My smallest human filly is going to be leaving on the schoolbus this September, but until then she is MINE! She gives the very best hairdos, and she treats my tail like the thing of wonder that it is. She asks to groom the mule almost every day, and usually rides me too. She has been quoted as saying "Mr. Barfolomewel is the best on the whole planet Erf!"
My smallest human filly plans to be a ballet instructor and a carpenter when she grows up, but here's my advice for her: go for a minor in equestrian cosmetology. You have a gift.
My smallest filly is named Robin, after the birds that come about for her birthday party every year. (I hope she lets them have a bit of cake!). She was born right here at Bent Barrow Farm, a distinction she shares with B.G. the goat. Robin was born in the house; B.G. was born in the shed.
Robin loves building things, and has endless creativity and patience when it comes to construction projects. She has been a dedicated supporter of the shed expansion since its inception and it is she who argues most vociferously that we ought to call it a barn. FarmWife likes that idea, since a barn of her own is something she's wanted all her adult life. Robin makes an excellent jobsite supervisor.
Robin likes bunnies, the Beatles, noodles, nori, hiking, camping, and the color yellow. She is a girl of mulish good taste. She is usually, but not always, a girl of impeccable manners and conduct. (This statement is conditional only because she is four, and if you've ever known someone who's four you'll know that they sometimes get an idea about how they would like to do things. Sometimes this idea doesn't quite match your idea about how you would like to do things, and this goes for four year-old mules as well as people.)