The envelope, please .....

Thanks to all for the name suggestions for our newest furry family member. After much debate and hair-pulling, we have chosen.
And his name shall be called Finnegan.

Since he's 1/2 Irish (Dad is a Gypsy Cob), 1/4 French and 1/4 Welsh (Mom is 1/2 Percheron, 1/2 Welsh Cob), we knew we wanted something Irish. Finnegan apparently means "Little Fair One", which, with his icy blue eyes and his black and white coloring seemd to fit him just fine.

Here he is in this picture with Mom Genevieve and big brother Pippin.

He's doing quite well in this new world of his. He seems to like the feel of his legs underneath him and the all-you-can-eat-24/7 buffet, but he doesn't care for the flies.

It's a Boy!!!!!

My mare Genevieve delivered her colt this morning (or late last night?). He's a gorgeous black and white blue-eyed lady killer. Cute as a button. Mom and baby seem fine, but big brother Pippin is a wee jealous. If he gets too close Mom pins her ears and makes like to kick. Pip backs away slowly. Kinda like me guarding my morning coffee. Don't get too close to me. Yet .....

My kingdom for some chocolate ....

Picking my youngest up from school today, I got a call on my cell phone from my oldest. It seemed demons were flying about the house wreaking havoc and destruction. In my most soothing and wisdom-infused Mom's voice I did what I could to bring a peace over hearth and home, but just before the call vanished in a wisp of static I could still hear screaming and fussing and general unrest.
Nearly out of gas, I pulled into a station and began pouring cash into the tank (it seems to prefer small bills to gasoline) and my ears were immediatley assaulted with pleas for something to drink because of extreme end-stage dehydration.
The "no" was perched on my lips, but then I thought, know what? I could use something medicinal right about now to soothe my frayed nerves.
"Here honey, here's some money. You go inside and get yourself a slushy, and while you're in there, get Mommy some chocolate, would you?"
I went back to pumping cash, but with a wee smile playing at the corners of my mouth, and a slight trickle of anticipatory drool.
I got back in the car just as my child was coming out of the store, purchases in hand. My eyes gleamed.
He got in the car....
He handed me my contraband....
I looked down in the hopes of seeing a MIlky Way, or perhaps a Twix. Maybe even a good old-fashioned unadulterated Hershey Bar. What I got was....
Ultimate Fiber Bar, + Antioxidants.

What the....?

Truth be told, if I looked closely at the package, I could discern bits of what could pass for chocolate mixed in with all that substantial fiber.
But it wasn't what I had in mind. I thanked my child, but couldn't even bring myself to open it.
I headed home to break up the chaos and repair any damaged egos and/or furniture, head hung low.

Guess chocolate and I just weren't fated to be together today.

My hips are thankful, but my lips are holding a grudge.....

Math Problems

1) Betsy bought 5 tickets to the baseball game. Going to the game would be Betsy, 3 of her kids, + 1 friend.
But Johnny decided later he did not want to go to the game because baseball is boring. Betsy told Johnny fine then, be bored at home.
So when Nancy asked if she could use Johnny's ticket to invite a friend, Betsy said of course, at least you appreciate what I do for you.
Johnny later decided that he wanted to go to the game after all, but Betsy told him he was s--- out of luck.
Then another friend, a grown-up friend of Betsy's, had an extra ticket, so Johnny could go after all.
But now Johnny only wanted to go if he could bring a friend too.
Betsy said too bad so sad, but then Nancy's friend said she might not be able to go to the game after all, so Betsy said Johnny could use that ticket for a friend.
In the next few hours, Johnny asked his friend, who said yes. Then Nancy's friend said she could go, and Nancy told her OK. Then Betsy told her no, we don't have the extra ticket anymore. Then Johnny's friend couldn't go.

So.....
a) how many tickets does Betsy need?
b) how many tickets does Betsy have?

2)Betsy and her kids and their friends get on a blue train to go to the baseball game. The train is travelling 60 mph against a 20 mph headwind. When the train crosses a bridge over a river and Betsy jumps off the train screaming in mental anguish, calculate:
a) her rate of descent as she leaps off the speeding train.
b) how many minutes will pass before any of her kids even notice she's gone.

She's Bagging Up ....

I've been waiting anxiously for about a month now for my mare Genevieve to foal. I was told when I got her she was due end of April. If your calendar reads same as mine, it's now almost the end of May. Doesn't matter that she's a seasoned ol 'timer, I'm a nervous Nellie new Mom.

When I called Roy, he said, wellllll, maybe she was bred the following heat cycle instead of the first heat after the foal heat (huh?). Plus some foals just take longer to cook than others.

Not helping.

But good news. When I did my fourth check of the day on her a couple days ago, I noticed she was bagging up. For you city slickers out there (and you know who you are), that means her udder is getting bigger as it's starting to fill with milk. A soft sign that foaling will happen soon (my book says a few days to six weeks to foaling, so we're really starting to narrow things down here).

So yes, between PTO meetings and baking for the bake sale, I'm checking udders.

Another sign of impending delivery would be elongation of the vulva, but to quote Igor of Young Frankenstein, "I'm not going to be the first..."

Guess I'll have to just be content with apprehensively checking Gen repeatedly throughout the day till the foal is done "cooking". Maybe some LaMaze breathing would help (for me).

Wonder if I could get my hands on What to Expect When Your Mare is Expecting. Anyone have an old copy I could borrow?

Another Shoebox Funeral ....

Sigh.....
Lost a little loved pet this weekend. Our Daisy.
We learned last week she had cancer. I had taken her into the vet(I saw the staff tittering behind their hands when they saw I had brought a guinea pig in. I was probably the only person in their collective living memory to have taken a guinea pig to their office). But the vet actually did a thorough and professional examination and pronounced that Daisy likely had cancer. I felt about four years old instead of (mumble, mumble) as the tears welled up in my eyes when the vet handed over her death sentence.

But we brought her home and turned her cage into a luxury suite with every ammenity a small rodent could wish for. When it was clear she was living her last moments, we all surrounded her, pet her, cried our tears onto her.

We got a shoebox just the right size, from our avavlanche of shoeboxes that we keep in the attic for school dioramas and the funerals of small pets. We gently placed her in, atop a bedding of soft-as-a-cloud tissue, and put in a few of her favorite things: some hay, a couple yogurt treats, a few grapes. Some of the kids put poems, drawings, cards alongside her as well. One wrote:
I only hope she lives on in heaven. May God bless her soul. From death comes life. Amen.
(I know this all seems overly dramatic, but we're a dramatic-type family).

We buried her out by the old wishing well. In truth, we've buried a number of small pets around this well. To the point that I have to silently pray we don't dig up any previous remains when we start a new hole. It's getting to the point of grisly. Perhaps I should contact Stephen King to see if he'd be interested in doing a book-turned film of little zombie hamsters and toads digging their way out of their graves by moonlight and descending upon our house en masse as we sleep.
Probably not a whole lot of fear factor there, I guess.

Anyway, she was buried, and prayed over, and her name was carved into the well post alongside all the cherished pets of our past.

James painted me a picture of her (above, right) which I will eventually, if my procrastinatory ways don't get the better of me, frame and hang. In the meanwhile, I will try to comfort the children when they miss the way she unabashedly begged for produce and squealed for attention. I will pull them close and impart my words of wisdom that it's better to have loved and lost than....
"Hey, stop texting, I'm trying to comfort you."
"... than to have ....Mister, get off that bike and get over here this instant. I was saying, it's better to ...."
"Put that popcorn back right now, we are not snacking, we are grieving..."

Oh forget it ....

Where do the Amish go....?

Question: Where do the Amish go for relaxation?
Answer: Apparently, to my place.

Driving home from some errands this morning I saw an Amish horse and buggy hitched up to my fence and a small herd of Amish parents and children in my lower field. I knew today was a holly-Holy-day for them (Ascension Day), but the sight took me aback. My neighbor Henry and I had talked a couple years ago about the kids coming over to use our pond whenever they wanted to go fishing or skating. But this was not just the kids, but a couple dozen be-bonneted and be-hatted folks picnicking and fishing.
It's a lovely sight, really. As I sit at my computer writing, I can look out my window and see a little girl sitting in her Daddy's lap, another Dad helping a few kids with baiting and casting, a granny camped out in a folding chair, wagons, picnic baskets, and a Mom sitting on a cooler doing cross-stitch.

Perhaps I should think about turning my place into an exclusive Amish retreat. I could call it Plain and Fancy. Or Amish at Ease.

Taking suggestions .....