Hubby raises Gelbvieh cattle. This is Collateral, son of 2008 National Grand Champion Gelbvieh Collateral. He costs more pennies than he weighs. Doesn't look very big laying down. He is talking to hubby.
Both these guys are big.
Like all the creatures on our farm, they are gentle. Hubby is standing way back because only a dummy takes chances.
Stand Collateral up and he's quite the man.
Proof is in the pudding, like this year's calves.
Any bovine that can produce this big pile is bound to produce good calves.
Sam is my idol! She is going to college, works part time in real estate, helps her family run a farm, trains horses, raises her own goats, has started her herd of cattle, trains children to ride, runs heavy farm equipment, and may walk on water...I haven't seen it but I would not disbelieve.
Now this is how you ride a horse.
In this shot, she has just walked Magic Man through barbed wire on the ground. The chainsaw and the tractor sounds did not bother him a bit.
Shall I ever be able to do this?
Or this? Notice no bit.
Playing football on a horse
I don't know which impresses me more, Sam catching the ball or Magic standing still for it.
I salute you, Sam! I want to be just like you when I grow up.
I love horses and I own four. I have told you the story of how they came here and have shared many pictures of them. You have only seen me riding once. Prepare yourself and think...Roseanne Barr and a shetland pony. Now you have the right picture.
Magic came home today from the trainer. Sam insisted I ride, gosh me??? Yes, you. But, but, but, anyway I rode because she is a trainer. I love them from the ground but I am ignorant on their back.
Now this is a freshly trained horse and is not sure what I am asking and I am not sure how to ask. All you horse pros, I hear you laughing.
Sam helps Magic and Sam helps me. The stirrups are too long and guess what I have on my feet? Flip flops!
Are we getting the hang of it? Notice the one-handed rein technique and the one handed death grip on the saddle horn. If I were talented enough, I could toss that belly over the saddle horn and ride with no hands.
I didn't tell you the stirrups were set long for my husband to ride but he did not ride.
Look, guys, I can ride in another direction and the hand's off the saddle horn.
Now for the perfect dismount, flip flops still in place.
I hope you do realize what a break through this was for me, not ony riding but showing my picture.
I have had many experiences in this life. I remember the first walk on the moon, the assassination of John F Kennedy, and the Viet Nam War, just to mention a few.
Then there are my personal experiences. I have been to the casinos in Tunica just to say I have. I have been to a dog fight, again, just to say I have (and I did not like it!) I have also been to one cock fight and this is my story today. Who knows why today I have thought of it, I guess because I know many people are preparing their birds for a Thanksgiving feast or maybe because I just want to share this memory.
This was many years ago and no longer happens, to my knowledge and is also against the law.
Rumors had it that the local sheriff at that time had some property he allowed his cousins to use for cock fights. A large empty barn stood on his property and as the crowds drove in, he turned a blind eye to what was happening. Maybe he got a take from the gate.
Hubby mentioned the event and I dolled up to go. There is a certain way you must dress, I thought, to fit in. I donned tight blue jeans, tough boots and a lavender sweater that complimented my curves. No purses! You carried your ID and your cash and maybe a drink if you wanted.
It was nothing like I had dreamed, although I must admit, I have never really dreamed of cock fighting.
We walked into a smoke-filled barn. A loud crowd had the area filled, people standing with drinks in their hands, some had coolers, others had lawn chairs, now this was an event! I hired a sitter but there were whole families there! The standard Saturday night event for the family, I guess.
In the center, a pit had been dug in the dirt floor about a foot down, ringed by bales of hay. The fight was about to begin. As an eight-year-old ran around collecting bets, I saw women and men taking and giving money. I had no idea what was going on, so in that sort of situation, I just kept my mouth shut and my hands in my pockets.
The handlers readied their roosters by holding them and bumping them into their opponent. The referee, I guess you would call him, looked at his pocket watch as the opponents and their handlers faced off in the ring. A hankerchief was dropped and the handlers released their game birds.
The noise level tripled as the people rooted for where their money lay. The roosters hit together in mid-pit with spurs flying. They came at each other, unaware of what was at stake, like their lives! They may have fought silently, I could not tell. The birds came at each other again and again. They would back away and dance in midair and also fight in midair, dropping apart to just do it again.
They were bred for this! A good game cock was worth hundreds and you proved that yours was the best by putting him in the pit.
The Ref dropped the hankerchief again and the handlers grasped their birds with wings held flat. I noticed their spurs were very long, but not artificial, I heard from the crowd. That was not allowed but at some fights they were allowed to use metal spur extensions.
I am in shock and am shrinking into the crowd, moving closer to the outside wall. While handlers give their game cocks a drink, smooth their feathers, check for injuries, and blow on their heads to calm them, there is a break until the Ref looks at that big pocket watch again and the cloth drops. A few teases and they are at it again.
I can't watch, I look at every thing else but these birds...the wall, the dirt floor, the other fighting cocks in cages waiting for their turn, the children laughing, and the adults wanting to win. I see several hands full of cash.
While not watching, the fight has ended. The losing handler carried his dead hope lovingly as blood dripped from the spurred chest and torn comb. The winner is holding his bird up high and very pleased with himself. Money again changes hands and you can tell who lost by their faces.
I say honey let's go and we did. I shall never watch another fight nor will I advise anyone to do so. It saddens me to know I even went.
We are silent on the drive home, each in our own thoughts. I was thinking how sad that humans could be like this. I didn't ask but I think Hubby was wishing he had placed a bet!
in a far away land, a prince was held captive by a narly old witch called Nana. She would not let the prince venture into the great outdoors and he spent many hours trying to break out of his glass prison.
The evil witch laughed at the prince because he could see outside but he could not venture there, no, it was not allowed for his safety she said as she cackled.
Then the Princess At The Farm arrived and was very sad that the prince was locked up behind glass and could not run and play like other little boys. She wondered what could she do?
So Princess waved her magic horns and made the evil witch disappear. She broke the glass tower down and rescued the tiny prince.
Escape is sweet, said the prince.
Now the Prince and Princess run through the open valley, loving the freedom and smelling the flowers.
And the prince and princess lived happily ever after At The Farm.
Can you say "So ugly, he's cute"? This is Mikey, now Yoda, my second foster dog. Yoda did not last long on the adoption rolls. I am applying for him, I hope I meet the qualifications!
Yoda was found abandoned in the middle of nowhere. He is skinny with a skin allergy but otherwise healthy. Ads were placed to see if someone had lost a dog and no one answered. Mikey/Yoda was brought to me today to foster. Doesn't take me long to make up my mind!
He is quietly resting now with his belly full of beef, deer, and dog food, content and quite at home.
"Life, Gail, is not what you see, but what you've projected. It's not what you've felt, but what you've decided. It's not what you've experienced, but how you've remembered it. It's not what you've forged, but what you've allowed. And it's not who's appeared, but who you've summoned. And this should serve you well, beloved, until you find, what you already have."
This was in one of those junk mails we all get in our inbox. It didn't say anything about enlarging body parts or attracting wild woman, so I read it. It made sense!
Sometimes my life is as tangled as this picture of trees in a sunrise, but I guess "It is not what I forged, but what I have allowed."
I sometimes wonder why all our animals get along, unnaturally so, but nice to experience so it matches "And it's not who's appeared, but who we have summoned."
I ask myself if I am where I am supposed to be, what's my purpose, where am I headed? All questions everyone asks at one point in their life. Again this measly piece of junk mail, gave me the answer:
"And this should serve you well, beloved, until you find, what you already have."
I have often wished God would just send me an email, maybe He did!