Writing to the stars—a copy of my letter to Ewan

Ewan McGregor

United Talent Agency

9560 Wilshire Blvd.

Suite 500

Beverly Hills, CA 90212-2401

USA

Dear Mr. McGregor,

You mentioned your interest in owning a donkey during an episode of The Long Way Down, and I wanted to encourage you to give it a try. Donkeys are warm, affectionate, stoic, and charming creatures. Their needs are few: the company of humans and other equines, a healthy diet of grass hay and minerals, a safely fenced enclosure with shelter and room to move around, and regular hoof and veterinary care. It's likely within your means to provide these things, and you'll be repaid ten times over by your donkey with his humor, his kindness, and his antics.

Donkeys do best with a friend, and so I want to encourage you to adopt a pair. The Donkey Sanctuary, Sidmouth, Devon EX10 0NU, telephone +44 (0) 1395 578222, can provide you with additional information about finding and looking after a donkey in the United Kingdom, and there are a number of additional donkey charities in the UK, the United States, and around the world. Adoption is a responsible way to find a new pet, and the world is full of donkeys in need.

If you are interested in helping donkeys but don't want any of your own, I encourage you to extend your philanthropy to our hooved friends. I appreciate and admire your charitable work for children and impoverished people, and I hope that my suggestion will be taken as an addition rather than an alternative to your wonderful work in these areas. Monetary donations are sorely needed and I am sure there are dozens if not hundreds of worthy associations who would love some assistance in funding their efforts to help these hard-working and often maligned animals.

http://www.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk has more information about donkey rescue and some webcams of their residents in the barn and yard. My own mule (the offspring of a donkey and a horse) lives in my backyard in Acme, Washington, and blogs at www.braysofourlives.com. I'm including his picture on the enclosed card, and would very much appreciate a note from you to acknowledge receipt of this message. I'm including a SASE in case you would like to use it to reply.

Thank you,

Marnie Jones

(return address included in actual correspondence)

Comments

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 ...

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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...

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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...

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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