Sorry to horn in on baby Beau's introduction, Deb, but your blog made me think of my favourite picture of me and my Dad, so I thought I would share.
I am about three years old here. The colt is just a few hours. I remember this day clearly. I was never allowed to go into the barnyard in case I got hurt, which I thought was unfair because my older brothers got to go out there all the time and be with the animals. Of course, now I realize they were doing chores, so I was lucky to be in the house, playing my dolls.
My dad came up to the house and took me out to the forbidden barnyard. This shetland pony had just been born and was so tiny they wanted to get a picture. I guess they used me for scale.
I remember chasing it around the small sunny yard on the north side of the barn. I remember the feel of its rough hair on my hands and its energy while I held it. It looked large to me, but if you compare the colt and me to my Dad who was 6'3", it is very small.
You will notice I am wearing a dress in the barnyard. Although my mother loved my brothers dearly, she enjoyed having a girl, and insisted on dressing me in pretty clothes. She often told me that she would put me in a lovely little dress and send me outside to play. Within minutes she'd find me sitting in a mud puddle splashing happily. I can't imagine her laundry pile. And in those days everything had to be ironed.
She persevered though, despite being a busy farm wife. In early pictures of me I am usually in Dionne quintuplet curls and a fancy nylon dress. My poor mother - my hair was straight as a board. She became an expert at rag ringlets.
Good memories, but now I want a baby pony.