I miss my kids! The more I see them, the more I miss them. I really liked having them underfoot when they were little and still do.
It did my heart good to see our little barrel racer head out to give her horses treats (that her dad bought her for Christmas). How many kids ask for treats for their horse for their own Christmas present? Maybe more than I think.
The horses had a good Christmas here. My cowboy was taking a big round bale out to give them an extra flake of hay on Christmas eve when the bale handler broke and he had to leave the whole brand new round bale out the field. So they really did get an extra big extra flake for Christmas. They all look as stuffed as I felt today.
It’s our tradition to feed them that hay all because of a poem I read when I was a kid that went something like this.
People in the city
eat turkey with all the trim
They bow there heads in reverence and give their thanks to Him.
But we here on the prairie
are mighty grateful too
Even though our bill’o fare
Is beans and moose meat stew.
And the presents that we’ll give
on this merry Christmas day
will be to each and every horse
an extra flake of hay.
Sorry to whoever wrote it all those years ago. I know I don’t remember it exact or who wrote it but maybe it will help to know it made a lot
of horses happy over the years.
Christmas Eve, such a magical night: the excitement of children, the preparation of parents, and the anticipation of families reunited. So much looking forward that sometimes I fear we forget to look back, way back.
There was one night when a beautiful, sweet young woman went through all the trials of labour in the humblest of places and had a perfect little son. I can imagine her holding a tiny little hand with all the awe I felt when each of my children were born. And kind Joseph with her, feeling the weight of responsibility for this new life. What a good man he must have been. I can feel the comfort of being with the animals in the stable. Had I been there I would have wanted to sing with angels, sing for the joy in my heart.
I have, in my almost 60 years, come to love that tiny precious child more than words could ever tell. I have walked with him, listened as he taught, suffered when he suffered as I have daily studied the scriptures that tell of him. I have talked with him in my prayers, felt the blessings of His answers to each request. I look forward to a day when with outstretched arms He will welcome me home and hope I will be worthy to hear the words: “Well done, my good and faithful servant. ”
It is my prayer that on this most special night of the year that we will a take at least a moment to look back and thank our Father in Heaven for the gift of his Son, Jesus the Christ. Bless us all that we will remember and teach to our children the true meaning of Christmas.
Mended, me that is. It’s been a while since I felt good like this. Maybe a slight cough and only one more day of antibiotics but my mind is back to racing like it usually does. So many things to do to get ready for Christmas and I’m behind.
I got married in this dress. Not a fancy wedding, just in my parents house, (immediate family only) but my dad met me at the bottom of the stairs and escorted me to the new man in my life. My knees shook during the short ceremony.
I took it out to my granddaughters and was amazed to see that it wasn’t too much too big for the almost 9 year old. (I was so thin at 23). She was absolutely delighted with it. I also took my daughters wedding dress out to her after storing it I’m my house for so long.
Such memories in a dress.
Pretty good advice especially after the WNFR. I watched a barrel racer touch a barrel and look back to see if it fell and in so doing hit and did knocked down the barrel she was headed at. I wonder how often in life we knock down barrels cause we’re looking back at something we can’t fix anyway.
I hate being sick with the flu/ pnenomia. It means I don’t see the horses often enough. Last year poor old Pic lost so much condition over the winter. It was so blinking cold and we thought we were feeding lots but those crazy tics were dragging them down. This winter I’m going do do this weekly to make sure that winter fuzzies doesn’t cover up any kind of problem.
I was 17 when I first owned a thoroughbred, a big chestnut mare who was named Dancer when I got her. I always imagined that she went back to the great racehorse Northern Dancer and that’s why she was called that although I didn’t get any papers with her. $175, that was a long time ago when a really good horse was around $350. ( see how old I am?)
My filly Tama and Dancer.
She had an odd lopsided blaze that made her face kind of crooked looking even though it wasn’t.
She spent most of her life afraid, spooky, and run away was always her first choice and could she run (when I was younger I was alot like that myself, a runaway). She is the reason I don’t like going that fast (don’t get me wrong: I might have my fears but now I gotta do things that make me look those same fears nose to nose to do my job tending cows; run away is no longer an option. I just cry and do it anyway)
Once I was out riding alone, got off for a pee break and tied her to some bushes. I don’t remember if it was me in those bushes that spooked her but something did and when I came back she was leaning back hard, trembling, and blowing. I managed to calm her with my voice enough to get her untied and away from the source of her fear that day.
After that I noticed a huge change in her; not that she wasn’t afraid anymore but she had started to see me as a place to go for help. It changed
me too; i started to take on that part for her. I always tried to do the best for her and didn’t ask her to do anything or go anywhere where she would get hurt. She got to trusting me to the point that if I had asked her to jump through a burning hoop of fire I know she would have done it. Although, I never would have asked her. But she became a good horse.
I never really developed the same trust in her but that was OK. I did the best with what I had and my reward was that Dancer taught me a lot about what kindness can do for the receiver and the giver.
Im not sure where I read it anymore, that women who were my ancestors eons ago went to war with their husbands and fought alongside them. (probably had to cook too although cooking skills I don’t think was a Welsh man’s first priority if I’m any indication of the progeny of such women)
I’ve heard a lot of people call Welsh women (particularly jones’) feisty (often they hesitate a little before they say it, as if searching for a polite word). I think maybe that personality trait stems from that olden time. I feel, often, like I’m backing my husband up, fighting hip to hip, not with swords but with ropes and I’m there if he falls in battle to take care of him.
I actually think he is envied by a few men. But then I’m not sure they are aware of what it takes to have that kind of backup (I’ll do anything out of loyally and love, afraid or not, but don’t ever say I have too or try to brow beat me into anything. I don’t take abuse well).
I admire my cowboy who has ever been up to the challenge. He likes strong women and knows how to manage me with kindness, the same as his horses and dogs. (Of course, I’m a force to reckon with if I’m sticking up for myself as he has learned over the years.)
After watching this movie trailer I am so grateful to God that real wars are now fought by men on machines and the horse is left out of the atrocities of mankind. My heart is too tender to watch this I’m sure, even though I have heard it is a great movie.