Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.…

—Emma Lazarus

But first, get me outta this snowstorm! Here Hilary braves the elements on her quest to acquire more horseflesh. She and Karla and our neighbor Candy drove to Holbrook, Arizona on a mission to rescue some of the last batch of Premarin foals to come in from Canada. They got four of them: Hilary bought a bay filly, Karla got a palomino colt, Candy picked out a buckskin colt, and Patt, the ranch’s hiker helper contributed the money for the last one, a roan colt. All are quarter horses, with no mix of shire or percheron as many of our previous Premarins are.

After just being weaned and suffering the effects of a near-non-stop trip from the north, these little guys are wondering what’s next! They were delivered to a feedlot, taken out of the trailer, and gathered up to get into another trailer for the trip to Furnace Creek in Death Valley. What a contrast to go from the snowy chill of the north to the balmy warmth almost 200 feet below sea level.

Their manes and tails were matted with cockle burs. It must feel odd to have a big number shaved into their sides for identification—certainly cold when the blast of wind through the trailer hits it. But now they will finally have a chance to calm down and be showered with tons of love from their new human buddies. Next—naming. Karla has already rejected my suggestions of Bottomless Money Pit and Fang. Oh, well. I guess naming’s just not my thing.