A strangely timed series of events

First, the good news — I was sound for two full years, and in July I was pronounced sound enough for work! This after five years of medical retirement on account of laminitis and sundry. Farmwife, you may recall, bought me as a riding mule only to find that I was already woefully chronically lame.

Sound enough, the vet and trimmer agreed, to be restarted under saddle and in harness. Happy day! Farmwife obtained for me a Wintec saddle, an assortment of bridles, a comfy fit harness, and a wooden road cart.

Then the bad news—Farmwife tried to lunge me and learned that I do not understand lunging. She tried to ground drive me and learned that I remember little, or that she is a bad ground driver, or both. It was sketchy. We desisted.

Having no ring and no trails, we decided I should go to sleepaway camp for a while. She found two trainers, one to take me for a couple of months to gently rebuild my fitness and another skilled driver to help restart me in harness. You may remember that I pulled carts and carried riders for an Amish family in another lifetime, so we all hope it will come right back to me on a new foundation of trust and safety.

More good news—we started looking for a friend for Melvin, for when I go to sleepaway camp. Enter Poppy—Princess Popstar—Cherry Poptart. She was given to us by a friend of the man and she is a queen.

Now, we are three in a paddock built for two. It’s ok, though. They’re small and I’m spending the autumn away. Correct?

Not so fast! Bad news—I started limping the very next day. Abscess? Perhaps. X-rays show nothing definitive. Soaking and poulticing is for naught. The vet is coming for a third time this Wednesday and all we can say is my coffin bones look nice, which is something. Plus “no arthritic changes”—good news for mules of my age and experience.

More bad bews—the person with whom Arrietty has been living is having a change of life and can no longer keep her. What’s that, you say? Four in a paddock built for two? We considered it. Mind you, this news came the same week we brought Poppy home. Tricky timing, Universe. Very tricky!

But good news, too—Etty, Miss Teaspoon, the OG! How we’ve missed her.

Bad news—our sister-in-law lost a mini horse to colic, and has a lonesome mare. Good news—her paddock is warm and welcoming, and Arrietty will fit right in.

So that’s the news. Farmwife is right at this very second sitting in the back of a van with Arrietty on the long journey from Sequim to Everson. It sounds as though I won’t meet Miss Teaspoon in person today, as she’s going straight into Sister’s care, but we should get more frequent updates. Farmwife says you will remember Arrietty, and that I should tell you she is well.

As for me, I do not think I’ll be ready for sleepaway camp next week. We are talking now about MRIs, which sound expensive. We are soaking and poulticing. We are buying stock in epsom salts and praying to the soundness gods that I don’t develop laminitis in my compensating forehoof. Bray for my full recovery!

Ears to you,

Songbird Sparrowgrass, Melvin, and Poppy plus Miss Arrietty G. Teaspoon (foreign correspondent)

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Here are the Cloud Dog's X-Rays

Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery. Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance. Ears to you, Fenway

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Vegan Spring Rolls

I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a vegan: of course I only eat plants, not people! My human is too, so I'm sharing my blog with her today so that she can participate in the 2014 Virtual Vegan Potluck ! When you're done perusing the recipe for these delicious spring rolls, click "back" or "forward" for the entire potluck experience! Virtual Vegan Potluck: Spring Roll Appetizers Beautiful? Check. Healthy? Check. Delicious? Check. Easy? Check. Fancy? Check. Quick to clean up after? Check. Vegan? OF COURSE! If you're looking for something portable, colorful, and crowd-pleasing for your next potluck, look no further than these simple vegan spring rolls! The best part? You can substitute ANYTHING. I never make these the same way twice, so play around with cilantro, kale, cabbage, scallions, or whatever you think sounds good! Ingredients Veggie mix: 2 carrots (grated) 4 oz mung bean sprouts 1/3 cup chopped peanuts (raw, or roasted and salted) or ...

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2025 State of the Farmlet Address

A red stag photographed by Farmwife in Scotland, from whence the family descends and to where they voyaged in September 2024. Dear Mules and Countrywomen, It is my pleasure to report to you today, from my forested vantage point, that the Farmlet is well. It has been eight years since my family had a Farmlet to report upon, and this one is among the best. It is 25 minutes south of Casa de Bartholomule-Teaspoon, where you may remember the family lived for a time, and situated on the same verdant island. It is 120 minutes south of Bent Barrow Farm, where the ancient rhododendron still blooms and where FenBar's old barn of many colors still stands and shelters farm machinery. This place has rhododendrons, too, encircling a lawn which slopes down to my barn and paddock. We call the barn Hoofhouse, and it is going to be painted black in the spring to match the house and my companion, Puck. My paddock, by design, does not overlap the lawn but instead winds through a mix...

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Catastrophy

This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. I was going to entertain you with more haiku today, but something terrible has happened. I need your support. Today was supposed to be a regular spa day—a nice little hoofie trim, a fresh mane roach, an ear massage, and a handful of sunflower seeds (for shine). Instead of merely taking care of my beauty routine, however, FarmWife spent a full hour in contemplation of and attention to my overall physique. The upshot? A revision of my condition from Plump to Obese. (Her actual words, upon removing my blanket for the first time in a few days, were "Oh my God! You've ballooned!") She has decided that my fatness has become a health risk, and has resolved to exercise me as often as possible. It gets dark at 4:30. Her husband gets home at 5:30. She has small children and no sitter. This, my friends, means that I will end up being longed. Longed at the end of a stupid, smelly old rope. Forced to walk and trot...

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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