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 ...