there who travel the long road from  fenssage  to dressage , and I think this will speak to your hearts. "I received my first issue of Dressage Today and am pleased. I would like to see lots of space devoted to helping those of us who desperately need it. We love seeing the stars in their shadbellies do Prix St. Georges on their huge warmbloods. Then, filled with thoughts of grandeur, we go down to the barn and pull out our cherished Quarter Horse-Thoroughbred crosses, trek into the field and ride endless 20- to 23-me...

"Can't we just have ONE DAY without sibling rivalry?," I begged. "Just ONE?" It was eight am, I was at the computer composing my mule's thoughts for the day. My quarreling children, awake just one hour, were already driving me batty.  "Then can we have one day—" my five year-old asked, "just one—without computer work?"  My heart broke a little bit. She was right. I owed it to her to unplug.  I love writing—blogging, especially, and getting feedback from readers who connect. Knowing that my thoughts, profound or mundane though they might be, can inform. enlighten, amuse, or inspire. Feeling powerful, talented, well-liked, and understood.  It's an addictive feeling. I started www.BraysOfOurLives.com as an offshoot from my mule's facebook page , which has blossomed from nothing at all to a busy forum for 500+ longears lovers in a matter of a few months. I've had a blast with it.  I started www.PuddleRun.com to placate family m...

Now I, Fenway Bartholomule, have a reputation for daring, for good sense, for chivalry and dashing good looks. I do not have a reputation for tooting my horn. (In fact, I lack a horn at all and I think that if I had one I would struggle mightily with it on account of the thickness of my prehensile lip.) Nonetheless, I cannot stifle a wee slip of a grin at this list of Farm Rules, according to FarmWife: 10. Don't play fetch with the dog. 9. Don't go in the road without a parent (WAP) 8. Don't feed the mule WAP. (FenBar in: let's strike that one.) 7. Wear appropriate footwear in the barnyard. 6. Don't let the chickens in the garden. 5. Don't put anything mysterious in your mouth WAP. 4. Don't go into the paddock WAP. 3. Always wear a helmet when riding. 2. Be kind to the animals and each other. 1. Revere the mule. For explanation on rule 10, our clouddog has a limb deformity and some arthritis.  For explanation on rule...

I'm a bit stuck today. You see, I have committed the crime of disallowing my human access to part of my anatomy. I know that as her beloved charge, her precious ward, I owe FarmWife the privilege of touching me where ever she sees fit to touch me, and in whatever manner she chooses. But . . . but. This is a big but. A part of my manly bits is irritated by the presence of some buildup, and nothing short of horse tranquilizer's gonna make me let her fix it. It would be ten seconds work, but those could very well be the worst ten seconds of my life. Not going to happen. FarmWife has been working up to cleaning my sheath for 14 months. When I met her, I wouldn't allow her to touch my belly or my hind legs without threatening to kick, and now she is allowed to go so far as to feel and identify my terrible affliction but not so far as to ameliorate it. Now, there are things to be weighed. On the one hand, FarmWife has the option of taking me to the vet. It would cost mo...

Well, we have wet weather today. I suppose the grasses can use it, as can the vegetative delectables of all descriptions, but FarmWife is not too happy on account of having planned a walk with the goat. Jasper Jules has kindly stepped up to provide alternate conveyance in this time of my incapacitation, having pulled the larval humans down to our friend  Dirty Mama's and back yesterday and volunteering for further effort today. Unfortunately, it will take some time for him to develop even the moderate level cardiovascular fitness that I had attained with my twice-weekly hill rides! He must be exercised, and often, if he is to take the children on further adventures. FarmWife sings to Jasper, too, as they go: "Jasper Jules, he's no fool, but he'd look silly in a swimming pool! Jasper Jules, actin' cool, showin' all the people how he works like a mule!" As for me, I stand for cold hosing, abstain from high-impact activities, and endure the reduced-c...

When I was eight, I wanted to be a rider and a mother when I grew up. I wanted a little farm, a trusted mount (a 17.1 hand black stallion, please), a trio of  children. I wanted a handsome and athletic husband (not to kiss, though—ick!), a pair of cats, and a trusted dog at my side. I wanted a bunny, a garden, and a tame, vegetarian peregrine falcon. I loved writing, riding, drawing, singing. I loved animals. When I was 18, I wanted to be a rider, an artist, an environmental scientist. I declared myself a pre-art major. When I was 19, I wanted to be a rider, a kayaker, and an anthropologist. I took science classes. When I was 20, I wanted to be a rider, an animal rights activist, and a magazine writer. I studied journalism, got pregnant, and sold my horse. I looked down my nose at ovolactovegetarians. When I was 23 I graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor's degree in English, and with regrets for not having taken a minor in government. I wanted to be a lawyer, and wanted to marr...

Mules in the News! Check page 19 for FarmWife's mule photo, which made it into the premier issue of Grow Northwest (a magazine on food and farming in the Pacific Northwest). If you are a clever detective you will be able to find a feature article by my dear human as well.

Everyone but me seems to understand the art of luxuriating. My friend Pants the Mule does it. The dog does it. The minimule does it. The goats and the little tigers do it (and how!). Now, with my swollen hock and a couple of weeks of forced R & R ahead, I think it's high time I learned to do it to. Now, it's not that I don't lie down. I do. I lie down eight times a day to roll, and about once a month I stay down for a little sun bath. When FarmWife looks out the kitchen window and sees me in indulgent repose, she typically grabs the camera and sneaks out to the pasture. I am up long before she reaches me.  There are two things FarmWife has been desperate to capture on film—these are the sight of my pet cowbird (I have a cowbird, she's my own, she's with me most of the time from late spring to midsummer. Her husband walks on the ground beside us while she rides) and my sunbaths. My pet cowbird is hard to catch because I bray joyfully at the sight ...

Image courtesy 4-H Horse Council. "How to Wrap a Hock." Disclaimer: my hock is not thus wrapped. An update, because a fan asked: I am feeling fit as a fiddle, but my hock is looking and feeling as fat as a whale and as tight as a drum. FarmWife is as worried as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Today's supposed to be a day of family fun and grazing in the sun here at Bent Barrow Farm. And then there's this—I am still fat. My hock is still swollen. FarmWife is still worried, but the housemule is still softer than velvet and I'm still a glorious sight to behold. I say she should just cheer up and get over it. I'll be fine! We'll have a post of substance tomorrow, but until then, I remain your devoted friend, FB

Day six with my new thoroughpin, though I'm still sound as can be and rarin' to go. We have the vet's blessing to resume work, but FarmWife says we're taking another week off. Looks like it's comfrey compresses and a bit of lounging about for yours truly! Look for me to be fighting fit in time for the birthday trail ride on the first weekend in June, though. Wouldn't miss it. Love, FB UPDATE: ***FENBAR BACK WITH BREAKING NEWS! MY THOROUGHPIN HAS REDUCED BY 75% SINCE BREAKFAST TIME! WE'LL BE BACK ON THE TRAIL IN NO TIME!***

These links to a rising star in the mule world, Grace, were drawn to my attention by a nice COTH reader who thought I might be looking to make a "celebrity connection," if you will. (Wink, wink . . . and yes, mules CAN wink and we DO.) Now, I am loyal to Katie Scarlett 100%. I am a guy with a good girlfriend, and I am good to her. I send her e-cards. I write her songs. That said . . . this Amazing Grace chick is HOT. I can like Grace the way a human man might like Zooey Deschanel. From afar, with admiration. Oh, and there's Pants . She's the Friend Ladymule. We pal around, but Katie holds my heart. So, Katie, my darling, bear with me here. I'm still all yours.  Here's Grace on the today show , where she demonstrates her slobbery kissing technique. Katie's got more of the sensuous lips thing going for her, but Grace gets points for a bold approach!  Here's an article about Grace starring alongside Robert Duvall . Apparently, the man wa...

Today's afternoon blogging hour was substituted by a breakdown on the highway and an AAA call. We made it home—two hungry, cranky children, one groggy, tired goatling, and me. Baby Pigeon was redisbudded today after having had a hornbud regrow, and I think the stop was hardest on her. She's back with Mama now and glad of the chance for a nap! As for D and R? Thrilled to have ridden in a tow truck. Look for real content on Monday . . . sooner if I get to it! M

Hey there! Little Pigeon, the first baby goat, is going on a very special field trip. There is a small part of me that is jealous, because she is going to hang out at a preschool with human children and I have always wanted to go hang out at a preschool with human children. There is a bigger part of me that realizes that giving three dozen pony rides would be a little bit more work than giving one or two pony rides as is my usual habit. I will come back tomorrow with photos from Pigeon's outing, but today I will leave you this: photographic proof that I, too, am fun for preschoolers. There are a couple of reasons why I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a superior mount for pony rides. The first and most obvious reason is that I am beautiful. My physical appearance lends to the thrill of the ride, creating memories that last a lifetime. What little girl does not dream of a beautiful steed? What boy does not dream of his own mighty charger? I make dreams come true. I am also re...

When you have a new and visually abnormal symptom, but when you're sound and comfortable, there can arise a situation where your human finds you less ready for a ride than, in truth, you are. There may come a day when you feel fit and eager, but when your human wants to cold-hose and hand-walk you. For the sound mount with the new cosmetic blemish, such as me with my thoroughpin, I offer these five strategies: 1. Gamboling and cavorting. This can involve galloping, if you are a horse of cheetah-like quickness, or trantering, if you are a mule who likes to err on the gentle side of things. It should involve things like propping and turning, leaping and jumping, and fast acceleration and braking, so as to demonstrate by hard use the suitability of your joints to their purpose. 2. Baleful braying. A plaintive cry at other-than-feeding-time will convey to your human the message that you want her company for more than just meal service and nursing . . . that you miss the c...

There's trails in them thar hills. Unfortunately for yours truly, the trails are privately owned by the Trillium corporation, which is suffering some financial difficulties as of late. What was verbal permission, obtained in 2008, has turned to no permission at all as the land has been posted with No Trespassing signs at every inroad. Much of it goes on the auction block on June 4th as part of a  timber land package. Seeing as my "get rich quick on the internet" scheme doesn't seem to have fruited yet, I won't be offering up the 1 million dollar opening bid. I do, however, have an even better idea. All we need is one very mulish and wealthy reader to jump on board with me, and we will have the makings of a wonderful adventure! Here's the proposal: Wickersham Equestrian Center and Convention Place. It will feature trails (already present), camping (there are some lovely spots), an indoor arena/barn/trail course/stadium jumping arena/dressage court ...