I have a baby foal living in my house. We’re not exactly sure when she arrived, but she’s obstinately refusing to leave. She refuses to answer to answer to any other name than “baby foal”, and winnies and whickers her way around the house.
Oddly enough, my daughter, the princess, disappeared at about the same time. I don’t think we really noticed when it happened because the baby foal and my princess look identical. Mind you, the baby foal is just as obstinate as my daughter, so I suspect they’re related. She also likes many of the same things, like sitting on my lap to have a story read, or even having tea parties. I never knew horses liked imaginary tea and cakes, but there you go.
Having grown up with much older sisters, I am not used to the goings on of little girls. The boys I understand absolutely, and LL had younger brothers, so she generally gets them as well. My princess though? This resolute cuteness is almost more than my heart can bear at times. There is a difference between the sexes, no doubt. I can delight in having a baby foal in the house, just not quite understand it.
Other than the horsey invasion, it was a lovely weekend. Other than the requiste trips out of shopping and swimming practice and the like, we spent it almost entirely outdoors. Time to prepare the garden for summer. I ache today, all that scrubbing of tables and benches and washing down of terraces, and mulching of plants. Mind you, the garden is looking lovely this spring. It is a bit early though. The apple trees don’t usually bloom until Pirate Pete’s birthday in May, and they’re just coming on now.