His Minions Abound

Friends, you may recall my run-in with Satan's Chicken last winter. I am lucky to have escaped alive from the encounter—though, thankfully, the Bird of Evil (Exhibit A) was so astounded by my long-eared handsomeness that he was transfixed with amazement as I passed, it was a close call and a terrifying event.

Exhibit A: Satan's Chicken

Yesterday, my FarmWife directed me to summit yonder hill. I did so, passing rather near to the bush where Satan's Chicken dwells. I was, as you can imagine, all watchful vigilance! And for good reason, for who should emerge from said bush but Satan's Goat?? (Exhibit B)

Exhibit B: Satan's Goat

FarmWife tried to tell me that a) it was a deer and that b) it was just as frightened of me as I was of it. I was not listening. I was performing the second Terrible Spook of my career with FarmWife, during which I wheeled and leapt for five panicked, heedless strides into the tall grass and mounded, spongy earth of the trail-side.

When it comes to spooking strategies, we mules have horse-brain moments (in which we attempt to Flee) and donkey-brain moments (in which we attempt to Examine). It was not even a horse-brain moment. I, Fenway the Humble, will confess that it was a moron-brain moment. FarmWife, keeping her seat and her wits, shouted WHOA in such a tone that my donkey-brain was reactivated and I was able to compose myself. Being a mule, I never slipped! For this, we are thankful.

So, the deer question. FarmWife insists that Satan's Goat was no such thing, but I am sure she is wrong. I have seen deer (exhibit C). This was no deer. 

Exhibit C: Deer

Luckily, FarmWife and I mended fences rather quickly. I made up for my terrible moron-spook by striding boldly through every puddle along the remainder of the trail, something that I usually only do under duress. Just my way of saying "sorry." When that wasn't enough to earn her full forgiveness, I offered to write off having heard her refer to me as "Fatty McFatterson" when she thought I wasn't listening. At this, she accepted my olive branch and offered full forgiveness and a fresh start. 

We're all safe in Wickersham—at least until Satan's Guinea Pig (Exhibit D) rears it's ugly head.

Exhibit D: Satan's Guinea Pig

Ears to you,

Fenway