Ritual

In the early eighties, we moved to Hampshire, England where Don took an assignment with IBM. Living in “Kennel Cottage” within sight of the local squire’s property, although neither of us rode, our lives immediately turned “horsey”. Seems everyone had stables, and fox hunts were numerous and often. Plus, there were horse sales to attend with the ritual Pims being served and, always, the sound of clip pity, clop along the lane in front of our house.

The sight of servants raising their silver platters of sausage and egg biscuits to the “pink coat” riders was something I will never forget. And the ruckus of the dogs was phenomenal. What subject matter for this artist!