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zfk55
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Re: The Lost Prairie Chronicles, Life in a Not So Long Ago America
Reply #10 - 09/14/09 at 09:33:55
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The Lost Prairie Chronicles #10  Part 2


The downstairs bathroom window also looked out into the barnyard and standing there I gazed to my left and there was Shonkin, still laying on his side with Rosemary laying face down on top of his ribcage, spread eagled and hugging him! I was very fortunate not causing some damage considering the speed with which I zipped up! I gave a fast explanation to Lyn as I ran through the kitchen and out the back door. I slowed at the fence and spoke quietly to Rosemary. "Punkin....... don't move. Stay still till Daddy gets to you." Her head came up, looking at me not understanding what was wrong. "No, punkin! (whispered) Don't move."

With my hand on the gate I heard a sound I had never dreaded before that moment. The herd! The herd was on the high run from the pasture! Have you ever thought you felt the ground shake? It probably wasn't, but at that moment it felt like the whole earth was moving... and. I wasn't going to be in time. They were already at that 12 foot wide barnyard gate! I remember hearing Lyn scream somewhere behind me.

The barnyard was already dried out from days of the late spring sun and the dust was thick as the herd of 26 thundered around and past Shonkin and Rosemary. I ran through the dust to where I knew she had been and was greeted by a "thank God" sight I'll never forget. Shonk was still laying there, quivering, flicking his ears. raising his head without shifting his body until I snatched Rosemary from her perch atop him! He immediately bolted upright and shook the dust from himself like a giant dog.

Shonkin won a special, permanent place in our hearts that morning. From that day on his morning grain was doubled, and he was the one full sized horse that Rosemary rode besides her ponies. Yep...... Rosemary has never changed. She's as fearless a spitfire today as she was back then. Such were many of her parental heart-stopping early days in Lost Prairie.
  
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zfk55
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Re: The Lost Prairie Chronicles, Life in a Not So Long Ago America
Reply #11 - 09/23/09 at 13:35:47
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The Lost Prairie Chronicles #11

The center of my heart, and from the porch I could see her walking toward the house.As she got nearer I noted that it was more of a "resolute march" than a walk. I remember her riding off that morning on her current pony, but the fact that she wasn't running or in apparent panic reassured me that there was no real problem.
I continued watching, and as she neared the house I could see the grim set of her little jaw and the anger in her eyes, not to mention the apparent condition of her clothes, those being dirty and very wet.
Stomping up onto the porch she demanded "Where's the buggy whip?" Since any of the buggy whips were a good deal taller than she, I asked her why. "Cuz I'm gonna whip that darned Abigail!" Hands on hips, she glared at me from under storm-cloud brows.

I do remember seeing her leave at a dead gallop on her pony, that being of no concern to me as she was a "rider" at a very tender age and a sometimes disturbingly fearless one at that.
I don't remember all of the particulars, but I do remember her explaining to me that having a destination in mind, that being the spring at the back of the place, she was reining Abigail in at her destination and insted of tucking her rear legs under her, dropping her hindquarters as is usual for and abrupt stop, Abigail had planted her forelegs, raised her hind end, came to an immediate stop with Rosemary continuing on her journey right into the middle of the spring!....... Thus the request for the buggy whip.
heh........ I truly do wish I had been there. I asked her how she was going to hold Abigail and whip her at the same time, and she responded that "she wasn't sure but Abigail was going to get it!" I picked her up, gave her a hug and told her to go into the house for fresh clothes and a drink of apple cider.
By the time she came back out she had cooled off and I asked if she did, in fact, need a buggy whip. "No. I'm just going to go get her and make her practice stopping."
That's my Pooh!
  
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Re: The Lost Prairie Chronicles, Life in a Not So Long Ago America
Reply #12 - 09/25/09 at 08:43:47
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The Lost Prairie Chronicles #13
___________________________________
A Love Affair

The middle of January is always cold in Lost Prairie, and at 5am and 5 degrees this particular morning was no exception. Lyn Bundled up, pulled on her gloves, wrapped her scarf around her neck up to her eyes and trudged to the barn through the deep, newfallen snow.
It wasn't much warmer in the barn, but the audible lowing of recognition warmed her heart. Posie was a gorgeous mix of Brown Swiss and Jersey, and her huge, soft eyes watched Lyn close the door, pick up her five gallon bucket, her milking stool and approach her. She shifted, bobbing her head as Lyn gently stroked her muzzle. Posie belonged to Lyn as much as Lyn belonged to Posie. Filling the crib with fresh alfalfa, Lyn added a gallon can of honey oats to the hay and received a gentle nudge from Posie for her trouble.
Placing her stool, she removed her scarf and leaned into Posie, resting her cheek against the warm hide. Little puff clouds appeared as Lyn softly breathed into the icy air of the Barn.
This was a labour of love, and both seemed to know it. Posie gave Lyn an easy five gallons of milk a day, thus supplying the wide spread neighbors with milk.
Spring and summer found Posie out in the pasture mixed in with the horses. She brooked no foolishness from the horses and responded immediately to Lyn's call morning and evening. Winters were spent mostly in the barn or barnyard sometimes standing stock still in the rare patch of winter sun. Snow drove her into the barn, unlike the horses that visited the barn only for their morning grain in the stalls. The horses in Lost Prairie seldom used the barn in even the most inclement weather preferring the sanctuary of the dense Jackpines to being indoors. During certain parts of the winter when it was the coldest it was not uncommon to see them in the Jackpines with a quarter of an inch of ice covering their backs, withers and flanks, walking carefully so as not to crack the ice, frosty moustaches on the hairs of their lips and eyelashes. That layer of ice actually provided an insulation. Yes, Posie did love Lyn and it was reciprocal. Then came that spring when Lyn required surgery.

She subsequently spent five days in the hospital after her surgery and when I drove her to town it crossed my mind........ "What about Posie?" Don't worry. She'll be just fine with you. So I gave it no further thought that morning.
That evening I saw Posie enter the barn as was usual. Bucket, stool, alfalfa, grain,..... I was all set, but Posie wasn't. She chewed her alfalfa and swung her head to the rear, peering at me and wondering what I thought I was doing. No Lyn..... no milk.
And so it went for the first three days. By that time I began to worry about the possibility of mastitis, but Posie wasn't interested in me or my worries. It was going to be Lyn or nothing.
On the fourth day she gave me almost a gallon, but it was grudging and I could tell she was extremely uncomfortable. On the fifth day, a half gallon and so it went for another two days. At this point even Lyn was getting very concerned, but she was due to be released the next day.

Coming home that morning was an experience I'll not forget. I had just turned up the drive from the county road, Lyn leaned out of the window and hollered "Posie!!" From across the pasture, up came Posie's head, a loud bellow of recognition and there she came on the high-run through the horse herd, scattering them in all directions, distended bag swinging left and right losing huge squirts of milk with every swing!
I jumped out of the truck, ran to the barn, grabbed the stool and bucket just beating Posie back to where Lyn was standing. Gentle shoving, mooing and jostling Lyn around had me momentarily concerned, but a moment later Lyn had her cheek against Posie's side and was milking a river from her.
The rapport between the two of them is something I'll keep in my fondest memories for as long as I live.
  
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Re: The Lost Prairie Chronicles, Life in a Not So Long Ago America
Reply #13 - 09/26/09 at 21:30:39
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The Lost Prairie Chronicles #14
She was an exhuberant new-born, but from the day she was placed into that Walker...... she earned her Nom de Guerre ..... Spitfire.
Sitting in the easy chair reading a book, I could hear the squeak-squeak of the little wheels as she scuttled across the hardood floor on her way to the forbidden world of the Coffee Table. The Coffee Table..... a place where all things of mystery were kept. Glass candy bowl, magazines, nail clippers, coffee mug, pencils and all the schtuff you hurriedly put away when you're expecting visitors, and an enticing, potential playground for little fingers protruding as far beyond the walker as the bumper would allow.

Reaching for a pencil she'd hear a loud "No!" followed by a quick retraction of the little hand. Sitting back in the walker she'd look at me with a noncomittal gaze..... slowly reach again..... "NO!!" and a quick retraction. This time there was a slight protruding of the lower lip. She'd half turn in the walker and lean over the opposite direction looking down at the floor. Back to my book.
A quiet squeaking of the wheels and I lowered my book just enough to see her reach once again, but this time for the nail clippers. "Rosemary! No!"

I'm convinced that there is a mechanical link between a quickly retracted hand and the lower lip. The hand is quickly withdrawn while an opposite, invisibly linked force pushes the lower lip out.
With a leisurely push of both feet at once she withdraws out of my line of vision....... and back to my book, but I soon hear the squeaks in tiny increments as she returns. Glancing off to my left I can see her reflection in the window. She's easing toward the coffee table and watching intently for any downward movement of the book.
This time she simply reaches out for anything within her grasp but keeps her eyes on my book for any movement. Yanking the book down...... "Rosemary K St.Marie!!" Hand retracts, lip shoots out, tears well in her eyes as she throws herself backwards into the walker in utter dispair... sobbing... real tears running, I pick her up and hold her close. She drops her arms at her sides, refusing to acknowledge the hug, head against my chest sobbing and getting me good and wet.

"Don't cry, Pooh. Daddy loves you, but you can't play with those sharp things." She raises her head and looks at me with huge, tear filled eyes and finally hugs me.

This scenario played itself out over days and weeks until she was actually walking by herslf. At that point the house looked like we were expecting company every hour of the day and night because Miss Pooh was everywhere and into everything non-stop, daybreak till dusk. In the spring and summer you couldn't find her in the house. The barnyard was her world, and her world revolved around the stock tank, Barbie Dolls, My Little Ponys and the real Mccoy............ Horses.
  
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