Time to give some shout outs to the large band of small semi-feral beasts living in my parents backyard. Recently I spent an afternoon with an acquaintance brushing, petting, and generally manhandling these little guys up in Argyle. They seem to have developed a tolerance for people since Mom started feeding them peppermint snacks. All of these pretty little critters are available at a discount. Per pound pricing available.Roll Call: A possibly pregnant Broomhilda (Brunhilda?). Probably a Cafeteria Lady in a previous life.
Little Princess. Some variety of sister to Princess.
Princess' unnamed daughter, a yearling. She was the only filly of last year's three foals and has cute marks. Name suggestions, anyone?
Ponies search Emily's body cavities for contraband peppermints.
Petunia/Buttercup/Pumpkin. Mother of Trouble, and one of The Twins. The only thing worse than our inability to keep track of lineage is our inability to come up with names.
Miniman, son of Little Man (they're all sons of Little Man but it's fun to say). Seconds before he charged the fence in an attempt to beat the boogers out of Little Man. Mom thinks he needs to loose his balls.
The twins. Born the same year. Or a year apart. Not actually twins. We remember who the mothers are. Just not who belongs to which mother.
Princess. Because I have a pony named Princess. That's why dammit.
Bad idea.
The boys. Little Red Man (Son of Broomhilda) and Trouble, the other two yearlings, are in the middle.
Big daddy Little Man.
Hudson, our first baby. More spoiled than most. I like his Blue Eyes. He's probably the one I'll steal when Thomas and I start our own farm in the backyard.
