The farm was a dairy farm with quite humble beginnings, but more cows were acquired and the old 37 chevy 4 door creaked those miles to Turner Dairy every morning with 50 gallons or so in the back seat. What a thrill it was "to go with the milk" to Turners and have a "free" glass of chocolate milk.

I had mentioned 1930 was a vintage year, and so it was. There was one other animal born that year that had a substantial impact on everyone. That animal was a black percheron filly named Queen. She was born April 29, 1930, to a mare named Gin who was somehow related to a gelding named Old Dick. He's a story in himself, but, I stray.

Queen; we believed, was eternal. Intelligent, gentle and was even gentile. (That's not as VS Jewish). For instance, one day when babysitting was my dad's job, I wandered away. Little kids are the fastest things on two legs anyhow. But I ended up in the horse stable and by the time my dad found me, I was standing upright on Queen's back. She was two and a half, I was only two. Obviously she had the more sense and merely stood there while my dad gently and easily removed me from her back.

It was years later when my son was two that he eluded me for a moment and walked under and along side my two horses loose in the Del Mar corral. They were most careful of him as Queen was of me; however, even armed with such knowledge, it's heart stopping to see a little tyke among or on 1200 pound horses. Queen was bigger so I'm sure my dad's reaction, internally, was correspondingly intensified. No I doubt that, I had to change drawers, he didn't. (Course he always did say "Ya had to keep a stiff upper lip and a tight ass hole." Eloquent!)

Queen did everything. Of course she carried her share of the heavy farm work from hauling manure wagons to hay wagons but more than that, she was the extra hired hand. She would work with two lines on her, one line (called a jerk line) or no lines at all. She knew more about most farm operations than anyone, except Dad, and she could do it all. Well, really she didn't use the pitchfork worth a darn and milking was out of the question. She had her pride!

She bore six youngsters. All except one were dapple gray and purty! Lets see, there was Kit and Beck, Becky was oldest, then we lost the next one (story later). Then Tom and Duke and finally a roan filly we called Diamond. She wasn't really a jewel but as a little girl she was cute.

The colt we lost, shouldn't have died but, it didn't get to feed for some six hours after birth and then it was too late. Bad mother? No sir, she was the best, but everyone of her youngins refused to nurse for several days after birth. The procedure: Milk the mare's milk into a porcelain cup and the babies would drink from the lip of the cup. This had to be started within four hours of birth and then every two to four hours for the next several days. Boy, when a colt finally started to nurse, everyone was glad, including Queen. (Calloused hands you know).