This Journey Called Life

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Wow. I'd forgotten all about this blog...
Watch this space, the plan is to chronicle horse experience...


Long story REALLY short, I adopted an OTTB a handful of years ago, Boomer is now his BFF, and I've moved to the wild and woody mountains of WV.
This should be fun.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Think horses experience wanderlust?

Saturday, August 16, 2008

I've got family on a farm in Iowa I used to spend summers with. I was a troubled teenager
and they allowed me the freedom to use Bigfoot, one of their cutting horses, as my
personal companion. Bigfoot was a 17H blood bay Quarter horse whose registered name
was Skipper Spark, and the most beautiful horse in the world, to my way of thinking.
I learned to cut cattle…or hang on while he did… we went fishing together, learned how
to saddle him up, how to ride bareback (and double) hung out in the pasture with a curry
comb and carrots and the other horses, bucked at the nasty green flies, barrel raced
around hay bales, and galloped down the dirt road and picked mulberries.
I was 16 that last summer, went off and had not seen him for about 8 or 9 years- and
when I returned with kids in tow, he followed me around like a puppy dog. That was the
last time I saw him. That visit was 17 years ago, and I still miss him. He lived well into
his 30s, fat and sassy. To this day, I credit my great aunt and uncle and Bigfoot with
saving my sorry hide.
I haven't been on the back of a horse in all those years, nor had any substantial contact
with them.
Until now...


July 27, 2008
Dear Larry and Anita,
Thank you so much for the letter and photos- I don’t recall having seen them before. I’d
love to see the old Montana homestead myself- I wonder if it still stands. I can see it in
my mind, as it used to be. Of course I treasure the photos of Bigfoot- silly horse didn’t
even mind the braids, did he?
Yes, I hear from Tristan, he calls once in a while and writes an email here and there.
They are undermanned and don’t get enough sleep, and of course, that worries me.
They’re over there literally with their lives on the line and are exhausted. All I know to
do is send love, prayers, and tuna packets. It’s hard to reconcile my feelings about why
our kids are in Iraq to begin with, but I am proud of him for doing what he believes he
needs to. He wants to re-enlist and go to Germany when the time comes, but that’s a
ways off.
Elissa works in the office with me and I guess is trying to figure out what she wants.
She’s toyed with the idea of school but isn’t really actively pursuing it. Our boss would
help pay for it if she wanted to go. She has had trouble with exams, and she’ll have to
retake one to get into the local school.
I’m glad to hear that you’re doing better. How’s haying going?
You ask about the colt. I don’t know what all I’ve told you. He still doesn’t have a name,
but I am sort of calling him Boomer now- he’s been Hot Stuff and Squirt, too. He and his
Mama were in my dreams one night and Boomer was his name, and he was turquoise
colored.
His Mama wasn’t in the original herd I started hanging out over the fence with last fall,
they’re all Quarter horses. She’s a red Leopard Appaloosa. She and several other Apps
had summered on another property. She’d lost weight going into fall, but no one really
realized just how much because she had a big belly, and from a distance, it was hard to
tell, as they were all out at pasture.
When my friend realized how much weight the mare had lost, we brought her in and
started a monitored feeding regimen. I was told she was of the best Appaloosa
bloodlines- a King Plaudit great-granddaughter- but this scruffy little mare sure didn’t
look like much of a horse at the time. She didn’t even seem to notice us, just sort of went
about her business alone. With grain and better pasture, he started to look and act like she
felt better; she was gaining weight, but progress seemed very slow. Then one day in April
this year, I was out to feed everyone and she was walking to her bucket. I got a glimpse
of her udder- she was bagged up! No one had known she was pregnant, either- the mares
had been separated from the stud in the spring.
I told my friend and she was just as surprised as I was, but this really explained a lot
about her slow progress. We set up a pen for her and pulled her from pasture. I’d just
gotten home around 9 p.m. on April 10th and got a phone call, “We have a baby!” My
friend didn’t know anything else yet, she called me before she had gone out to see. It was
a really long 5 mile drive that night!
My friend’s husband had set up a floodlight across the yard, so we could see but it wasn’t
just beating down on Mama and baby. I was so excited! This was the first colt I’d ever
gotten to see up close. The baby was white with a huge head and tufts of red hair in his
ears and at the end of his little tail. My friend said, “He looks like a donkey, his head is so
big.” And then, “He’s WHITE!”
He was also beautiful, and only minutes old. We all watched for 2 hours while he tried to
get to his feet and whinnied his frustration when his legs didn’t cooperate right away. It
amazes me how spindly and gawky he was- but he was strong and he was perfect. Not
that I’m much of a judge, this being my first and all, but he sure looked great to me. What
I could see was that he was strong and alert. He finally made it to his feet and on wobbly,
knobby legs, stood. Then he had to figure out which end of Mama was which. I got to
touch him through the fence. His coat was very soft and his hooves were almost like gelvery
spongy. We watched until it was midnight and we were all exhausted, too. As tired
as I was, it was hard to sleep that night and work the next day seemed endless.
In the days that followed, the family’s blue heeler…who is obnoxious with the other
horses…assigned himself guardian and slept outside the pen. I was awed at how quickly
the colt filled out. He seemed to like the attention we gave him, too. I ran my hands over
him everywhere each day and picked up each foot and put it back down.
Then one day, he rolled under the bottom bar of the pen and was loose for an hour or so.
We thought it was accidental, but were also pretty sure that when it happened again...and
again, he’d figured it out and was becoming an escape artist. I understand Mama was,
too. Most of his outings were brief, until one Saturday night, when my friend’s family
was away. Little Hot Shot escaped and was apparently out for hours. His Mama was
stressed and went down. She wouldn’t eat, even after the colt was returned to the pen.
She got up and lay back down several times, but food and water just didn’t appeal. She
wasn’t doing well.
I sat with her all Sunday afternoon and talked to her and stroked her head and neck. I told
her that it was okay if she needed to go, that we’d take care of her colt the best we could,
but it would be best if she could stick around for a while. My friend returned home,
looked in on the mare, and truly thought she was saying goodbye to her little mare. I told
her that she wasn’t ready to check out just yet. She called the vet and he came out,
listened to her heart and announced that she had a heart murmur. He gave her a shot of
B12 and a grim prognosis; he didn’t think she’d be able to finish raising the colt, and
suggested we get him started on milk pellets.
Mama was up shortly after the vet left, the shot seemed to help. She finished up her
dinner, and the next day was down again, off and on. Several days went by with this
being the norm, and one evening, when I was about to leave, I saw her reach for a blade
of green grass outside the pen.
I called my friend and asked if I could hand-graze the mare. She hesitated, concerned that
the mare would go down outside the pen. I said, “what if she does? At least the grass is
soft, and it’s not like she’d be going anywhere.” She agreed. I strapped a halter and lead
rope on the mare and opened the gate. This barely-there mare practically dragged me
around the yard! Little Hot Stuff in tow, we started with 30 minutes and the next day she
plunged her nose in her feed bucket like nobody’s business, then eagerly awaited her
outing.
Before long, we were up to 2-3 hours an evening, and she improved remarkably- and has
not gone down since- or shown any sign that she might be ailing. In short order, she
began to lick her bucket clean and then let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was
quite ready to be let out, thank you very much.
The colt quickly learned that he now had all the room he wanted to run, buck, kick, and
rear. He and the dog raced everywhere together, and within a couple of weeks, were
inseparable.
We reinforced the bottom of the pen, so his escape days were over, at least for the time
being. Before I would turn them in the evening, I would put the colt’s halter on, and snap
a lead rope to it and let him drag it around in the pen. He tossed his head and ran around
the pen a little bit, and then settled down. Then I’d take it off and use the lead on his dam.
He liked to lead Mama, too.
We passed the evenings in a quiet way, and every day I have been thankful to see this
tough little mare prove the vet wrong and her colt explore his world.
Gradually the colt lost the big-headed look. He started losing his foal fur. The horse he
will become began to shine through. He still races with the dog- one pass, the dog is
chasing the colt, the next, the colt is chasing the dog. He’ll follow me almost anywhere I
ask and many places I don’t. He shares apples and cookies with me and is not afraid of
much. I rub a blanket on him, and while it isn’t his favorite thing, he complies. He
doesn’t mind where the rope touches and we’re working on water hoses and spray
bottles.
One day, he darted into the pasture when my friend drove through. He raced around with
tail and head up, full of himself, and the other mares pinned back ears and chased the
young upstart into a corner. An old gelding positioned himself between the irritated
mares and the chastised colt. We went in, walked down the fence-line where Hot Stuff
was directly across from Mama and snapped a lead rope to his halter. I wasn’t sure
whether he’d lead or not. He had to leave Mama's side (through the fence) to get to the
gate. Not only did he lead, he did so like he’d been doing it forever! We got him out of
the pasture and back to Mama and I hugged him around the neck and told him how proud
I was of him. Since that day, there have been several occasions; namely when he’s not
ready to go back into the pen for the night, when we’ve practiced leading. At nearly four
months, he’s big enough for his britches that he doesn’t always listen to Mama. Now
when I go in the pen, he’ll come rest his chin on my shoulder to say hi. Once in a while
he tries to nip, even though he knows better. I tell him to keep his teeth in his mouth.
One day recently, it was pouring rain. I was sitting in the shelter of the shed where we
keep hay while the horses grazed. I was thinking how much better Mama looks and how
beautiful she really is, and she stopped grazing, picked up her head and looked at me and
nickered.
Between mucking the pen, hauling hay and grain and handing out carrots, I’m getting
some exercise and sun, and coming out here always makes me feel better. I’m seeing my
long-dormant biceps reappear, even.
The other horses have shown me who they are, and I love them all.
But this gritty little mare and her boisterous colt have not only shared with me who they
are- after all the years since my summers with you and traipsing around on Bigfoot,
they’ve reminded me of who I am.
Love,
Anna
p.s. He’s getting spots.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

Dear President Bush,
While I certainly appreciate the gesture of the upcoming tax refund check to stimulate spending, I can't help but wonder how you think $600.00 will alleviate much of anything, much less spur a flurry of spending?

Americans have not stopped spending. Heck, we haven't even slowed down!
We've simply been forced to redirect our funds to basic needs, rather than "luxury" items.

In the last year and a half or two, what it costs to fill the tank on my vehicle has doubled. Okay, I used to spend about $150 on gas a month. Simple math gives us a nice round $300 a month it takes now.
There's $150 immediately removed from the equation when it comes to any "luxury" spending I might do. By the way, I consider myself 'average' when it comes to income. I hope to retire by the time I'm 82.

Now, add in how much groceries have increased due to higher transport and production (etc.) costs. I'm spending about $75 a month more at the grocery store now, for the same items.
So we're up to $225 a month out of the luxury pool.

If that weren't enough, basics such as electricity, natural gas, and water have also risen, and for the very same reasons groceries have. Tack on another $100 a month spent for basics.

So, in my household alone, roughly $325 a month has been redirected. These numbers aren't to the penny, it may be slightly higher or slightly lower, in truth. I might add that my paycheck has not increased quite so dramatically, and I'm thankful that I don't have small children at this time. I do, however, have one in Iraq.

There are 'luxury' items I would love to have funds for; a more economical vehicle, a washing machine that works, a mattress that doesn't hurt my back, central air conditioning, new paint on the house. But they aren't happening any time soon, if things continue on the path they've been on.

I'm sure you can see how $600 will come in handy...but not really do much to encourage me to go purchase anything I don't absolutely need to.

Congratulations on restoring my faith in our illustrious government.
Its ability to suck its constituents just this side of dry never ceases to amaze me.
What is spent filibustering could feed and house entire families. I won't even start on pensions retired officials rake in. Very comforting to those of us who wonder how we're going to get by to know that those in power (or retired from it) can rest in comfort thanks to our efforts. I know I sleep better at night, bad mattress and all.
It makes me so proud to know where my tax dollars go, where my childrens' tax dollars go, and neighbors' tax dollars go.
Regards,
Anna

Thursday, November 22, 2007

This just occurred to me in the wee hours this morning and I apologize if I don't have it 'polished' for reading.
I was thinking about Texas' own Senator Cornyn, who is all for property rights (go tell that to someone who hasn't managed to sell off a junker car and had to pay to have it towed off) and about those who proclaim that slaughter is a 'service' to dispose of unwanted horses.

First off, it's the only 'crop' I can think of that's not "planted" or bred specifically for it's destination. Farmers know why they grow corn, wheat, hay, etc. Cattle ranchers know why they breed cattle and where they're going to end up...at least generally speaking.

Now, about this 'service' thing.
I was self employed as a housekeeper for about 20 years. In that time, I never once paid a client in order to clean his/her home. They always paid me.

AT&T does not pay me for using my cell phone. I pay them for their service. The cable company does not pay me to provide me service.

The city does not pay me for the privilege of picking up my trash or recycling bin contents, nor do they pay me to use the water piped into my home.

Can you think of one 'service' that pays YOU in order to provide for you? I can't.

Friday, January 12, 2007

In 1966, beloved children's author Marguerite Henry wrote Mustang- Wild
Spirit of the West
, in which she chronicled the journey of Wild Horse Annie
and her fight to save the mustangs from extinction. Frank T. Hopkins and his
beloved mustang, Hidalgo, worked toward similar purpose before her.

I was two, and already horse crazy. I grew up on these marvelous stories,
gritty Louis L'Amour books, and others to be equally fond of. As a teen, I spent
my summers on the back of a cutting horse that I dearly loved. I knew in my
heart that America was the most wonderful place to live, and richer because
of our equine friends and those who spoke for them, without whom, the
development of our nation would have been quite a different story.

In March of 2006, I was standing in a winery in Old Town Spring (Texas)
with my sister when I learned that I had been deceived all my life. The
horses have been betrayed. My heart might heal, but their lives remain in peril
even today. Until that day, I hadn't any idea that horse slaughter continued
in this country.

I challenge you to tell your children- or perhaps grandchildren- the truth
about why the noble, intelligent steed of their daydreams, movies, books,
and vital importance to our nation's history are so brutally treated.
Explain if you will, what likely happened to their show pony when he was
stolen, or the racehorse they rooted for. Why we put up statues, paint
portraits of them, and then send them to a horrific death. Share with them
why horses wind up on dinner plates overseas, when we don't eat horsemeat in
this country. Explain why foreign owned companies are operating at high
profits when this activity is not allowed in their own country. Dare to let
them know that not only are the "protected" mustangs not, that NO horse in
this country is safe from the auction and captive bolt. Speak to them about why
organizations that should be up in arms about this support it
enthusiastically, right along with over-breeding. Explain what a
Premarin/Prempro mare and her foal are. Why they are.

Tell them why officials elected to positions intended to represent their
constituents allow this uncivilized brutality to continue unchecked, despite public
outcry. Explain the stench in the air, the stains on the Earth in DeKalb, Kaufman,
and Dallas. Chronicle this for your children and grandchildren and do so with
pride. It is, after all, your legacy, too.

Know that when you’re through explaining, the nasty truth remains the same.

The horse, it seems, has made a grave error in trusting such "civilized"
humans. Yet he continues to do so with a loving heart. He can teach us much,
if we will only listen. I long for the day this nightmare ends, and ask you to
assist in the effort toward the end of this abomination. I will then again be able to
hold my head up when I explain where I'm from.

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Saturday, December 02, 2006

One bright Saturday morning, you get up and decide to check email before you get to laundry and myriad other chores. You push the power button on the computer and up comes the Blue Screen of Death. At first, you think it’s no big deal and you try to reboot it. Nope, it’s gone. Okay, plan B, talk to a friend who knows a bit more than you do about this gadget you use on a daily basis. Still not too worried, but by now it’s been a couple of days and you realize you forgot to respond to an email or finish setting up a new account somewhere.

Your friend gives you the bad news. A couple of sectors in your hard drive perish. What does that mean, you wonder? It means you don’t have to worry about that email you forgot to respond do, it’s in Neverland now. As are all your other emails, contacts, etcetera.

Now, you’ve had about a week to really let things sink in and you begin to recall things you’d downloaded, saved, and meant to backup on your computer (but, of course, hadn’t yet). Oh crap, I've got everything on there! Withdrawals and a wee bit of panic set in as you wait to find out the verdict on whether or not your buddy has been able to recover any of your information. You consider that, in the event your machine gets up and going again, you’ve got 7 hours worth of critical updates waiting at Microsoft (because you have dialup, of course). And then there are all of your programs to reload.

In a moment of pure paranoia (likely somewhere in the 2 a.m. area on a weeknight), you start to wonder what would happen if your bank experienced this and you couldn’t get to your directly deposited check or your automatically withdrawn payments on everything. Your debit card dinna work and oops! You wrote your last check last month and forgot to order more (because you hardly ever use them anymore). Not only do you miss your computer and all your cyber-hangouts, you feel guilty because in the big scheme of things, your wee computer with it’s little databank isn’t all that much to lose. Or is it?

We’ve moved into a different world, a world where more people than not are now published authors, whether they ever earn royalties or not. We (as a whole) use this electronic gadget in so many aspects of our lives- the aforementioned banking, shopping, chatting, research, entertainment, even sexual flirtations, dating, and marriage.

So when it’s turned off, quite literally, a big chunk of what we do is turned off with it. That’s a little scary, to me. I just went two weeks without this machine, and loved/hated all of it. While an external drive or a jump card seems smart, so does backing away a little. Setting aside a little actual green in the event that the bank goes through this same experience, ever. Making a point of gathering the snail mail and phone numbers of the correspondents I’ve met online who really mean something special to me- and hoping I remember how to write by hand. Giving my eyeballs and brain cells more frequent breaks and amazing myself at how much I really CAN get done when I’m not sitting here at the keyboard…