The Scoop on Bird

 Human here, to give you the scoop on Songbird.

He is shiny, sweet, and wonderful . . . and a little bit broken hearted. (Fenway was once, too.) As I've gotten to know him more over the last month, I've come to understand that he associates humans with unpleasantness, at least, and suffering, at worst. He has some gnarly scars. He flinches away from touch, though he warms up quickly when treats are involved. He's quite a foodie. He's easily startled. He's alert, and vigilant. He doesn't always feel safe.

He also really likes it at my mom's house, which has a slower pace than the wonderful boarding and lesson barn where he lived in June. He appreciates the predictable routine, the long quiet afternoons, and the retired horses who give him company. He has flattened the grass under the big cedar out back and created nests to rest in. The soft footing at my mom's is better for his newly bare feet. He is starting to believe he'll be ok. 

I have ridden him twice—once when I bought him, where I rode just long enough to tell that he was trained and obedient. Once about three weeks later, for just a few minutes, while I experimented with saddle fit. My saddle fits him nicely, but I don't think his head is in the right space for being ridden. I am going to wait until he looks forward to seeing me—and trusts me to touch him, catch him, lead him out the gate and down the trail for adventures—and then he and I will discuss whether he would like to be a saddle mule. 

I am so very happy I bought him—he is a goodhearted, beautiful boy and he deserves years of happiness after his years of toil. I think we are going to be very good friends indeed.