Five things FarmWife can't ignore

FarmWife has been ridiculously busy. ("But Fenway," she says, "you won't have a rain blanket for Christmas if I don't earn money.") She's never too busy to feed me, of course, but she is sometimes too busy to come sit in the pasture for a chat or walk me down to the salmon pond for a roll on the sandy bank. I've had to get creative, and I've found at least five surefire ways to get a bit of a visit at feeding time.

1) A poopy water trough. I can't bring myself to do it, but my minions (read: goats) are always willing to toss some raisins in the drink if it helps gain FarmWife's notice. This is usually good for four minutes, give or take, of FarmWife's presence as she scrubs the bucket.

2) A mucky shed. I used to poop outside on Mount Bartholomule, which could be neglected for days at a time in between removals to the compost pile. I recently realized, however, that FarmWife mucks out our habitations Every Single Day if we only spread our poop around sufficiently. I now poop right next to the manger, where she can't bear to leave it, and it's good for ten minutes of her company each morning if I grind it in a bit with my hoofies.

3) A mournful bray. This still gets her, every time. FarmWife is hearing impaired, which means she cannot always hear her children crying or her husband calling her name. Somehow her brain is hardwired to pick up the distinct undulations of her beloved mule's song, however, and it always gets her into her boots and out the door.

4) An injury. I summoned her psychically that one time, you remember, and then there was another time when I had a scrape on my flank and she spent five minutes putting soothing balms upon it instead of leaving on time for some important social engagement. I'm still #1 in her book!

5) A playful romp. When FarmWife's really in a hurry, she tosses my hay and wheels back towards the house. Sometimes I can lure her in for a side-by-side jog around the paddock and some wither-scritches by doing a prancy-dancy approach. If I come trotting up, flagging my tail and cavorting sideways, only to screetch to a halt and whuffle softly to her, it breaks her heart so wonderfully that all of her appointments and obligations and scheduled work projects fall out of it onto the floor and she gets distracted for a good half hour.

I'm not her only obligation, it's true. I'm just her best one.

Ears to you,
Fenway Bartholomule