Brayking news

I never got to meet Uncle Fenny but I hear a lot about him and sometimes I think I feel his presence. He would have wanted me to give you an update, as there are some very exciting things happening in our family now—things he would have very much wanted for us. 

Fenway Bartholomule died, as you may well remember, on the eve of Farmwife's 39th birthday. He went suddenly and peacefully and we still don't know why. He was 22. He was living at our good friend's place, since the family home had been sold in a divorce. Those were strange years. Farmwife sometimes thinks he stayed just long enough to help her find herself, and left when he knew she'd be ok.

I joined the family in 2021, and I've passed this time living at a family member's house among myriad horses, ponies, rabbits, dogs, and chickens. I was happy enough there, but Farmwife and I never got to know one another as closely as we both would have liked. Most days, I didn't see her. Farmwife was living in the suburbs, and working full time, and raising her family. Her daughters are now 17, 20, and 24. Her stepchildren are 25, 31, and 34.

Ah, did I forget to tell you? Farmwife is a step mother! She went tumbling, some time ago, head over heels into love. Newly married, she is happier than a pig in straw*. She could hardly adore someone more than she adores her husband. It's a silly thing to see, and I rather like it for her.

Farmwife's new husband, whom we shall call TL (The Love), caused a really splendid little barn—Hoofhouse—to be built in their front yard for me and my best friend Puck. Two days ago, to the great delight of everyone involved, we moved in with the family! So far, we love it here. Our forested paddock has the right mix of edible foliage, dappled shade, sweet sunbeams, soft footing, meandering paths, and a trough full of the most delicious water. TL, despite being new at horse and mule husbandry, has already proven himself by helping stack timothy and teff hay to the rafters.

I was never sure if I should follow in Uncle Fen's hoofsteps as a blogger before now, but after a couple of days of living together here at Hoofhouse I'm pretty sure Farmwife and I have some stories to tell together. I think you should keep your ears tuned, and expect to hear more from us.

Watch for the 2025 State of the Farmlet Address, which will come with updates about beloved family members of yore—Clover the Chihuahua, for instance, who has just one eye and more lipomas than you can shake a stick at but is still a delight—and new ones yet to be introduced. It will be a pleasure to bray to you.

Ears to you,
Songbird Sparrowgrass

*contrary to the more offensive version of this simile, pigs don't like to wallow in excrement.

One person I miss

I have the best of friends around me here at this new home! I have my human Granny and Gruncle (is he a grandpa? Is he an uncle? I'm not sure), I have a horse companion beside me and two other horse companions a little further down the row, and I have a wonderful assortment of ponies, miniature horses, and miniature mules darting about and making adorable little sounds with their adorable little faces at all hours of the day and night. It's really quite lovely. I have chickens and rabbits and cats to befriend, and I have visits from the Woman and her blue dog. 

My friend Scotty, who lives on my right, is a wise old chestnut with a soothing presence. My friend Cadbury, who lives on my left, is a fiery miniature stallion (a rescue, for whom gelding was medically contraindicated) who ensures our life is never boring. 

I miss one person from the boarding barn—a sweet little girl who was the very first person I came to trust in that new place. She was kind to me from the outset, and could always be counted on for a treat and a currying if my own human wasn't available to attend me. 

Perhaps she can come visit me at my new home one day. I will ask my human Granny to prepare a picnic! I should let her taste my new salt block—it's really, really delicious. In fact, I like it so much that I am going to be getting some loose salt so that I can have even more sodium in my diet without wearing out my poor tongue! 

Tunefully yours,

Songbird

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.

My new home

I moved in with my grandmother! I think she's my grandmother. She's the mother of the woman who looks after me. I am told that this will be my permanent home until the woman buys me some acreage of my own. 

It is not hard to be patient here . . . this place features equine companionship, delectable grasses, rural privacy, and access to trails that I have yet to explore. I have met the DOG, who I'm told is the woman's other best friend, and he is open to going adventuring with me. I am content, and grateful for this grandmother's hospitality.

Ears to you,

Songbird

Meeting the Family

The woman introduced me to my Auntie today—I am not sure how we're related, and we don't have much of a family resemblance except in our temperaments, but if the woman says this hoof trimmer is part of my family then I am willing to take her word for it! She says, "she's your Auntie in spirit, Bird," which I thought meant that she would be my Auntie even if I were dead, but which the woman says means that we are not actually related. 

My Auntie trimmed my hooves and told me they are going to be A-OK. She complimented me on my fine face and my kind eyes and my generally pleasant demeanor. She gave me a low-sugar mule cookie and she told me I would be fine. 

This Auntie is famous from Fenway Bartholomule's blogging days, and I am happy to say that I, too, received a wonderful mani-pedi! https://www.braysofourlives.org/2015/02/mani-pedi.html

A short little song

 

This is a very short little song, but it's long enough for you to get a sense of my technique and range. Listen for the little chirps at the end, which the woman finds so endearing. There's good reason my new name is Songbird!

 

Pearly Whites

Dr. H, Equine Dentist to the Stars, came out today and polished my pearly whites. I know you know I've been excited, so let me just break the bad news to you first—she didn't give me a choice of toothpaste flavors, and I didn't get a toothbrush or a sticker to keep afterwards. I did get some compliments, though, so it wasn't all bad!

I was a little nervous at first. Watching my friend Bongo stagger out of there, drooling, like he'd just been KO'd by a prize fighter . . . that made me a little nervous. Watching Dr. H adjusting her rolling cart of torture implements . . . that made me a little nervous. Watching Dr. H and her trusty assistant greet me kindly, and listen to my heart and lungs, and tell me I was lovely . . . that put me at ease. So at ease, in fact, that I voluntarily walked into the WEIRDEST situation I think I have ever encountered. 

First, they must have injected me with something—I barely felt the needle, but I sure felt the effects! The woman—my new friend—was there. She said, "I'll keep an eye on you, Bird," which helped. I was in no position to keep an eye on myself. 

When I was so loopy I could barely stand, they had me rinse and spit. Then, they put my head on a padded stand and commenced to literally FILE MY TEETH WITH POWER TOOLS! I kid you not! Yes, I'm yelling. 

I never cease to be amazed at the weird things humans can think up! Maybe they want me to have a smile that aligns more with American beauty standards now that I'm a famous blogger? I am not sure that's the reason, as I don't get a superficial vibe from this new woman. Maybe it has something to do with wanting me to have fresher breath, preparing me to do more author appearances?  

Dr. H evened up my smile in the front, then tuned up my molars—lefts and rights, tops and bottoms. I never knew I had so much extra tooth material in there. After she had ground all my sharp bits to dust, she had me rinse and spit again. I love this shiny clean tooth feeling, and my cheeks are feeling better than ever. I didn't realize how rough my teeth had gotten, but now I think I can chew more comfortably than before. Come to think of it, maybe that was the goal all along? Comfort, and chewing efficiency?

Dr. H and the woman took a good look at my worst scar—a 2 centimeter-long gash in my lip and gum. It sits a little forward of where a bit would go, and although I'm still a little touchy about the memory of pain it has healed as well as can be expected. Although it goes all the way down to the bar, near the root of an adjacent tooth, it doesn't seem to have caused any bone or tooth damage. They talked about my past, and my future, and the idea of trying me in something called a "hackamore". 

Dr. H called me a "good boy" and said I was easier to sedate than some mules—attributable in part to my Missouri Fox Trotter mother, perhaps, as that's a breed that apparently responds nicely to sedation. 

I am starting to feel more alert now, and ready for lunch. I will let you know how these new improved biting surfaces work! 

Ears to you,

GusBird