Burnt Biscuit Ranch

Well, we arrived at my family’s ranch (named for my mother’s cooking!) on Sunday evening and while the children have been hard at work caring for the horses, mucking the stalls, and hauling sticks and manure, Richard and I have been sipping lemonade on the porch and enjoying our “vacation.”

As I sit here now, Ali is driving the tractor, Frank is inside making himself a sandwich, and Max is playing with the “other horse” (a Great Dane) named Cherokee. Max pronounces her name “Turkey.”

Tonight they’re going to try get the cattle corraled back into the closest pen. Speaking of cows, last week, we stayed at a campground that was so far back in the hills that we had to cross over cattle grates to get there. While the RV was bouncing to and fro over one of those grates, I turned and asked the children, “Do you know what cattle grates are for?”

Ali shook her head and solemnly replied, “Yep. That’s where the cows wipe the poop off their hooves.”

Hugs to all!

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