Fuego En la Sangre

I see dead chupacabras

Los caballos estan locos. Hay algo en la pastura. Una chupacabra, si o no. Quien sabe.

Country Boy

Future farmer of America? I don’t think so…..I used to see little boys with blonde curls walking around before Peyton was born and I had no idea I would have such a little angel like that or that he would grow up to be tall, handsome and brilliant like his older brother. They are both awesome and never cease to amaze us…….

Co-Madres

 I painted this pastel based on three reference photos taken on the same day. That day we had a serious out of control wild fire. The horses and ponies were running around snorting and freaking out. I think mostly they sensed my fear as horses always are aware of. Their survival is based on their sense of smell and sight, but my guys know me and being as they are enclosed behind fences, they can only flee so far. They can tell by the way I walk across the pasture, if I am having a bad day (rare in this paradise) or if we are going for a long trail ride……I look happy carrying the saddle and bridle, but that doesn’t necessarily thrill them…..This day I was carrying my cell phone and calling 911 and the fire department….

I call this painting “Co-Madres”.

Body Talk

 

What did you say?

 

 

Horses just KNOW. The ears are a good indicator and an early warning signal to their buddies and enemies. My alpha mare may have delicate little Arabian ears, but she knows how to use them. My herd of ten thrive in their established pecking order. The head honcho always has the advantage in a pasture situation at feeding time. He/she will be first in line at the trough and last to leave. They earn that right by being the sharpest tools in the shed. My small 15 year old Welsh Mountain pony gelding is about as even as can be with my 27 year old  15 hand Arabian mare. They have a 100 acre pasture to establish their hierarchy and the others respect their space. In the horse world, at least the one that I observe 24/7, their are no miscommunications. There are no conversations like “Well, it’s probably the bridle that makes your nose look so big” or ” Sarita said that your mane looks like a smurf with a mohawk”. It’s just cut and dried with them. It’s basic survival skills with these guys. My food, my Mom, my barn and your poop smells. The sad part is that our own signals can upset a perfectly balanced herd environment. Whether or not they are kept in a 10×10 foot stall or blessed to be in horse heaven in a lush pasture, just seeing the way you carry the bucket as you sling the feed at them or maybe give a little jab with the pitch pork as you shovel the hay into the manger. They see it in your eyes and they know that you love them ….or you don’t. I have dear friends that are leaving their cherished pets behind and grieving before they say good bye, then there are those who dump them with others to care for them because they would rather not deal with them. It is not enough to have food and water, they need to know that they are loved by you. We have taught them to depend on us. Horses are just as aware of love and hate as a purring kitten or a cuddly puppy. To be continued…….

There Is No Sunshine When You’re Gone…..

“You are my sunshine” Tom told our precious little chestnut roan. It had been a while since we had seen her separated from her buddies, but here she was. “She looks fat…..” he whispered knowing how sensitive a girl can be on the subject. In this case it was a compliment. She had come to us from circumstances that had made her wary of human touch and skittish as a cat .She really did not mingle with the other horses until  we added another cherished pony to our family. “Cool, you found him on ponymatch.com….” Tom joked. He knew that actually I had been researching bloodlines and visiting Welsh Mountain Pony farms in search for the perfect pony to add to our herd. As much as disposition was a primary factor I could not help but be drawn to the drop dead gorgeous looks of one particular Welsh sire.He had all the attributes that I was surfing the net in search of. His name is “Liddle Duke Of Hazard” It is one thing to see a pretty face, on the internet, but I actually had the opportunity to meet this Guy as he was entering the show ring. There he was beating paints and appaloosas in the color class as well as full size warmbloods in the get of sire classes. Movement was an important factor in our decision and that question was quickly dispelled when at one particular show  this pint sized stud muffin  cleaned up in the ribbons. I approached his owner and that was when I knew that I would have to own one of his foals. His owner, Chrissy and I became  lifelong friends that day, and I knew from that point on that our lives would be forever entwined through our love of a particular Liddle Duke and the undeniable stamp of greatness that he imprints on his foals.

The Daddy of all Crazy Sexy Faces

Here are two of my watercolor portraits of the Little Duke of Hazard” the Welsh stud muffin that puts his stamp on all of his foals.