BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

Here is a tremendous sign of faith in my future soundness: FarmWife has decided that I deserve a brand new pair of hoof boots! It's a bit of a risk: after all, it's a $130+ investment (or more, depending on the brand) for the possibility of future trail rides. If my hock blows up, well . . . then I'll have them on hand, I suppose, for future hoof injuries or unmounted strolls or loaning out to friends. FarmWife thought she could get away with using my ratty old pair, but they are in such tatters that when she put them on me in the pasture last week I promptly stepped on the disfigured heel area and ripped one of the things to complete and utter smithereens. That sort of hang-up does not bode well for a long life among the serviceably sound, so into the garbage they shall go. (Not really into the garbage: FarmWife's Scottish blood compels her to keep every potentially useful article in the spirit of "waste not, want not," so it's into the parts bin for th...

There is a bizarre phenomenon in Wickersham . . . the grasses grow brown and the earth drifts into the sky in a million minute particles. FarmWife says it's only dust,  but this isn't the dust I know and love. That dust sticks on coats and hooves, but this dust sticks on throats and eyes and nostrils. FarmWife waters our shed floor now, so that our trough, at least, will stay clean. This dust is the product of one month's steady, uninterrupted sun. I am flummoxed by the question of how you 300-sunny-days-a-year people cope with the stuff! Otherwise,  all is well in my world. I hope you can say the same! FB Sentfrommyphone

Last week, I was driving along listening to Click 98.9 (yes, I admit it: I like the same music as my 12 year-old daughter. I also like classier things, but I am not above grooving to a Maroon 5 or Coldplay song) when the DJ asked, "do you want to go see Dave Matthews Band at the Gorge?" "Why yes," I thought, "I do." Do you know what? I was caller number 20. This is something that has never before happened to me, and came as some surprise, which probably explains why I sounded befuddled and falsely enthusiastic when she replayed my, "wow, great!" on the radio five minutes later. Mr. Puddle Run and I are going to the Gorge next weekend, then, to see DMB and the Avett Brothers and some jazzy other opening band whose 3-minute YouTube video failed to impress. I am prepared for an absolutely spectacular evening. If you've never been to the Gorge Ampitheatre in George, Washington, know this: it is MARVELOUS. A mini-Grand Canyon-esque venue, it is wo...

These big ol' hooves of mine make blogging from this tiny little smartphone difficult,  but FarmWife says I must practice. She says that my new smartphone is the solution to this problem of an overly busy transcriptionist. Now I can blog alone from the comfort of my paddock, you see!  I wonder if I can make voice calls. Send texts?  Play Angry Birds? The web is mine! I am finally a 21st century mule! FB

Arrietty She does not heed the word "stand", which leads to great trouble when there is a gate ajar or when there is a grooming in progress or when there is a photo being taken. Witness the product of FarmWife's photography attempts:

Well, I've always wanted to go to the Northwest Washington Fair in person but it hasn't worked out yet. Never fear—thanks to my artist friend, I was there in spirit if not in body. Do you remember yesterday when I said I was sure my oil portrait would fare well in the competition? Well, it sure did! "Fenway Bartholomule" won the professional division! Wowee Zowee. I don't know if it's because I'm so darn beautiful, or because I surround myself with such talented people. Shaila, I am honored to have been rendered by such a gifted painter as yourself. Tomorrow, I will tell you about my recent days. It is a gripping tale of hay flakes, dust baths, and naps in the shade. FenBar

Dear Friends, Big news in the art world! My oil portrait (by Shaila Tenorio, visible on the right sidebar of my blog) was entered in the Northwest Washington Fair. I'm eagerly awaiting news from the artist about how it did—honestly, I'd be shocked an appalled if it was anything less than a blue ribbon winner. It's that beautiful. The painting usually hangs in FarmWife's living room like so: What is that second picture, you ask? Well, I'll tell you! We want to commission a portait of Arrietty too, of course, but that's an expensive proposition that might have to wait. In the meantime, the kind people at www.easycanvasprints.com gave me a beautiful print-on-canvas of Arrietty (her eye, actually) so that she would not be left out entirely. It is absolutely beautiful, and will hold the place very nicely until such a time as we can afford more original artwork. Would YOU like a canvas print for your wall? I have two gift cards, valued at $10 each, to give ...

If you can't stare at invisible scary things with your mini-me, who can you stare at invisible scary things with?

It must be a small animal thing: Arrietty spends so much time napping with my goats, it's like the three of them have some sort of club. If they had paintbrushes, they'd hang a sign on their treehouse reading "Small, Tired Livestock Only." The humans do all sorts of "ooh" and "ahh" when my tired, small livestock nap together. Don't worry, though—they ooh and ahh when I shine, too. FB

Photo from www.healingharvestforestfoundation.org.  1) a neighbor called this morning and said that FarmWife and her children ought to come pick his blueberries, which were weighing his bushes down to the ground. They picked about a gallon and the bushes looked just as fully loaded when they were done as when they had begun. I think this means it is time for the mules to be unleashed upon the bushes to do the rest. (FarmWife says that would be tacky, and that she was a guest, and that the animals were not asked along.) 2) FarmWife says I am too fat for big snacks like whole apples and carrots but that I can have little snacks like apple slices and carrot sticks. She also says that I can have one little pink treat per day from my good friend Jean in New England. They came in the mail and are  delicious ! To my friend Jean, my most brayful thanks. 3) The goats can reach the hay, and I cannot, but the goats' penalty for reaching the hay is that they never get a flake of their...

This feels like summer! It's 90 degrees, my legs aren't off-white anymore, and I—who abhors breezes, and like a nice stagnant room—actually have a fan on in my office. I am loving my current lifestyle among the fully employed: half-time at the print shop, half-time at home as an editor, conference programmer, and journalist. It's a perfect mix between the camaraderie of traditional employment and the freedom of self-employment. It doesn't feel like too much. The paychecks show up like clockwork. All's well in my world, and if the blog goes quiet for spell here and there then I hope you'll at least remember me as busy, happy, and gainfully employed. M p.s. in addition to all this work, there's play. My new favorite toy: Instagram. Look for my by username "didgery" to keep track of what I'm photographing!

This week I have issued rides to my big, medium, and small human fillies, soundly carrying them hither and thither about my pasture for up to 20 minutes at a time, to no ill effect. In fact, I have carried them so soundly that FarmWife thinks she may be able to ride me again herself one day! My hock has been cool, firm, and swelling-free since May, which is truly remarkable (you'll remember, of course, that it once looked like this, and that I've been to two vets about it, and that it responded to an injection but that the improvement didn't last): FarmWife thinks Arrietty is to thank for my soundness, as I now wander the pasture for 12 out of every 24 hours, moseying happily about in my little herd of two. In contrast, I used to stand still for 12 out of every 24 hours, wondering what a lone mule is to do with his one long, hungry life. FarmWife thinks it's the walking that's fixed me.  May your hay be fresh and abundant, may your trails be smooth and sc...

Dear FarmWife, I know life is busier now that you're working full time. Thank you for having the foresight to have my barn open right onto the driveway, where you can bid me good morning and good night as you walk to and from the car! Thank you for assembling a non-stick professional wardrobe, the better for to throw hay before work (do check your hair in the mirror, though. You're going to want to take care of that dangly thing there.) Thank you for teaching your medium-sized daughters how to scoop up poop. My paddock still does need cleaning, even when you're busy! Good luck teaching the littlest daughter to help, but in the meantime, thank you for teaching her which curry combs are NOT to be used on my ticklish bits, and what footwear is NOT to be worn in the paddock, and what the rules are regarding equines, children, and supervisory adults. I'm glad I can be groomed while you clean up around the garden. Thank you for getting me a little muley friend. Ar...

The Bold and the Brayful a column by Fenway Bartholomule Introducing Miss Arrietty G. Teaspoon, Assistant Mule of Bent Barrow Farm I've some earfully splendid news for you today, my friends, but first let's have the back story. Bent Barrow Farm is a fat, backwards L: the foot of the L, if you will, is home to a two story 1900 farmhouse, a sprawling green yard for the dogs and children, and a perennial garden bed. Also a terrifyingly big, terrifyingly pink rhododendron which I've never liked. Also some fruit trees, which I like rather a lot (fruits, leaves, and all . . . one reason why I am not often loosed in the dogs' and children's yard). Also a mailbox and a woodshed. The hinge of the L, if you will, is home to a chicken coop, duck hut, garden, greenhouse, and wood shop. My little barn (measuring 16x32 feet) hangs off the east side of the shop. Beyond my barn, my gravel paddock wends around a abundantly fruitful raspberry patch (also ric...