Fuzzy Wuzzy

...was a bear. The girls are fluffy. A good butt smack brings a cloud of dust. They need a haircut, too. Not gonna happen. It's that time of year.

As usual, the boy is relatively slick. And don't think he'll keep a blanket on. Prissy spends her mornings in the barn with her protected butt to the north. Her old bones move slow. Of course, by evening she is raring to go.

You should have heard the thunder this evening. The three amigos came running in at break-neck speeds for dinner. I had to make them slow down and breathe before feeding. Makes me wish I had not been sick during the ENTIRE thanksgiving break and been able to ride.

I am taking a break from the boys. I vow to ride even if for only a few minutes in the evening. Crazy sun doesn't stay up long enough. And Prissy will not live forever. A tragedy. My life is blessed.