Mares, swears and fairs

My niece is in 4-H. She is showing her lamb whose name I can't recall and her goat, Roxy. (I'd like to say the lamb is Mabel, but I think that is my thinking and not reality.) My sister has to pay a ten dollar fee so that she can get her daughter in and out of the fair to show and feed her critters. That's crap, I say. But I think it will be (hopefully) a neat experience for the girl. (Who is my very wonderful God-child).

 

Growing up in (almost) DC, I had surprising amounts of interaction with animals. I grew up riding horses even though my mum was never too excited about them. She faithfully took me and my sister to Tamarack Stables, where on one fateful day, Windjammer, the wildly huge and young beast, took off galloping with me. I held on for dear life whilst having the wind knocked out of me. Hoo-wee. But I have never forgotten his name, and truth be told, I chose to ride him after that. Hmm, what does that say about me?

 

My sister and I were taken to Holland on a trip with my aunt and uncle when I was eight. Again, finding myself astride a huge white beast whose name I do not remember, we rode through the pretty country side. Suddenly, I was thrown clear back into Germany. My sister made me get back on that horse. That woman takes no crap from anybody, and truth be told, I was a little scared of her. (And I revered her, so what can you do?) I got back on the horse. I had these holes on the insides of my knees because the seam of my jeans were rubbing my skin where I was pressing in my legs to hold on to the horse. Those holes hurt like an almighty bear, I say. Weird that I never had that problem again.

 

I miss my riding boots. I used to go to a pony camp in Radevormwald, in northern Germany. My fellow camp-mates and I would go splashing through the creek and the mud with no cares. Nothing got through those boots. Well, nothing unless you went into the creek too deep and the water spilled over the top, giving a nasty cold and wet surprise to your previously impervious feet. The moral of this quip is that I want a pair of Wellingtons.

 

What started off to be the point of this long winded narration was the Montgomery County Fair is this weekend. Does anyone want to go?