A Day in the Life of Fenway, Part I of V: EARLY MORNING

5:30 am. Awaken to the pitter patter of little hooves. This is not, as I had once feared, the ghostly hoofbeats of my unborn children. It is the sound of Jasper Jules getting up onto his goat loft, from which the view is better. I don't even care what Wickersham looks like from up there. Hmmph.

6:00 am. Engage Laser Eyes and Radar Ears. Conduct surveillance of the house until human activity is detected. Bray the news. (6 am and all's well!)

6:30 to 6:59 am. Graze behind the greenhouse, commingle with Jeffery the calf over the fence (his humans call him Burger), 

6:40ish. Bray hello to neighbor B. as he departs for work. 

7:00 am. First indication of human activity outside the home. Dogs emerge like thundering typhoons into the yard, where they defecate with terrible imprecision. (I prefer to keep my feces in a tidy little pile, the better for FarmWife to remove them.)

7:01 to 7:28 am. Graze behind the plum trees.

7:29 am. Wander back towards the driveway in anticipation of Mr. J's emergence from the house.

7:30 am. Mr. J emerges from the house. Bray a rousing good morning, then retreat to the staging area near the raised beds. Commence pump up with empowering phrases: "I am beautiful. I am loved. I can do anything. I will be fed."

7:40 am. FarmWife emerges from the house. Gallop, braying, from staging area to shed, giving every impression of having been alone in the wilderness, starving and heartsick, for at least a week. Give FarmWife Googly Eyes, Loving Whickers, and Open-mouthed Exhalations until hay is produced. 

7:41 am. Ignore hay for one minute, so as to gaze a loving thank you into the eyes of FarmWife. (This is hard to do without laughing when she is still in her pajamas, but it is important.)

7:42 am. Eat, being careful to remove every most delicious strand from my hay, while the goats eat out of their own manger. 

8:15 am. Eat with the goats, who have already removed every most delicious strand from their own hay with their weird little split lips. Note, as the goats eat, that they have no top teeth in front. Silly, silly beasts! (We will have to talk more about these silly beasts again. There is so much about them that is strange . . . like their eight hooves each.)

8:20 am. Greet FarmWife, who has reemerged, looking ready to greet the day (and the mule). Stand politely for the removal of blanket. Try ordering a latte for the four hundredth time. 

8:30 am. Bray the news. (8:30 am and all's well!)

8:31 am. Poop with graceful dignity on top of Fenway Tower. (Horses, take note . . . pooping in a carefully balanced stack can save your human plenty of mucking out trouble, and will be repaid when she has extra time to spend with you!)

8:32 am. Select wallow for first of several daily rolls. Make careful inspection of rolling surface.

8:33 am to 8:36 am. Roll left, roll right, roll all the way over. Itch the withers, itch the rump. Left ear down, and itch-itch-itch. Roll over, close eyes, right ear down. Itch-itch-itch. Exhale. All the way over, roll left, roll right, and itch-itch-itch. Rise to dog-pose, which for a mule has nothing at all to do with yoga. Endure, if they are present, the laughter of the larval humans. 

8:37 am. Rise and shake. 

8:37:05 am. Listen to the dying echos of the ear-flap sound as it bounces off of Stewart and Anderson mountains. Flap-ap-ap-ap. 

8:40 am. Assume thoughtful pose, with hind leg cocked and ears at half mast. Brainstorm daily blog content. Telepathically convey material to transcriptionist.