There are horsemen and then there are horsemen

Michael on Atlas—photo from www.michaeletherly.com

And Michael Etherly is a serious horseman. He's an incredible rider, a committed athlete, and a true artist. He rides with the kind of poise that most of you humans can only dream about.

Oh, fine, I confess—this is mostly FarmWife talking. She told me to say these things, and I think it's just because Michael Etherly was her Pony Club trainer when she was 14 years old. She still hasn't gotten over the thrill of riding with such a classy guy. He had charisma, as she tells it, and he was a good teacher. He was there the day she fell over a cross country fence, hurt herself and her horse, and lost her confidence, and he saw her slide from ambitious young eventer to nervous nellie. (She didn't really get her groove back until she met me, Fenway Bartholomule, and in fact I helped her learn to jump again. That's a story for another day.)

http://www.michaeletherly.com/

FarmWife loves me—her trail mule—and she loves the gravelly, muddy byways of scenic Wickersham, but there are times when she wishes we could be whisked away to Northern California, don some white breeches*, and learn to ride like Mike. She sometimes wonders where her riding career would be today if she had stayed focused on dressage and eventing back in the 90s. She wonders what would have happened to her life if she'd gone to a college with an equestrian program, or if she'd never sold her homebred Swedish Warmblood colt (who, it turns out, is a gorgeous athlete with a glitchy stifle and a challenging attitude), or if she'd saved every dollar she ever earned and poured them into lessons and clinics and schooling shows.

She'd probably be a better rider, but she probably wouldn't be happier. She'd find something else to pine for—something different, and more laid back. Something like a nice little mule and a quiet trail.

FenBar

*Her, not me—this butt of mine wouldn't fly in stretchy pants.

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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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