THE SKOOG FARM JOURNAL: Need I Say More?

Saturday, February 19, 2022

Need I Say More?

Come and get it!

Night all.

The horses were out for about an hour and a half this morning and one hour before evening chores. I don't think they minded lounging out of the wind one bit.

3 comments:

Nancy J said...: Is this the Final Flurry, or just " The Last Big Drop"? What a blizzard.; February 19, 2022 at 8:24 PM
Val Ewing said...: We had a horrible snow squall that looked like that and lasted two hours on Thursday with 50 mph winds.
Looks like everyone is doing well. Hopefully you won't get nasty storms.; February 20, 2022 at 12:28 PM
thecrazysheeplady said...: Wowser!; February 22, 2022 at 8:42 AM

FROM GREY HORSE MATTERS...

Where to Bury a Horse

If you bury him in this spot,
the secret of which you must already have,
he will come to you when you call;
come to you over the far, dim pastures of death.

And though you ride other living horses through life,
they shall not shy at him, nor resent his coming,
For he is yours, and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass
bent by his footfall,
who hear no nicker pitched too fine for insensitive ears.
People who may never really love a horse.

Smile at them then, for you shall know something
that is hidden from them
and which is well worth the knowing
The one place to bury a horse is in the heart of his master.

Thank you, Grey Horse Matters.

Poem for Masterpiece

Masterpiece of '79

He was a dark bay Masterpiece.

Deep chocolate brown

With small coal tipped ears

And three snowy white socks.

An eraser smudge of white

Above his eye

And a star connected to a blaze

Starting narrow and funneling wide

To wrap his lips

in a kiss.

He lived with dignity and joy;

A Masterpiece blend

of longevity

And temperament.

Appaloosa for soundness,

Thoroughbred for heart, and

Quarter Horse for sensible intelligence.

Although he is gone

His Masterpiece remains

In the memory of Jen

Who found and rode him;

And of Lori

Who soaked his beet pulp

And his sore feet,

Who loved him and,

When it was time,

Let him go.

Poem by Annette from Aspen Meadows.
Thank you.....

Followers

Saturday, February 19, 2022

Need I Say More?

3 comments: