Posts filed under ‘.horse’

Bought Me A Cat


Bought Me A Cat
By Pete Seeger
From American Folk Songs for Children

Bought me a cat and the cat pleased me,
I fed my cat under yonder tree.
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a hen and the hen pleased me,
I fed my hen under yonder tree.
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a duck and the duck pleased me,
I fed my duck under yonder tree.
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a goose and the goose pleased me
I fed my goose under yonder tree.
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a sheep and the sheep pleased me,
I fed my sheep under yonder tree.
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a pig and the pig pleased me,
I fed my pig under yonder tree.
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a cow and the cow pleased me,
I fed my cow under yonder tree.
Cow goes moo, moo,
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a horse and the horse pleased me,
I fed my horse under yonder tree.
Horse goes neigh, neigh,
Cow goes moo, moo,
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

Bought me a dog and the dog pleased me,
I fed my dog under yonder tree.
Dog goes bow-wow, bow-wow,
Horse goes neigh, neigh,
Cow goes moo, moo,
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.

(more…)

August 3, 2014 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

The Man from Snowy River

by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses – he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up –
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony – three parts thoroughbred at least –
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry – just the sort that won’t say die –
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, “That horse will never do
For a long a tiring gallop – lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.”
So he waited sad and wistful – only Clancy stood his friend –
“I think we ought to let him come,” he said;
“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.”

So he went – they found the horses by the big mimosa clump –
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.”

So Clancy rode to wheel them – he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.”

When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat –
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

(more…)

February 16, 2014 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

D is for Dala Horse

D is for Dala Horse
D is for Dala Horse: A Nordic Countries Alphabet

Discover the World

The original Dala Horse (Dalahäst) has been around for many centuries, and probably was created by Swedish woodcutters. During the long winters, woodcutters would pass the time by carving little toys for their children. These carved wooden toys, made from the scraps of the men’s wood were mostly horses. The most enduring of the little creatures remains the Dala Horse.

(more…)

December 8, 2013 at 5:25 am Leave a comment

Dala Horse Origami

Dala HorseDalecarlian Horse

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December 7, 2013 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Gobbolino, the Witch’s Cat

Gobbolino Gobbolino, the Witch’s Cat by Ursula Moray Williams

Poor Gobbolino, he did so much want to be a kitchen cat, curled up peacefully by the fire or playing with the children. But it’s no easy matter when your born a witch’s kitten, and trouble seems to follow you wherever you go. Gobbolino is the best loved of Ursula Moray Williams charming stories, and his adventures.

(more…)

November 11, 2013 at 3:25 pm Leave a comment

Mon Cheval Gris

J’suis parti
Vers midi
Sur mon cheval gris
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
J’suis parti
Vers midi
Sur mon cheval gris

On allait
Guillerets
Les oiseaux chantaient
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
On allait
Guillerets
Les oiseaux chantaient

Y f’sait beau
Y f’sait chaud
Juste ce qu’il faut
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Y f’sait beau
Y f’sait chaud
Juste ce qu’il faut

Quand soudain
En chemin
Ecoutez moi bien
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Quand soudain
En chemin
Ecoutez moi bien

Une voix
Petite voix
Me souffle tout bas
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Une voix
Petite voix
Me souffle tout bas

J’ai bobo
Mal au dos
Et mal aux sabots
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
J’ai bobo
Mal au dos
Et mal aux sabots

J’t’ai porté
Transporté
Pendant des années
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
J’t’ai porté
Transporté
Pendant des années

Fatigué
S’il te plaît
J’voudrais m’arrêter
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Fatigué
S’il te plaît
J’voudrais m’arrêter

Convaincu
Tout ému
Je suis descendu
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Convaincu
Tout ému
Je suis descendu

Grand merci
T’es gentil
Dit le cheval gris
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Grand merci
T’es gentil
Dit le cheval gris

Car c’est la
Première fois
Qu’on entend ma voix
Moi j’étais dessus
Et puis lui dessous
Car c’est la
Première fois
Qu’on entend ma voix

Club Tralalere

August 26, 2010 at 4:22 pm Leave a comment

Anatomy of an Escher Flying Horse

Escher is the artist that made the art of tessellation famous and popular. One of his simpler tessellations was his flying horses. They are based on the simple geometric shape of a square, and only involved “slides,” not rotations or flips. Using this video anyone could create their own tessellating flying horse tile, and maybe redo their bathroom tile or kitchen wall paper!

August 14, 2010 at 1:42 pm Leave a comment

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