I, Bernie Harberts, did not use generative AI to write or illustrate this article. Spell check and grammar check, yes. AI, no.
Polly and I have been traveling across Newfoundland for a month now. Plenty of time to get a feeling for the land. The beach launched fishing boats. The bottled seal meat. The lobster traps that Polly likes to chew on. She does it for the fiber, not the salt.
Polly cadging a treat from a young Newfoundland boy
Top Three Questions I Get
I get lots of questions about my trip. The top three are where I live, how did I get here and am I married? The answers are North Carolina, ’92 Dodge and no.
I also get this question a lot: does Polly sleep in the covered wagon at night?
Polly can barely get her head into my wagon, let alone the rest of her
Excuse me? Polly, the 800 pound equine, squeezes her 72-inch circumference through the 18-inch door of my covered wagon every night?
The easy answer to those folks would be a polite, “No, she sleeps outside tethered to her picket.” Which is the answer I resort to most days. Still, after a long day of walking in through the Newfoundland rain with no idea of where I’ll sleep, let alone my mule, my brain goes kinda haywire. I get cranky. A little short-tempered.
So when that car rolls up and the driver’s window rolls down and yet another person asks me where mule Polly sleeps at night, the polite middle age guy in me wants to rip off the facade and reply….
“Sir, it’s damn funny you should ask where Polly sleeps at night. Remember how I told you she can sleep standing up? How her legs lock like a table and she can catch those precious “zzzzz”s standing up? Brilliant bioengineering, right? Well, what I do every night is I unscrew her legs and shove her head and neck into the door of my covered wagon. She makes it up to her shoulders. Then I reach behind her back legs. Remember how I told you her name was Polly? Female gender name? Well, back there on her, there are these two valves. That would be her nursing gear. You can also twist them for final deflation. From there it’s a little push and shove and yes siree, she’s in for the night.”
But, no, Newfoundlanders are way too nice to treat that way, so I’ll point to whatever we’re standing next to — a pasture, a meadow or a beach — and explain how I tether her out at night.
And then, that car will drive off and I’ll smile and, while I’m still in a snarky mood, think of how I’d ask the driver, “Go ahead and ask me how I reinflate mule Polly in the morning.”
Polly lies down in the tall grass of L’Anse aux Meadows, Newfoundland.
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