Yellow hair story

Oh, yellow and white and black hair—and lots of it! FarmWife, whose mule trailer is broken, went away for a day. When she came back she had this—photographic evidence of her date with a muppet. "You couldn't have come," she says, "because it wouldn't have been safe to haul you." And then, "It's not a muppet, it's a mare! A fjord mare!" 

I don't believe her. No self-respecting fjord mare would wear her hair like that, and she could too have hauled me. I could have ridden in the back of the pickup truck. 

FarmWife looooooves this "fjord mare", who belongs to a family member, and was tickled to finally have a chance to ride her. "She's very sensible," FarmWife told me. "She would make a great driving prospect." Remember, friends, that I was once FarmWife's driving prospect. I was, until I learned that whirling and bolting is the best way to not have to go about with a tire dragging behind. 

This muppet's owner is thinking of having her started in harness, and FarmWife is excited about witnessing this process. It's almost like she has another favorite equine, along with me, Fenway Bartholomule. 

I can think of two positive outcomes: 1) FarmWife wins the lottery, buys this mare, and brings her here to Bent Barrow Farm so that I can have a companion and a laborer (to do FarmWife's difficult chores like dragging the tire) or 2) FarmWife's relative sends this mare away to the driving instructor and never, ever gets her back. That way FarmWife will have no reason to go away for the day like she did yesterday. FarmWife will stay here at Bent Barrow Farm forever, except when she is doing dressage on Princess Many Hairs. After all, how many ways must a mule share his woman?

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