In which nothing much happens

The mule hasn’t been up to much, lately.

He had Tuesday off, but suffered the tedium of being subjected to me three times as we had a lot of snow and I kept popping up to chuck more hay at them. I needn’t have bothered: the first load of hay was exciting to everyone, the lunchtime hay was less interesting, and by dinnertime all three equines were thoroughly bored of it. The mule finished his dinner, walked over to a pile of hay, gave it a long, hard look, and then came over and gave me an equally pointed stare. He was very disappointed when I went and filled their water bucket up instead.

On Wednesday I wasn’t feeling very well and it was bloody cold, so I wimped out and just brought the mule in for a groom. He has a bald patch on his side, about the size of a ten pence piece, that may well have been there unnoticed for some time because his coat is just so ridiculously thick. After sifting through the layers of hair to examine his war wound (a result, no doubt, of boisterous boy games with Cash), I didn’t feel so bad about him being out in the snow without a rug on. He’s got his own personal hairy duvet.

Bizarre injury of the day went to Cash, who cheerfully and horrifyingly appeared with fresh bloodstains all over his throat. On closer inspection, not only was there no wound, but the blood was only staining the top layer of coat. He had a small cut on the front of his head, but there was no way he could have wiped it on himself and neither of the other two were showing signs of nosebleeds, so I have no idea where it came from. His fallen and vanquished enemies?

Today was another day off, but I caught the mule so that I could move their fence for them. Funnily enough he was very good about being caught and came right up to me to present his left side. He knows exactly when I’m catching him to work him and when I’m only catching him for the sake of catching him. Once the clocks go forward I can hopefully change things up a bit, but between my jobs and the short days I’m currently confined to two or three windows a week in which to work him! And, of course, he is smart enough to figure out when those are.

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Mulographer Sari

Sari was raised by cats which accounts for her solitary nature, occasional mania, and attraction to shiny objects. After riding and being around horses for 22 years, she discovered that she was, in fact, a mule girl and fell hopelessly in love with these extraordinary creatures. She lives in England and is married to Ben, who is potentially the best Ben who ever Benned.

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