Bad news.
I had a fantabulous idea: "FarmWife, take me in a parade! Dye my hoofies green! Dress me up in a thousand gold coins! I will be the treasure at the end of the Saint Patrick's Day rainbow, and every Bellinghamster will revel in my splendiferous mulishousness!"
She knocked it down flat: "FenBar, I love you with all my heart. You know I do. You are a perfect mule for Bent Barrow Farm, but you are no sort of mule for a parade. You cannot go into the town in a thousand gold coins when a sheep makes you do this:
And when a ruffed grouse makes you do this:
And when a motorbike makes you do this:
It simply would not be safe, my darling. I am thinking of your safety."
I told her, "I will learn not to wheel about and gallop home when I see a motorbike. You will see."
FarmWife said, "I believe you, Fenway. We will teach an old mule new tricks."
Ears,
FenBar
We're now on Instagram!
View this profile on Instagram@braysofourlives • Instagram photos and videos
Blog Archive
-
▼
2012
(226)
-
▼
February
(23)
- Happy Leap Day!
- The second best thing in the world
- Under the wire
- Match the breed/species to the body part!
- Le Spook
- What is writing for, anyway?
- Grow Northwest
- Plenty
- Never too many
- Reprinted from The Brayer, January 2012
- A ride
- Update #1
- The end of the internet
- The cruel impartiality of Father Time
- Broken person
- One hoof, two hoof, red hoof, blue hoof
- Begin at the beginning. Go on until you reach the ...
- I don't know if you can ...
- Picnic report
- Five perpetrators of unbraining
- A gentle guiding hand . . . er, mouth
- Iota McHippus
- My barn
-
▼
February
(23)
Copyright 2026, Brays Of Our Lives. Powered by Blogger.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks in Advance for Your Mulish Opinion!