The cruel impartiality of Father Time

Father Time waits for no mule.

I told the guy, "cut me some slack. I've got this hay to eat, these goats to mind, this grass to trim, this cool refreshing water to drink . . . and, Father, I've got a blog to attend. I can't do all of this in 24 hours! I need a break." I asked him to bump me up to an allotment of 25 hours—maybe 26, max—on Friday, the day FarmWife was busy at the medical clinic all day. I asked for an extra 45 minutes on Saturday, the day FarmWife was out with Husband and Daughters trying to get some very small crutches for a very small filly (they are hard to find, it turns out, but if you are in Bellingham you should start at Hoagland's Pharmacy and save yourself the trouble of calling 30 other places). I asked for an extra hour or two yesterday, too, so that FarmWife could finish building a bunny paddock and still have time to blog with me before cooking some heart-shaped pizzas. He wouldn't budge.

24 hours is what you get, it turns out, whether you are an orphan or a hero or a dullard or a celebrity mule. Father Time is severe in his adherence to the rules, but he is also the world's greatest defender of equity. The only people who get a break from the 86,400 seconds-per-day rule are hypothetical speed-of-light travelers, and since I'm not one of those then I suppose I'm going to stop fussing about it and simply leave you with this: FarmWife and I apologize for the patchy content this week, and we promise to do better. You, dear readers, are never forgotten.

Ears,
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 ...

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Mowers and raccoons and steers, oh my!

In my informal Facebook survey I learned that the majority of Friends of the Muleness want more stories—All the Stories!—and that the story they want most of all is the story of the raccoon. Farmwife says it's hardly a story at all, and that it would be something to talk about had the raccoon been in my barn, or touching my body, or gesticulating at me with it's bizarrely human little fingers to indicate that it would like a little snack or help with its homework. Alas, this is not that kind of story. Before I tell you about the raccoon I have to go backwards and tell you that I am feeling very good in my body these days. My track through the forest has been expanded, my laminitis is at bay, and my health has been very largely excellent since I came here to the Atomic Ranch in December. I am feeling so good, in fact, that I have been cleared for long walks around the neighborhood! Puck, Farmwife, and I sometimes make the long loop up Saratoga and back around Fox Spit, which ...

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To Boot or Not to Boot

There're boots (FarmWife's, pictured) and and then there're boots (mine, below) and boots (suspensory). And THOSE—suspensory, support or protective boots—are what I want to talk about today. (And yes, I know that there are a million other kinds, too, but a mule has only so much time.) I love my Easyboot Epics, and I would gladly wear a second pair on my hind hooves if the opportunity presented itself. So far, it hasn't, but it's only a matter of time until a mule of my caliber starts seeing the corporate sponsorship love. All in due time! In the meantime, FarmWife wonders about protective or supportive boots. You know, the kind that make a mule look very fancy, ready for anything, and primed for tremendous athletic accomplishment? Really, I would love to have some. I think they'd look sassy. The arguments in favor of wearing something like a Sports Medicine Boot are thus: I love to a...

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BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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