Horse crazy

Today I uploaded a painting of a foal at a thoroughbred foaling farm in the town where I live. I stopped there a few weeks ago, hoping to find the owner, a very dear friend of mine for more years than I care to count, but he'd left for Sunday dinner and I didn't want to disturb the family gathering. George, a veteran of thoroughbreds and racetracks for probably more than 60 years, has the strength of an ox and the heart of a kitten. His love for animals of all kinds got around and he'd often find unwanted animals dropped off at his farm. Of course, he'd adopt them or find them suitable homes. He offered my horses stabling and it was the best move I could have made, mostly because of the long friendship that it hatched. George could spin tales about his early racetrack experiences for hours and never bore his listener. The tales always came with an offer of a beer and those afternoons, after cooling out my horse, spent sitting on the grass, looking out at the pastured horses and laughing over decades-old stories will stay with me forever. That Sunday after taking pictures of the newborns and broodmares, I left for home. I was reminded of how valuable a long-lived friendship is and I reprimanded myself for letting too many months go by without seeing my friend. So George, Sunday dinner or not, I'm stopping by with a couple of beers in hand.

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