Hoofbeats

It's official: I am the spokesmule of Hoofbeats, the new English tack store in Bellingham, Washington. In that capacity, let me tell you this: you should shop there.

My agent (FarmWife) has dropped in with apologies for my failure to make an appearance at their opening celebration, and she reports back that the store is everything she'd hoped and more. They have polo wraps in my very favorite shade of sage green! They have a synthetic bridle that beats any Wintec strapgoods, hands down. Pretty, supple, and highly coveted. They have beautiful belts, abundant boots, heaps of helmets, and blankets galore. They have zocks in every color (mule ear covers, perchance?). They have cupcakes (FarmWife didn't save me any) and candies (FarmWife didn't save me any) and marigold spray for the beautification of shining coats (FarmWife did bring me some of that, at least!).

My next assignment is to shed my winter coat, then get dolled up in my dressagiest gear for a nice Hoofbeats photo shoot. They'll put my picture on their wall, they say, and who wouldn't love that? After all, it's not every tack store that gets to show off an image of His Royal Muleness the Honorable Sir Fenway Bartholomule. In the meantime, they've stuck my business card  under the glass countertop thingy near the cash register, which was tremendously flattering. It's a wonderful spot for a wonderful card, if I do say.

Ears,

FenBar

P.S. FarmWife says I should tell the whole family that Mothers' day and her birthday are both coming up, and that she wouldn't say no to a Hoofbeats gift certificate. I'll try to remember to do that, although I have more trouble capturing FarmHusband's ear than FarmWife's. Funny how that is.