When I think about Grandpa Finlinson, I think about him teasing me about my many different colors and hairstyles. If it is straight he asked where my curls are. When I covered my eye with my bangs off to one side, he asked why I didn’t cover up the other one. I have finally decided that Grandpa’s favorite is when I don’t straighten my hair and just leave it curly. He says it is “Quite Lovely” or “Pretty Foxy” when it is in a high curly ponytail. He likes it red better than dark brown. (my natural color)

I also think about chasing all the horses and cows with him. We are just in the way sometimes (maybe all the time). My favorite memories of this are:

1.
I was riding Shadow and chasing cows. We had brought the cows home and one refused to go into the coral and went into the field instead. I took off running and instead of catching the cow, my saddle tipped to one side and I fell off. I think he wanted me to get back on.
2.
One time we were moving cows and I was in our driveway. It was freezing outside and so I had my Pop’s coat on. The cows we were chasing hadn’t ever been herded before and weren’t cooperating. I had been told my whole life not to move out of the way. I was trying to be brave and not jump when the cows ran close at me. One cow was not going to stop so the only thing I could think of was to smack it with my coat arm. I am glad that it was way too big and the cow didn’t get any closer. I think that this time he wanted me to move or get plowed over.
3.
I can’t remember any funny stories about the horses. Just memories of the traditional moving the mares up to the top field every year in the fall, and every spring moving them back down to foal. Then every May, we bring all the mares and their babies in and separate them into herds and them chase them out with the stud that is assigned to that herd. Grandpa always knows how to get the best colts from the mares. Mine is always with Hooky.