Don't Forget, We've Moved!

Just a friendly reminder that this blog has moved to www.mulemusings.com. If you're looking for new posts, come follow us there!

Cheers,
Jenny

New Address!

Mule Musings now has a personal address: MuleMusings.com! Check it out and follow our travels from our new address.

Personal observation: The version of the blog at this address will no longer be updated.

Photo: Heading down the trail on a sunny Sunday.

You Don't Know It ALL!

I was a horse-crazy child. I drew horses in fields, I drew horses flying through the clouds... heck, I even drew a horse brushing it's teeth once. I read every horse book and magazine I could get my hands on. Whenever I could, I'd use horses in my school assignments.

My parents were not horse people. The chance of me getting a horse as a child was about as likely as winning a gold medal in dressage on a miniature donkey. Of course, you can't blame them. We lived in town and they didn't have a horse-keeping background. Our way of life simply didn't jive with horses.

To their credit, they indulged me whenever they could. Each summer they'd take me on a rental ride to satisfy my growing desire. We even took the mules down the Bright Angel trail at the Grand Canyon--the trip that sparked my love affair with mules.

Throughout grade school I was ecstatic just to talk about horses or play "horsey" in the backyard, so when I met a gal in my class who had a horse, I was over the moon!

Personal observation: Actually, it was a Shetland Pony, a breed that a friend of mine lovingly refers to as "bastard ponies." Nevertheless, her little bastard pony was the Black Stallion in my young eyes.

Unfortunately, she was not the sharing type. Instead of indulging my fancy, she constantly held the fact that she had a horse over my head. She'd hardly even let me touch her Breyers, let alone her precious pony! I was simply a horseless loser who couldn't handle the responsibility of horse ownership.

As an adult, I find it interesting how these seemingly insignificant situations we face as children sculpt our minds for the rest of our lives. By middle school, I was convinced that I wasn't a horse person. By high school, my interests had turned to music and cars. It wasn't until my mid-20s that my passion reignited, but I was still convinced that I wasn't a horse person.

Fortunately, a friend and coworker reintroduced me to the horse world at the ripe ole' age of 32. It hit my like a hoof to the back of the head--I can be a horse person! Why? Because this wonderful friend indulged my fancy and let me touch her horses.

Once the fire had been kindled, my entrance into the equine world came quickly. Within a year, I had purchased my first mule, Maxine. My parents thought I was moving too fast. My friends were surprised and a little confused. My husband? Well, thankfully my husband got it and gave me his blessing from the start.

Personal observation: Yes, he's wonderful. *swoon*

As I navigate through this horse life, I often think back to the horse-crazed fourth grader I once was. Sometimes that leads me to think of my know-it-all friend who talked like she was queen of the horse world.

Recently, my Mom gave me a photo of my on my friend's feisty mount that, in her father's words, "took forever to warm up so that the kids could ride him." When I saw that photo for the first time, a rush of vindication swept through my veins. You see, Little Miss Know-it-all had forgotten one highly important piece of tack called a curb chain. No wonder it took so long to warm up that pony!

Was it her fault? No, it's likely that her parents did the tacking up. Does it make her an idiot? Hardly, we were just kids. It simply goes to show that sometimes people have a much bigger influence over our lives than we'd like, even when they don't know any better. The truth is, it's best to just ignore the naysayers. They might be missing their curb chain!

Photo: Me riding my friend's bastard pony. Ironically, we seem to have the same mane!

But, This Is All for Your Mules!

My husband recently asked what I wanted for Christmas. After a little thought, I rattled off a few items: new stall hanger, extra bucket strap, portable saddle rack, reflective bridle set for riding after dark...

"But, that's all stuff for your mules," he pouted. "I want to get something for you."

"Um, where have you been the last five years, Sweetie?" I replied. "My girls are what make me happy, so why would I want anything else?"

"I guess," he surrendered.

Fortunately, when it comes right down to it, he knows just how important my girls are to me, and he supports my hobby 100 percent. If it weren't for Madge and Maxine, I'd still be spending most of my weekends on the couch watching reruns. Now I spend at least one day each weekend at the barn. Whether I'm giving the girls a workout beside the golf cart or taking a trail ride with friends, my girls provide that extra something my life was missing five years ago. That is why the number one item on my Christmas list is a fancy bucket lid, not a diamond bracelet.

At least I'm easy to shop for.

Photo: Madge will be rooting for the University of Oregon Ducks during the upcoming Rose Bowl.

Happy Halloween!

Maxine, Madge, and I would like to wish you a happy, safe, warm Halloween.

Photo: Max catches the swine flu.

Happy National Mule Day!

From your friends, Jenny, Maxine, and Madge.

Peronal observation: Be sure to add it to your calendar. National Mule Day is every October 26!

Photo: Maxine and I give Madge a workout.

Pretty in... Anything but Blue!

Before Madge was born, I bought a large, expandable foal blanket. It was sold for Warmblood and Thoroughbred foals, so I was certain it would last--at least a little while.

During the summer, the blanket got quite soiled. Seems I was using it more as a training device on the stall floor than as a blanket for my baby. In late August, I thought it was time to get it ready for winter, so I tossed it in the back of the pick-up to take home for cleaning. That was the last time I saw it.

At first, I was heartbroken. Her first blanket, gone just like that. I searched high and low, but never found a stitch of that burgundy cloth.

When the weather turned cold, I resigned myself to buying a new one. Unfortunately, foal blankets are tough to find in local stores. I started looking at pony blankets instead, but the only thing I could find was blue.

Personal observation: Now, I'm not a vain gal--my Maxine wears blue as her primary color--but I really wanted Madge's first blanket to showcase her "mareness."

Fortunately, our local Wilco store has a very helpful woman in the horse section. She knew that she had "the cutest purple plaid blanket," but it was nowhere to be found. We waded through the sea of blue pony blankets to no avail. Soon, I was ready to move on to the next store, but she refused to give up hope.

"I just know I have one of those blankets somewhere," she said as she began searching her computer. "I found it! What size was she?"

I had to admit that I hadn't been able to get her size yet. I wasn't scheduled to drive to the barn until the next day, but the weather had turned quickly, so I was eager to get a blanket on my girl.

"No matter," she said. "I've got two in another store. I'll have them shipped here tomorrow. If you don't want them, I know I can get rid of them."

I thanked her and left the store. Still, I was annoyed that I would have to spend money on a new blanket when I had owned a perfectly good one just one month before.

The next day, Travis and I went down to the barn to do some work to pay off a little of our board fee. While we were there, we borrowed my trainer's tape to measure Madge for her new blanket. As I unrolled the tape, I was amazed.

"She's 56 inches now," I said.

"What was she before," asked Travis.

"I'm not sure, but the blanket she used to wear only expanded to 45 inches. She's grown well over ten inches! I guess we would've had to buy another blanket anyway," I laughed.

When the blanket arrived at Wilco the following day, I called to confirm the size.

"The blanket is 57 inches," said the woman's voice over the phone.

"That's perfect," I exclaimed, astonished by my good fortune. "I'll be right down to pick it up!"

Photo: Madge in her new Weatherbeeta blanket that just happens to have hot pink accent lines to match her hot pink halter. What luck!