Find what you love

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Find what you love and do it. That seems to be MY answer to happiness, anyway! (I'm not so sure this philosophy applies to all—I've a friend, for instance, whose compelling passions are zombies, chainsaws, metal music, vampires, and the dream of chainsawing zombies and vampires to the tune of some heavy metal music. I'd advise him to stick with something a bit more practical.)

I've always loved animals. I've always been horse-crazy. My first word was cat. My first memory was of a dog—Danny, I believe—lapping my split pea soup right out of my bowl. Before I wanted to be a writer, I wanted to be a vet. Before I wanted to be a vet, I wanted to be a famous jumper rider.

It took a half-decade or so of adult life (college, motherhood, marriage—in that order, for me, since I am unexpectedly fertile and occasionally stupid) for me to remember what makes me tick. I love to RIDE. I love to have a little farm, a number of pets, a beloved animal sidekick that I trust with my life. Once that sidekick was Mirri, my cattle dog, and now that sidekick is Fenway Bartholomule.

And on writing? I've written for food magazines. I've written for parenting magazines. I've written on ecology and society and gardening and food. What I'm best at writing on, though, and what I love to write on more than anything, are animals. Poetry. Prose. Children's verse. Expository journalism. Anything—anything on animals.

I'm lucky that I've finally found my reset button. When I'm cranky, I go ride. I'm lucky that I have identified my "dream career," and that it will not take a miracle or a six-figure education to achieve the dream. I'm lucky, as a writer, that I have a constant source of compelling inspiration. Curled at my feet—inspiration. Warming my lap—inspiration. Hopping across my livingroom—inspiration. Standing on the milkstand—inspiration. Pecking through the barnyard—inspiration. Grazing in the pasture—inspiration. I am surrounded by what I love, and my life is a joy worth sharing.

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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 . . .

The Scoop on Bird

Human here, to give you the scoop on Songbird. He is shiny, sweet, and wonderful . . . and a little bit broken hearted. (Fenway was once, too.) As I've gotten to know him more over the last month, I've come to understand that he associates humans with unpleasantness, at least, and suffering, at worst. He has some gnarly scars. He flinches away from touch, though he warms up quickly when treats are involved. He's quite a foodie. He's easily startled. He's alert, and vigilant. He doesn't always feel safe. He also really likes it at my mom's house, which has a slower pace than the wonderful boarding and lesson barn where he lived in June. He appreciates the predictable routine, the long quiet afternoons, and the retired horses who give him company. He has flattened the grass under the big cedar out back and created nests to rest in. The soft footing at my mom's is better for his newly bare feet. He is starting to believe he'll be ok. I have ridden him...

Continued . . .

That Which Was Foretold Has Come To Pass

After some negotiation and exchange of words like "motheaten" and "raggedy", Farmwife talked me into enduring the roaching of my mane, which I had rubbed on the fence while reaching for delectable edibles at my previous home. We both agreed on four things: 1) it was essential to retain my forelock, which is a thing of splendor that adds greatly to my dashing good looks. I'll get a picture for you tomorrow. 2) once the cut has grown out a bit, she will give me those fancy castle turrets that she used to style for Fenway. 3) we owe our dear readers a better photo, when I have not just rolled in the mud. 4) there is no hairstyle capable of making me look anything but marvelous.

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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