The Bell Horse

Mother says that I am the Bell Horse.

Apparently, Mother has dreams of a donkey pack train.

Not actual donkeys in question. These are from the Queen Valley Mule Ranch in Arizona.

Mother says the Bell Horse carries no pack or rider, merely a bell, as he leads the train. He is traditionally white.

Um, Ok. Maybe. But only if I am just leading them to pasture...

If Mother and Donkey are going to take Donkey's herd on packing trips, I want no part. Perhaps when I was younger...

Operation Assimilation

There has been much ruckus and fuss going on up here. Donkey has gotten a herd of his own.

He was donkey-less for a long time, and seemed to think he was a horse. I've known all along that he was NOT a horse, but Donkey had to go through an adjustment period as he rediscovered his inner donkey.

He spent much time torn between two worlds, not sure whether to cling to the familiar, aka Bert, or return to his donkey heritage.

I have been giving him shoves.

His new herd is rather picturesque...

Julia

Ellie Mae and Clementine

Finger Food

Auntie Julie and her human larvae came to visit tonight with Mother and Aunt Erin. They oohed and ahhed over fat donkey and the others, then came and oohed and awed at me.

They had a bag of carrots.

Mother had to teach me about carrots. The first time someone tried to feed me a carrot, the chiropractor, he ended up using Mrs. Pastures Cookies to get me to do my stretches. And the first time someone tried to feed me an apple, Mother had to eat a few slices before I realized I was expected to eat that. I've come to appreciate both carrots and apples, along with various baked and pressed goods.

Anyway, the human larvae first threw the carrots at the ground near me. I was taken aback. Not only was he throwing something at me, he was showing disregard ~ neigh, disrespect ~ to a valuable food item. Mother picked them up and fed me. She implored the little creature to hold it out flat on his hand for me. Mother's larger hand cupped his, and theoretically the carrot was in there too. I just saw a tangle of not-sure-whats-its...

Sometimes carrots just look like fingers.

I stared at the conglomeration, not sure where the carrot was with his little larvae fingers there. Finally, I put my nose on his hand, he squealed, Mother grabbed the rolling carrot and I picked it up with my lips and ate it.

It is so hard to be a good host.

Le Pauvre Ane

So, Uncle Jeff came up today. About three minutes before Mother heard the truck, I heard it and started dancing around in excitement. It's a sound I know well from my stays at Uncle Jeff's while my face was worked on, and I knew what it meant: I was going to my Happy Place.

Yet again, Mother was too engrossed in the proceedings to take photos. Well, of me, anyway. She did end up taking some pictures of my fat donkey.

Hrrrmphh.

 That's because my fat donkey was sent to his Happy Place as well. Unlike my enjoyment of the Happy Place... well, unfortunately for donkey, a few hours later he had a bit of a bad trip.

Donkey started shivering, muscles a-tremble. A quick call to the vet and a relaying of symptoms seemed to confirm that my fat donkey was having trouble thermoregulating and was very cold. His ears (and other junk) were quite icy. In an attempt to help warm him, one of the aunts brought up a blanket.

Poor donkey was a little small for his chosen garment. Some creativity was called for in order to secure it. A couple of plastic clothes pins...

And a well placed knot...

...left donkey to waddle around less encumbered by his makeshift rug. I don't think he much enjoyed the experience, but as Mother says, even in tragedy, there is often an element of comedy:

Druid Donkey is NOT happy.

He should just be glad Mother's camera died when it did. The blanket alone wasn't helping, so Mother got her super poofy saddle pad and put it on Donkey's back under the red blanket. Then she added her coat on top. Then another coat, tied partly around his neck. He looked like a pissed off homeless woman of Eastern European descent.*





*Not to disparage, stereotype, or otherwise degrade any human or their wardrobe choices.

Everyone but me

Mother has all sorts of things occupying her thoughts. Apparently there is a holy-day today, and of course there is the Assimilation program going on, and even the horse she doesn't have any more seems to be getting more attention than me.

sigh.

Ohh, ohhhh, OHHH!!! And, when she does pay attention to me, she says I look like a halter horse gone wrong, or maybe a pig. Mother, there must be something wrong with your camera settings; the weight tape still has me under 950 pounds. 

What the...?? 

How I propose Mother remedies these problems:
1) Pay attention to ME!
2) Give me cookies. I am not fat.
3) Please check your camera settings or get me a new one. That is just embarrassing.

A skitter

How I spend my "should be grazing" time...

You're wondering what I am staring at? I am not sure I can put it into words.

On the Nose

This evening, when Mother went to give me a kiss, she discovered the tick that was on my nose.

She took me in to the aisle to see better, removed and murdered it, then gave me a very suspicious kiss, rather higher up.

She walked around and gave me a cursory inspection, but between my thick hair and that fact that my coat is coming in rather fleabitten, she found no others.

Funny, earlier in the evening she fly sprayed me and had put on my Swat-toos.

Recycled Photo

Summer has come early this year...