Alternative transportation

FarmWife went on a bike ride to the local watering hole yesterday, with our youngest human filly in tow. Normally, my hackles would be up at the preposterous suggestion that any mode of transportation could serve better than me, Fenway Bartholomule. This time, though, I have to agree.

Firstly, there was the weather. A romantic mist at the beginning of their ride turned into a pissing, frigid downpour by the time they returned, and I was just as happy to observe from within the comfort of my dry shed.

Secondly, there are the amenities. I understand that they serve beer, soda, juice, and coffee at the Blue Mountain Grill, but only out of mugs, glasses, or cups. A bucket of Guinness would cost a pretty penny, and I'm pretty sure those lawn chairs on the patio aren't designed for the likes of me.

Thirdly, there is the roadway. Rushing along a paved back road is fine for wheels but hard one hooves, and with the pace they were setting I was well advised to remain behind.

Fourthly, and perhaps most importantly, the Blue Mountain Grill sits on Highway 9. The means by which to get there are quieter, but the parking lot is right on the main drag. It would be a shame, I think, if I was overcome by my Annual Stupidity while in such close proximity to the thundering lorries. (My Annual Stupidity, for those unaware, is a gigantic megaspook, which involves whirling, bolting, and braying in abject terror. It has happened to me twice in my two plus years with FarmWife.)

I won't begrudge FarmWife and her littlest filly an occasional bike ride, then. I just hope they bring me back an oatmeal stout and a side of onion rings next time.

FenBar

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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...

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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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