BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

I, Fenway Bartholomule, had the esteemed privilege of receiving a professional mani-pedi from none other than Northwest Hoofcare's Ali McMahon yesterday! During the procedure, I was accused of looking baleful, forlorn, woeful, and even morose. My excuse? I don't usually like to hold hands on the first date. Nonetheless, I was a gentleman—and yes, she wants to see me again! This morning, on the other hand, I am enjoying my beautiful, symmetrical, and athletically-balanced hoofies. In fact, I awoke feeling like a coiled panther, balanced on four chiseled, muscular limbs and ready to spring with a predator's grace on the first flake of hay to show itself. It came sailing over the fence, and I pounced. It was demolished. Miss Arrietty got a rating of 9 for manners and 10 for cuteness—and if there's one thing I like better than being told how handsome I am, it's being told what a beautiful girlfriend I have. Thank you, Ali. Next time, can you add some little lacque...

Friends, humans, and fellow hoofpeople, It is my pleasure to greet you this afternoon from the sunlit slope of my own dear paddock, which measures 21 feet by 400 feet and sits in one corner of four wooded acres of particular beauty. I gaze down from my lofty realm upon a grassy lawn, still green despite the travails of the long, dark Solstice season, and see below me a charming barn ideal in location and proportion for both yours truly and my darling Arrietty. I, Fenway Bartholomule, am sound, round, and happily blanketed against the battery of winter rain. My mood has improved considerably since Christmas Eve, at which time I was permitted entry for the first time into my new barn. In December, I was grinding my teeth and weaving in my free moments. This month, I spend them dozing, strolling, and grooming my Arrietty's withers with my powerful but gentle incisors. Life is good. My little barn provides a roof over my head, and what it lacks in trim, paint, gutters, or ...