Horse Stories (Miniature Horses, that is)

Two of my dad's miniature horses were going to give birth this year. Here is one of them, Wendy, with her new foal Blossom. The other horse, Shawnee, is getting very large, but hasn't foaled yet. Two years ago she gave birth to a little colt, Comanche. The father is named Apache.

Wendy (or is it Windy? I'm not sure!) has a two-year-old daughter, Sweetpea. As you can see, there's sort of a system to the names. The other equines of my dad's are Shawnee's first daughter, Sassy, who is a mule (she's a little larger than Shawnee, who is on the large side for a miniature), and Rusty, who has never had a foal for all we know. There used to be another mare, Shasta Belle, but she disappeared a year or so ago, and it was assumed she had gone off and died in some inaccessible part of the 60+ acre place.

Here's a picture of mother and both daughters. The foal is about three days old in this picture, from April of this year. We had a scare with Sweetpea. Not long ago, something injured the mare Rusty. She had been staying to herself, to avoid being bothered by the stallions, away from the group. The vet said that it could have been a big cat, or maybe a pack of dogs -- not very likely to be a coyote (although I guess a pack of coyote-dog hybrids might be possible). Dad had been treating her wounds each day as instructed by the vet, and keeping her penned up. Then—as she was pretty much healed up—he let her and the younger stallion out together in one pasture, and had the other seven equines in the other pasture.

Next, Sweetpea started separating herself from the group, and then disappeared for a few days. When Dad and Peggy went to look for her, they found her remains — about enough to fill a shoebox. No rib cage, no skull, just some legs and hooves, a jaw and some teeth. The remains looked fresh, because the leg bones were still connected with tissue (tendons or ligaments).

Now a few years ago, when the place was being fenced, the guys putting up the fence showed my father some big cat tracks, too large for a bobcat. After consultation with a retired game warden and talking with neighbors about some other domestic animal killings, it looked like it must have been a panther that got her. No coyotes or dogs had been observed (by sight or sound), and the moving of the carcasses seemed like a cat. Also, a bobcat is too small to take down even a miniature horse.

Then Sweetpea showed up with the Rusty and Comanche, that is, in a different pasture than the one Dad put her in. She had some scrapes, although whether they were caused by the stallions or a predator or even by going through the fence, who can tell? So what were the remains? They must have been the long-missing Shasta Belle. The question still stands, though: Is there a big cat ranging out there west of Springtown, near Indian Knob?

Our Creche

A Poem for Christmastide

Tiny Tim's Song

-and bye and bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim; who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the Christmas fire blows warm,
And Our Saviour came as a little child
To keep us all from harm.

1. The little child went through the snow,
While the winter wind came cold;
His way was lost in the snowy night,
Like a sheep outside the fold.

2. No light he saw in the forest dark,
No lamp nor taper lit;
The path he trod was covered deep
With snow in icy drifts.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the holly's fruit shows red;
And Our Saviour came in the winter-tide
To keep us all from dread.

3. He came upon an humble cot
Where dwelt a man so old;
The wind it whistled through the chinks,
The hearth was dark and cold.

4. He came upon a rich estate
Behind a stony wall;
The gate was barred and though he cried
None answered to his call.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the mistletoe hangs high;
And Our Saviour cried his seven words
When he went for us to die.

5. The child sank down in the drifted snow,
Sank down on his bended knee;
But ere he closed his eyes to sleep
A chapel did he see.

6. There lamps he saw in the chapel old,
Bright lamps and tapers lit,
To guide the weary souls at night
By the storm so sore beset.

7. And from that chapel there came the sound
Of the merry organ's voice;
And from that chapel the child could hear
All manner of joyful noise.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But the bellows blows a song;
And Our Saviour came to gather us back
To His loving arms and strong.

8. And in that chapel a goodly folk
Were singing praises loud;
And they took the wandering child into
The heart of that merry crowd.

9. They welcomed the child to the Christmas feast,
And fed him at their board;
They clothed him in a goodly robe
For the sake of Our dear Lord.

10. And ever after that he dwelt
Amongst that goodly folk;
Who passed each day regarding well
The words Our dear Lord spoke.

The winter wind blows cold, blows cold,
But now my song is done;
and Christmas-tide is here at last,
God bless us, every one!

Copyright (c) 2005 Charles M. Gatlin, Jr.

William and I were reading The Christmas Carol a few years ago, and wondered whether anyone had identified a particular song with the one Tiny Tim is said to have sung. Neither of us could find one, so I wrote this one to fill the purpose.

Merry Christmas, and God bless us, every one!

Insect Mortality

Here several months have passed since my last posting, despite numerous opportunities to comment on politics, literature, the Lambeth 2008, and so on. One momentous event that has taken place is that my father, widowed in 2005, has this week married again. Today was the family gathering to meet his new wife. Everyone seemed to get on very well, although it wouldn't surprise me if Peggy were suffering from sensory overload, meeting pretty much the whole family at once and in full volume. Pictures will probably follow at some point.
However, the inspiration to finally post again was prompted by something that happened last night, as I was making potato salad for the Meet Peggy Party. I saw something in the cabinet behind the two Rubbermaid spice turntables. It was the dessicated carcass of a palmetto bug, one of the big roaches that love to come inside when it is too hot or too cold outside. After its disposal, William said something offhand about "Perhaps you should contemplate its demise among the spices, and write a little something about it." This morning while the coffee was brewing I thought it out, and dashed off the following disgusting item, now presented for the world 's enjoyment or aversion:

Reflections on the Death of a Palmetto Bug Found Expired in the Spice Cabinet

"His face appeared almost human/Lying there behind the cumin." –A.M.W.

Few creatures e'er inspire
More fear and loathing dire
Than the great American Roach.
The hateful insect may encroach
Even among the spices rare;
But, trapped by an evil chance
On its back, legs in the air,
Fades at last its horrid dance
Amid the condiments and spices,
All its scurrying vices,
Until at last, a gruesome shell
Its insect soul departs to hell.

Finally Getting Started

I've been intending to get started with this blog for over a year now, but a couple of recent trips out of state resulted in my learning to use a digital camera (the Victorian Barbarian really wants to use a stereo version of the Box of Rosewood, but that is still too expensively out of sight thus far). Combine the new availability of some digital images, the upgrading from dial-up to DSL and subsequent enhancement of my Babbage devices, and of course the ongoing controversies in the Anglican Communion and the current political chaos, and I am at last sufficiently motivated to start posting. Bear with me, as this is going to be an on-the-job training experience. Remember, "The only joy in life is to begin."

Tempus Adest Floridum I

In the meantime, for your delectation, here are a few images from the world of nature in my vicinity. After nursing five big pots of flowers through the winter in my garage, you see here the first hibicus bloom of the year. The aquamarine background is my swimming pool, unusually clear because the pool guy had cleaned it that morning. (Note the Pool Valet pop-up floating in the "sky" above the blossom.)

Tempus Adest Floridum II

Here is a closeup of a firecracker plant. This is the second year for this plant to bloom as well, but this pot stays outside all year, and is mostly watered by runoff from the patio cover.

I was pleased with the quality of the "macro" function on the digital camera. Most of the time, with automatic cameras, 40 percent of my pictures come out blurry. With this camera, it's more like 5 percent.