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
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