Who is to Say?

Historically, Thanksgiving was a time for people to give thanks for a bountiful harvest. Today, we buy our turkeys and produce at the grocery store and start cooking all those casseroles and pies a day early in preparation for all that family drama.

But somewhere in the midst of cooking and laughing and eating and arguing, there's a moment when we stop and actually wonder what we are thankful for.

This particular Thanksgiving, I happen to have several friends who are going through rough times. It's hard, when your heart is breaking or you're filing for bankruptcy or you're burying a loved one, to hold up a glass of wine and toast to all the things you are thankful for. Sometimes it even seems as though there were nothing in our lives worth the effort to give thanks.

I saw Natalie at the ranch this morning. She was coming to spend time with her horse, Pippin. She was the only one out there except for me. I thought, "That's so wonderful. She wants to spend Thanksgiving morning with her horse." I have no doubt that Pippin is thankful to have Natalie is his life.

Seeing Natalie made me recall a conversation I had with her mother, Teri, just the day before, when we were talking about change.

"There's a Tibetan tale," I told Teri, "that I love."

There's this boy, Yeshi. He wakes up one morning to find that the family's horse is missing. He and his father search all day to no avail. When night falls, Yeshi exclaims in tears, "What bad luck!!"

The father says, "Who can say what is good fortune or bad? Give thanks for everything."

Several days go by and Yeshi finds that his horse has returned and has brought with him another horse.

"This is good fortune!" Says Yeshi.

Of course his father says the same thing. "Who can say if this is good fortune or bad?"

The next week, Yeshi gets bucked off the new horse and breaks his leg.

"Our new horse was bad luck after all," moans Yeshi.

Yeshi's father says, "I'm sorry to see you hurt, but who can say what is good or bad? We have to wait and see."

The next day the King's men come to take all able men with them into battle. Of course Yeshi can't go because of his broken leg.

Even then, the father still says "Who can say if this is good fortune or bad? Give thanks for everything."

And so I propose to you that even in our darkest hour, we cannot know what the future holds for us. Our best bet is to reserve judgement. Be thankful for everything, even if it seems that something horrible has happened.

You never know where your choices will lead you. You never know when something that looks bad will turn out to be something good.

And you never know when a simple "Thank You" is all you need to make someone smile.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May your cup runneth over.

Lost and Found

I went on a trail ride yesterday with Wendy and Cher. It was my first time back on a horse since Naysa rodeo-bucked me off and I broke my wrist. Oh, my word, it felt WONDERFUL. I didn't realize how much I had missed riding.

Wendy let me ride her horse Topacio. (I'm doing groundwork with Adonis and would like to build a stronger relationship with him before I ride him again.)

When Wendy offered me Topacio, my only concern was whether he was an easy ride or not. I still can't do a lot of pulling because of my wrist. I would not be able to ride any of Leslie's horses right now, like Barney whose idea of a half-halt is what I think of as a full-blown, yanking back, HOLY CRAP HALT. If you try to ride Barney with the reins at the buckle, he thinks you're giving him full license to gallop away like he's just been released from the starting gate at Belmont.

"Oh, Topacio's wonderful," said Wendy. "He'll be really easy with you."

After we were all tacked up and ready to head out, Wendy said, "He sometimes tries to ride out from under you a bit. I wouldn't touch him with your leg for at least the first thirty minutes."

I almost laughed out loud. What I said was, "We'll be fine."

"And make sure to talk to him if we come across a bike rider on the trail. He won't take off with you, but sometimes he'll do a 360."

"He spins?" I asked.

"Yeah, he spins."

"Okay, then."

I admit I hesitated for a moment. And I usually don't hesitate when horses are involved.

I looked at my wrist, which was still in a brace. Then I asked myself, "Am I really up for this?"

I began to wonder if I should have taken Adonis. I knew what to expect from Adonis. For the first time it occurred to me that I was about to hop on a horse I didn't know, a horse I had never ridden.

But I trusted Wendy.

"We'll be fine," I said again and just hoped that it was true.

Of course, Topacio was WONDERFUL. No spinning, no spooking, no slapping me up against trees (well, except at the end, but that was my fault for not ducking!)

Thank you SO MUCH, Wendy!

Topacio was okay with everyone out on the trail except for the guy with the sharp hedge clippers. I could feel him tense up under me, but I didn't blame him. The guy was creepy. If Topacio had taken off at that moment, I would have added leg to suggest we get out of there faster.

Anyone looking a bit too happy while holding up an open pair of long clipper blades makes my creepy list. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if the abandoned ax we found had belonged to creepy clipper guy. Might have been his last murder weapon.

"You watch too many forensic TV shows," said Wendy.

It's true. I love that stuff.

But really, how exactly do you LOSE an AX?

"I have a lost story that will top any lost story," said Cher.

Cher and her husband were cleaning fish at Cher's mom's house. Cher was flinging sticky guts off her hands when her wedding ring slipped off her finger and flew into the air. No one saw it fall. They looked everywhere, but no one could find the ring.

Three years go by.

Cher is hanging laundry on her mom's clothesline, and she sees something on top of one of the clothespins sparkle. Lo and behold, it's her wedding ring hanging there from the top of a clothespin.

I know. Wow, right?

I created Forever Sky Ranch because I loved working with horses, especially my rescue horses. And I wanted the best of everything for my 4-legged babies. I used to wake up each morning with excitement bubbling over.

Somehow over the years, with fences to build and waterers to fix, with pastures to plant and fertilizer to spread, with this and that and the other and this and that again, I lost sight of my purpose, my reason for doing all of it. I sacrificed time with my horses to make the ranch work. I sacrificed too much time.

Now, having had 6 weeks of forced vacation, it's as if someone has turned on the defrost in my brain.

I finally realize that while my lovely ranch and my FSR family are as close to my heart as they can get, time with my horses has to be a priority. Each day that goes by that I don't get to spend time with my babies, something inside me wilts.

So from now on, when you head out to the ranch, yes, you'll still see me on the tractor or holding a drill or picking up manure, but just as often, you will also see me in the pasture with my orange carrot stick or you'll see me grooming or riding or simply hanging out with one of my horses while they graze. You might even see me in the round pen standing over a pile of hay. (For that to make sense, you have to read Naked Liberty by Carolyn Resnick or just ask Mirka about the waterhole rituals. Awesome stuff.)

Point is, I finally remember why there's a Forever Sky Ranch. It's not because of horse shows or blue ribbons or competitions or anything of the sort. It's because there was once a girl who was a dreamer, a girl who thought hanging out in the pasture and watching the interaction of the herd was a good way to spend the day, a girl who wanted nothing more than to ride bareback and bridleless across an open field without a care in the world, a girl who thought connection with a horse meant more than leg aids and rein contact. A girl who wanted to share her joy of horses with the world.

Yes. I finally remember. And thanks to a broken wrist, an inspiring trainer, an awesome trail ride with friends, and a story about a lost ring, that girl...well...she's BACK.

We Have Nothing to Fear, But Fear Itself.

I am a recluse by nature. It's true.

An introvert.

I often play the part of "extrovert," but when it comes right down to it, I'm simply not that outgoing. I am, in fact, deep down, merely scared.

It took me a long time to recognize that basic emotion that churned in my gut as FEAR because it was always so cleverly masked with ideas about rejection and approval, disappointment and success. But when you pull away all the layers, what you are left with is FEAR.

When I realized my entire life was based around my own personal FEARS, I was suddenly able to better understand my horses.

That's what a horse's life is about, after all: FEAR

Horses are prey animals, and as such, their lives are naturally based in fear. The red bucket that wasn't sitting by the side of the barn yesterday poses a grave threat to the intelligent equine. Anything out of the ordinary or anything out of place = threat.

I worked with Adonis today--my first time since breaking my wrist. I was unsure whether or not I could adequately hold the lead line in my left hand, if the pressure would be too much for my broken wrist, even in the cast. But fortunately, leading Adonis was effortless.

He sniffed my cast all over (it was new, after all) to make sure I didn't happen to have a hand grenade taped to my arm. Once he was satisfied that the bright lime green cast wasn't going to hurt him, he fell into his normal behavior pattern.

I took him to the round pen and let him loose. My only goal was to share the space with him and not have him infringe on my personal space unless I invited him to do so.

So he stared at me. (He's an extroverted horse. He lives for attention.)

But he surprised me by respecting my space. If I looked at him and with my body language suggested he come forward to meet me, he would walk up to me. But if I didn't look at him, and stood relaxed, he didn't approach me. He stayed close, but not in my space.

So just as the realization of my own fears helped me understand my horses, the reaction of my equine companion gave me an equally important realization.

Our connections with other human beings is up to us. It's in how we LOOK at other people. If we are aloof in our body language or reserved with our visual contact, the people around us are going to stand back. It's only when we open ourselves to other people that we have the opportunity to form friendships. We must first "suggest" with our body language that we are approachable, that we aren't a threat.

I will probably always be "scared." It's my nature. I have a tender heart, and I don't like having it hurt. But maybe, for us introverts, fear isn't all we have to look forward to.

Maybe we can learn from our equine friends that sometimes all it takes is a desire for connection and a bit of confidence in those around us. We realize that the red bucket is just that: a red bucket. And we begin to trust. And through trust, we experience freedom.

The Ground Hurts-- or--Reasons I Don't Belong in the Rodeo, But My Horse Does

This past Thursday, I had a marvelous day with my ponies. I trailered Adonis over to Double P Farm in the morning and had a fantastic trailer-loading lesson with Mirka. Our two-hour lesson turned into three as Mirka worked to teach me how to load Adonis the natural way. (I have to say, the three hours felt like 30 minutes. The woman has a gift.)

When we accomplished the task, with Adonis actually more relaxed than when we started, I was flying high on pony love.

I got back to the ranch and practiced a few more times getting Adonis in and out, as Mirka suggested. Then I cleaned up my lovely Arabian boy and put him back in his stall with fresh hay.

That's when I looked at my watch.

4:02.

I had to pick up the boys from school before 5:00. They were in aftercare. I had promised we would stop by Krispy Kreme on the way home, so I really needed to leave. (And I really should have left.)

But I wasn't ready to give it up.

I went to Naysa's stall and kissed her nose. She and I had experienced a fantastic session together the day before. I had taken her out to an empty pasture, removed her halter, and began to work with her at liberty. She responded so wonderfully to my leading her that I was surprised.

So as I stood there loving on her, I thought, "Let's go for a ride."

"I think I'm just going to hop on bareback," I told Leslie.

I hadn't planned to ride for an extended period. I only wanted to hop on, take a stroll around the barn, and just "be" with her. I hadn't ridden her in quite some time because she had developed a breathing problem during the heat of the summer, but now that she seemed to have recovered, I wanted to start working with her again.

"You saddled her after all!" said Leslie as I walked Naysa over to retrieve my helmet.

"She was good girl, too!" I replied.

Naysa didn't even shift her weight when I put on her saddle, and she didn't even blink when I tightened the girth. She practically put the bridle on by herself.

When I walked her to the mounting block, she stood perfectly still and square. I put weight in the stirrup to make sure she was okay. She had cocked her back leg, so I wasn't all that worried.

WRONG!

"You still there, Leslie?" I called. Leslie stepped out of the barn with Christine at her side. "Just wanted to make sure you were close by," I said. "so you can call 911 if she bucks me off."

I was TEASING. (Note to self: Don't ever say that again.)

Once I sat down in the saddle, Naysa went into full-blown rodeo mode. She got her head down and, according to Leslie, all four feet came off the ground. At some point she tossed me down and I hit the ground hard. (I should have hopped on bareback. I might have stayed on!)

I knew when I hit that it was bad. I couldn't breathe. I struggled to get up, but I couldn't. Leslie was at my side in an instant. So was Naysa.

"The way she was standing there," Leslie said later when we were in the ER, "it looked like she was saying NEXT!" Her words were tinged with laughter. "Naysa was fine after she got you off her back."

"She must hurt somewhere," I replied. "I must have hurt her."

After I hit the ground, I tried to stand up, but I couldn't put weight on my left wrist. My wrist didn't concern me, though. My lower abdomen was hurting and felt increasingly warm. When I attempted to stand, everything would start to go black and I would sink back to the ground. I began to worry that the impact had caused internal bleeding.

I asked Leslie to drive me to the ER, and I called my mom to pick up the kids. Allen was still teaching class.

Leslie took wonderful care of me. She even fed me a Krispy Kreme donut on our way to the hospital. Now THAT'S a good friend!

When I entered Triage, my blood pressure was 80/50. I told the nurse about my abdominal pain, but she didn't seem concerned with my case--or with anything for that matter. A robot would have paid more attention to me. She sent me to "Fast Track." When the fast track nurse evaluated me, he rolled me straight down to the main ER after rolling his eyes in disgust that I had been mis-placed.

Apparently any fall from a horse is considered a trauma alert.

So they did all the X-rays and CT-scans. The nurse scared both me and Leslie by suggesting that I had probably fractured my pelvis.

"We see that all the time, "She said. "It's the most common horse fall injury."

Thankfully, only my left wrist was broken. They set it in a temporary cast, to be replaced by a "real" cast next week after the swelling is under control.

The rest of me just hurts. Bad.

"Don't you remember what I told you?" said Alexis. "Don't fall off next time!"

Alexis has requested I get a tie-dyed cast. (I didn't realize there was such a thing.) Regardless what color I choose for the cast, I'll definitely have people sign it! I mean, there have to be some perks since I'm going to be one-handed for a while!

It's funny, I have had several people tell me "I'm sorry she hurt you."

I find that a ridiculous notion. Horses don't set out to hurt us. We hurt ourselves. We are responsible. We get hurt because we don't listen to our equine companions, because we don't build the bond on the ground before we get in the saddle, and simply because we don't pay attention to our environment and what we are doing.

It was my fault that Naysa bucked me off, not hers. She needed more from me, more preparation and more consideration, in order to accept me on her back once again. I didn't give her what she needed. And it's certainly possible that she has back pain. I owe it to her, to us, to get her back checked out.

What's NICE to know is that horses have an amazing capacity to forgive. If any horse has taught us that, it's Naysa. When I feed her treats tomorrow and scratch her ears, I'll tell her I'm sorry, and she'll understand, because while she might not comprehend the words, she will no doubt sense the emotion.

Beyond Watermelon

Allen dropped me off this morning so I could pick up my car from the shop. It had been there since September 10th, 12 days ago, when I had a blow-out on my way home from the ranch and found out that the tires to my hybrid weren't so easily replaced. I could have picked up the car much sooner (9 days sooner), but I didn't want to spare the time since I was preparing for the FSR Schooling Show and needed every last minute to work. I drove my truck instead.

As we were driving to get my car, I realized, with horror, that I had forgotten something of vital importance.

I gasped.

"What's wrong?" Allen asked.

"I left a watermelon in the car."

At the time, when the tow-truck driver dropped off the car, I had assumed I would pick it up the next day. When the Chevy people told me it would take the weekend to fix, I didn't think about the watermelon. And by the time I decided not to worry about getting the car until the show was over, I had forgotten about the watermelon altogether.

I don't think it's necessary to describe to any of you what 90-degree heat (higher inside a closed vehicle) does to ripe fruit.

What is important to tell you is that I have an unusual phobia. I can handle blood and guts with ease. I can deal with dog puke or kid puke or any manner of poop. None of that bothers me at all. But I can't bring myself to go near a rotten fruit or vegetable. Just the sight of a sunken tomato is enough to make my stomach turn. And the smell...oh God, the smell.

So I pulled out of the Chevy dealership like a crazy person. I had to find a dumpster and fast, and I was struggling to stay within 5 miles of the speed limit, but it's hard to race away from the stench--and not speed--when the stench is in the seat behind you.

I ended up driving to the University where I knew I could find an open dumpster and no one would ask questions. Or try to stop me. (I could just see a helpless Walmart employee trying to keep me from using their dumpster. I'm sure the scenario would involve me getting a mug-shot taken and a headline of "Lunatic Assaults Employee with a Rotten Watermelon. Story at 6."

Just recalling how I gathered up the squishy mess with old ranch towels makes me want to run to the bathroom holding my stomach. But I was able to scoop the nastiness up and throw it out, even though the towels made their way into the dumpster along with the rotting red nastiness.

Getting rid of the melon, though, did not get rid of the smell. I was reminded of the Seinfield episode "The Smelly Car." Jerry says, "You don't understand what I'm up against. This is a force more powerful than anything you can imagine. Even Superman would be helpless against this kind of stench."

So I drove home and literally emptied a gallon of odor and stain removal on the carpet where the putrid juice had poured out. Then I went to it with the steam cleaner. I admit the smell was better, but not totally gone. I sprayed the area again with Oxy Carpet Stain Remover and left it soaking with the windows open.

"It's just a watermelon," said Allen.

"It's beyond watermelon," I replied. In fact, I still feel dirty. *shiver*

I can't tell you how happy I am that I have to drive the truck tomorrow. I am trailering Adonis over to Mirka's for a lesson. With any luck, the smell won't still be clinging to me like an entity. But maybe I should warn her, or at least bring her a clothespin for her nose, just in case.

And I think I'll shower a few more times before I go to bed.

Possibly Praising Parelli or Perhaps his Protégée

I have to be honest that my first experience with "Parelli" wasn't great. I started reading his book Natural Horse-Man-Ship not long after I adopted Sky, and I stopped reading after 8 pages.

First, he introduces a program that "comes in 41 words and begins with the letter P." When I started reading "Pat Parelli proudly presents his programs and the proclamation that prior and proper...." I have to say my first thought was, "You've got to be kidding me."

In the next paragraph, Parelli goes on to write:

"I've identified 103 ingredients in Natural Horse-Man-Ship, and these concepts are the basis of this text. I list them in a particular order: 1,2,4,6,8,and 10. Added together, they equal 31. There are two sets of these numbers (1,2,4,6,8,10). 31+31=62. Add the 41 P's. 31+31+41=103."

If I had been Parelli's editor, I would have said, "You really want to put all those P's in there? And the numbers? Really? Cause if I were your reader, those things would make me put the book down."

And they did. I put the book down and I didn't pick it back up. If I heard someone refer to the Parelli method, I immediately thought, "I know what that is...all those P's and numbers."

I didn't give Parelli a second thought after that, not until I met Mirka.

Mirka was trained in the Parelli method when she was a teenager. I have to say, though, that I don't consider her a "Parelli" trainer. She is a "Mirka" trainer. She uses Parelli methods, but she also uses her brain, her heart, and her entire soul when she works with horses. The Parelli method is a foundation for her knowledge base, because it makes sense to her. But she continues to expand her horizons exponentially.

I have always been a big fan of Natural Horsemanship. The book that I picked up after I put Parelli down was written by a man named Mark Rashid. Once I started reading Rashid's books, I couldn't stop. I'd be up at 2am, finishing one of his books and crying my eyes out.

"Isn't that a horse training book?" My husband once asked me, a bit concerned at my display.

"Yee-ssss," I managed to say between sobs.

I actually wrote a letter to Mark after reading all of his books. It was something like 3 pages long. I let my husband read it before I mailed it because, well, he's my best editor.

"You're in love with this guy," Allen said flatly.

"Yeah. I know."

And I was in love with him--in love with all of his principles regarding horses. I still am. I have my fingers crossed that he will include Forever Sky Ranch in his 2011 workshop tour. We're on the list.

(Mirka is the only person I have ever mentioned "Mark Rashid" to who knew what I was talking about. I really like that.)

The list of things I like about Mirka continues to grow. I like that she is straight-forward. She is quick to give praise when praise is warranted, but she doesn't sugar-coat her criticism. I respect that. I like her compassion toward horses, how she strives to earn leadership over her horses out of respect instead of dominance. I suppose when it comes down to it, I feel like I "get" where Mirka is coming from. As a yoga instructor, I understand the power of our body's energy, how you can direct that energy, and how that energy can affect everyone around you. Mirka uses her body's energy to direct her horses' movements. I totally dig that. Better yet, I understand it.

It has never been a secret that one of my big desires is to create an obstacle course at FSR and to someday host Obstacle Playdays or Horse Agility tournaments. Imagine my super excitement to learn that Mirka often hosts such activities. This past Sunday I ventured out to one of Mirka's Horse Agility Tournaments. I went as an observer. (Adonis and I will go together next time.) The ease with which Mirka works with her equine companions is astonishing, and I can say the same for everyone who participated this past Sunday.

The whole experience was so magical that Nikki, another one of the observers (and Rodeo Queen at Tate, I might add), asked, "Does Mirka give lessons to anyone? Or does she only work within her group?"

"No," was my remark. "It's a tight knit circle. She doesn't give lessons to just anyone." The dry humor was apparent in my voice. I've never seen a more open circle, actually. And while Mirka's schedule is tight, she's available to anyone who wants to learn a better way of working with horses.

(I mean, she agreed to give ME lessons, after all!)

I have communicated on Facebook with several of Mirka's "circle" over the last several weeks, but until Sunday I hadn't met anyone. As one of the horses was chasing a cow as part of the exercise, my friend Cheryl said to me, "That's what Forever Sky needs, a cow." Hearing the name "Forever Sky" Kelly turned around and asked in the most pleasant, friendly voice, "Are you Jolee?" Like I said, it's an open, inviting circle.

(I hope you're feeling much much better, Kelly! Can't wait to get to know you better!)

I have to say that finding Mirka has rejuvenated my passion for working with horses. And fairly soon I will start putting up my own agility course at FSR.

For now, though, I am working to complete our awesome cross county course. Alexis and I will be hard at it tomorrow as we finish up working on our interesting and exciting cross-country obstacles.

I was honored to have Mirka and her student Natalie sign up to ride the course. I will be excited to have them at Forever Sky.

And I am excited to be taking lessons with Mirka. I have to say that I never, in my wildest imagination, thought you would find a Parelli Carrot Stick by my saddle. But these days, you can. And I'm even using a rope halter with Adonis! (For those of you aware of my halter fetish, you understand how significant that is.)

But hey...life is about change. Embrace the unknown. And follow your dreams.

I am.

Barn Manager + Power Tools = New Gate

I finished installing our new electric gate today. I was very proud of myself. I had been putting off working on the cursed thing for over two months because, frankly, it intimidated me. I had to hook up a marine battery to a solar panel and then connect them to the gate opener, which I had to install properly on the metal gate. I knew that if I just sat down with the whole mess that I could figure it out. But the instructions, at first glace, looked a bit like Chinese translated to Russian, translated to some African tongue, and then finally translated to English. Some things just didn't make sense.

But I did it. The gate works. Except for the keypad. Apparently the one I purchased doesn't function on the same MHz as the gate opener. "Of course," I thought.

So I still have to get a keypad, but that should be easy enough.

The reason we needed a new gate?

Janine.

Let me take you back a few months. It's early on a Sunday morning. And it's storming. The rain is whipping down in sheets and the wind is gusting. Janine (our barn manager) is trying to GET OUT to make it to church. Alexis (our trainer) is trying to GET IN so she can load up her horse and head to a horse show.

Back up one more day....

"Janine, would you make sure to lock the gate before you go to bed?" I asked. "I saw a strange truck drive up yesterday. Makes me uncomfortable."

"I will," said Janine.

Famous last words.

So it's storming. And Janine can't get the padlock unlocked. (She had the correct key, so who knows what the problem was. Did it rust?) By the time they were working with the bolt cutters trying to get the chain off, Janine and Alexis were soaking wet. You could have wrung them out and they'd still be dripping. The chain was too strong, however. Nothing they attempted worked.

"I need to get in!" screamed Alexis over the pounding of the rain and the cracking thunder.
"I need to get out!" yelled Janine.

They called me about this time, and I jumped in my car to head that way. But I wasn't going to make it in time, not for Janine to make it to church or for Alexis to make it to the horse show.

"Just do what you need to do," I told Janine.

And she did.

She walked back through the pouring rain to the barn and retrieved the battery-powered saw.
I didn't see Janine actually hacking away at the wooden post that held the gate together, but I could envision it as plain as day.

There she was, that determined look in her eyes, wielding a saw. No way was a stupid gate going to keep her from getting to church. No way in hell.

And it didn't.

Alexis never made it to the horse show, however. They cancelled it due to bad weather.

I have to say, I almost miss seeing that poor, ragged, wooden stump hanging from the old metal gate. But I have put so much time into putting up the new gate that from now on I think I might just hide the power tools.

Habitat for Horses-- (The story about Janine wielding the electric hacksaw will have to wait)

This was going to be a blog about our new gate, the one we had to install because Janine cut the other one down with a hacksaw during a rain storm. (Yes, it's a story you'll want to hear.)

But this week I received an email from Habitat for Horses. In that email was a story about Prince.

HFH received a call from the police about a horse that was down and almost dead. They responded to the call immediately (as they always do) and what they found was far worse than anything they could have imagined. "There was very little life left in this guy," writes Jerry, the president of HFH, "Laying in the hot sun for days on end, he was so wasted away that he looked like a shadow."


Habitat managed to get this poor soul home to their ranch and into the arms of their Anderson Sling, where "Prince" began to revive with fresh water, hay, and love.

I'd like to tell you that this story is unusual, that this type of cruelty doesn't happen every day. But it does. And for many years, Habitat for Horses has been there to help those helpless ponies and give hope to situations that seem hopeless.

But there was one phrase in the HFH newsletter that actually made me cringe.

Jerry writes, "Every month is a struggle to meet our expenses and, without a doubt, this summer has been the hardest. Horses are dying of starvation, horses are abandoned in grassless pastures, and they are crying out for our help. The economy is hurting a lot of people and our donations are way down. For the first time in ages, I'm scared. Will we be able to survive?"

I admit I have a special attachment to Habitat for Horses. They are the ones who made it possible for me to have the horsey love of my life, Naysa. Naysa was a lost cause. But HFH drove 4 hours to Louisiana to rescue her--to take her mutilated, tortured body back to where they could try to save her. And they did save her, though it took three surgeries to get all the bone fragments out of her sinus cavity and months and months of daily treatment to keep the infection from killing her.

I know money is tight everywhere. My family is struggling. The ranch is struggling. We are all fighting to keep our heads above water in this economic climate. And we've all had to cut back our spending. When we get pleas for donations, we look at our check books and think that we would love to help, but just can't afford to. Maybe later, we think.

But Habitat for Horses might not have a "later."

They need our help NOW.

And I have an idea.

I'm going to take the money I would normally spend this week on two or three bottles of wine, and I'm going to send it to Habitat. I'll drink water, instead. It's an itty bitty sacrifice.

What itty bitty sacrifice can you make this week so that Habitat can continue helping horses?

Keep in mind that ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY HELPS. Please send what you can. Soon.

Habitat for Horses is a nonprofit 501.c.3. Donations to Habitat for Horses are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law. You may donate by mail to Habitat for Horses, P.O. Box 213, Hitchcock, TX 77563 or you can visit their website, www.habitatforhorses.org, and follow the donation prompts.

THANK YOU, everyone. It's rare that I send out a request like this. (Actually, I don't think I ever have.) And I appreciate your time. Watch for the next FSR blog, where you'll get to hear about Janine attacking our gate with an electric saw. (Love you Janine!!)

You Find Out Who Your Friends Are

That song "Find Out Who Your Friends Are" by Tracy Lawrence has been running through my head at an almost continual rate since last Saturday, when I thought the dream of Forever Sky might just die.

Everybody wants to slap your back
Wants to shake your hand
When you’re up on top of that mountain

Let one of those rocks get wet
And you slide back down
Look up and see who’s around then

This ain't where the road comes to an end
This ain't where the band wagon stops
This is just one of those times when
A lotta folks jump off.

You find out who your friends are
Somebody’s gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think “what’s in it for me?”
Or “It’s way too far.”
They just show on up
With their big ol’ heart
You find out who your friends are.

The funny thing is that I didn't realize I HAD so many friends. True friends. People who would go out of their way to help me out, to help the ranch out.

Saturday night I feared we weren't going to be able to make the ranch work. The next afternoon at 4:00, my ENTIRE BARN had conveened to figure out what we could do to save what we had.

"It's what family does," said Diane. "When things get rough, family pulls together."

And because of that family, it looks as though Forever Sky will be stronger than ever. I just have to do my best to stop "thinking with my heart" as Alexis puts it. But the truth is, I'm not a business woman. I'm a horse lover. A people lover. A lover of life. A writer. It's not in my nature to make the figures work! But I guess I have to. (Good thing Leslie's a book keeper!)

Now I have this feeling in my core that I can't explain. It's some combination of awe, joy, embarassment, thankfulness, love, astonishment, wonder, and excitement.

I'll never be able to thank all of the people who have offered their care and concern, who have given their all to help out, who have prayed unceasingly....all the people who have shown me what it means to be a friend. I will spend my life doing my best to repay such kindness.

I have always lived my life on faith. I trust that if I work my hardest. If I give more than I get. If I listen more than I talk. If I follow the path set before me. If I trust in God, then everything will work out. It might not work out the way I want, but it will work out the way it's supposed to.

Now, more than ever before, I realize that Forever Sky Ranch has become much more than a barn and pastures and fencing. I also realize that it no longer belongs just to me. It belongs to my family--to all those people who have made it, and continue to make it, what it is. It also belongs to those people we have yet to meet, those of you who will one day join our family. We'll welcome you with open arms. And on that day, I'll be able to say, without reservation, that as part of the Forever Sky Family, you will never lack for love and support.

Thank you so much, my friends. I love you. All of you.

"Excuse me, have you seen my ass?"

Some of you know that I moved Dexter and The Donkey (aka Raya) to my house a few weeks ago. Sarah and Cynthia wanted to bring their horses to the ranch, so I called Janine and asked if we had room for them (Janine IS the barn guru after all.) Because we haven't finished fencing the new pastures, Janine's answer was a resounding NO. No room in the Inn.

So I made room. I hooked up the trailer, loaded up the ponies, and took them to my back yard.

Interestingly enough, we own the one lot in our subdivision that can have horses--or whatever else we might want. We joked for years about getting chickens and goats, to the chagrin of our neighbors, of course. We never really thought the backyard would hold anything but two rambunctious dogs. Guess anything is possible.

I didn't know exactly what would happen when I unloaded Raya and Dexter and unleashed them on my backyard. I unhooked their halters, and....

they grazed.

After a little while, they found the roomy back porch and decided it made a good run-in shelter. They used the chair cushions as play toys. They became fond of looking in the windows. They made a game of stalking the cats. They conned our neighbors into giving them carrots over the fence. Raya even discovered that she could start braying early in the morning loud enough to get me hustling to get her food.

They were happy.

But then space opened up for them at the ranch once again, so today I backed my trailer into my driveway and prepared to load up the babies and take them back "where they belong."

I have a feeling, however, that Dexter has known for some time exactly where he belongs: the living room. And since he hadn't had a chance to guilt-trip us into letting him inside, Dexter was certain that his stay at the homestead was not over. He refused to get on the trailer. Now, this is a pony that has walked with me into the breakroom at the ranch while I got a drink from the fridge. The same pony that we took to the NWFAC Christmas party and walked him past a mechanical bull to a tiny room and had his picture made with Santa. The pony that has always stepped right up into the trailer.

After about fifteen minutes, he finally loaded. Brat.

I was worried, though, about Raya. At the ranch, Janine and Josh had to get behind her with a butt rope and push while I pulled. But today, I had only my husband, Allen, with me.

My main concern was that Raya might bolt, something she does with glee whenever she gets the whim. And once she has decided to bolt, that's it. You can hang on and go for a bumpy ride, but there's nothing you can do to stop her.

At the ranch, it's no big deal. If she bolts, she bolts. There's no where for her to go. But in my front yard, if she took off, there would be a donkey loose in the neighborhood.

"I'd have to go door to door," I told my mom, "asking people if they had seen a donkey."

My mom stifled a laugh. "Or 'Excuse me, have you seen my ass?'"

"Mom!" I exclaimed.

"Hey, it's from your mom. It's in the Bible."

(I'm still cracking up about that.)

As it turned out, Raya was fairly easy to load. Once she had her front feet on the ramp, I called my son Matthew over to help. He grabbed one end of a lead rope and Allen held the other. They had barely touched her and she walked right into the trailer.

Now the backyard seems just a bit too empty, though I'm sure the grass is taking a sigh of relief--what's left of it, that is. I know Raya and Dex are better off at the ranch--or at least my backyard is better off now that they are AT the ranch. But I'll sure miss Raya braying in the morning and seeing Dexter sacked out on the lawn, sound asleep.

Eat, Pray, Love

I have to admit that I am a huge Twilight fan. I read the entire 4-book series in 5 days. Last year I found myself up at 2am reading New Moon, determined to finish the book before going to sleep. Then like an addict I started Eclipse at 3am without even a bathroom break.

I went to see the movie rendition of Eclipse today. While the movie itself was "okay," what really stayed with me was the trailer for the movie "Eat, Pray, Love." Julia Roberts plays the main character.

"I used to have this appetite for my life," she says. "And it's just gone."

As I get closer to 40, with all the stresses of life, I often wonder how I can hold on to the little girl inside me, the one who can't wait to plunge into life, the one who isn't afraid to trust, the one who loves freely and openly, whose insides are bursting with excitement for everything that life has to offer.

I admit I was starting to doubt it was possible to hold on to such passion for life. Maybe it slowly died, I thought, with every hurt, with every disappointment, with every betrayal.

Then I met Cher.

Cher walked into my barn this past April with a dream. She wanted to get her first horse. Once she had voiced her dream, Cher set out with passionate determination to find an equine companion. After a few disappointments (and one lost deposit from an incredibly unfair woman in Georgia), Cher found Lily.

The day she brought Lily home to the ranch was something to see. I have never seen someone so happy to get a horse. I mean, I wasn't even that happy the day I got Sky, and I was pretty darn happy that day! (Sorry Sky! You know I love you!)

Not only did Cher seem happy to have her Lily-pad, she seemed happy about everything, sort of like a 14-yr-old girl who still thinks life is a bundle of roses with endless possibilities.

Did I mention that Cher is 62?

If I didn't, it's because age isn't something you think about when you meet Cher. She's a beautiful woman. You think that. She has a figure to die for. You think that. She is sweet. You definitely think that. Genuine. Yes. Energetic. Yep. But age? Nope. Not something that crosses your mind.


Really, Cher actually makes me feel old.

"You don't start getting old," says Cher, "until you decide that you are all grown up!"

I'm definitely not all grown up (just ask my mom!) so I suppose there is hope for me yet.

The day Lily arrived, Cher taped this letter to Lily's stall:

DEAR FRIENDS AT FOREVER SKY RANCH,

I WANTED TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. MY NAME IS CHER; I'M A CHRISTIAN AND A NEW MEMBER OF YOUR FAMILY HERE AT FSR! I JUST PURCHASED MY VERY FIRST HORSE!!! I'VE WANTED ONE SINCE AGE 3 (ASKED FOR ONE EVERY BIRTHDAY AND CHRISTMAS OF MY LIFE) AND I'M GETTING READY TO TURN 63, SO IT'S BEEN A LONG 60 YEARS COMING! IT'S A DREAM COME TRUE FOR ME!! CAN YOU TELL HOW EXCITED I AM? . . . AND IT'S NOT EVEN CHRISTMAS!! I KNOW I HAVE SOOOO MUCH TO LEARN AND I WILL DO MY BEST TO OBSERVE PROPER BARN ETIQUETTE AND FOLLOW THE BARN RULES. IF I MESS UP, PLEASE LET ME KNOW RIGHT AWAY AND I WILL TRY TO NOT REPEAT THE MISTAKE. (IF I DO, JUST WRITE ON A POST-IT AND STICK IT ON MY FOREHEAD!!) I WILL TRY NOT TO BE A PAIN IN THE BUTT WITH THE MANY QUESTIONS I'M GOING TO HAVE. I HOPE YOU CAN BE PATIENT WITH ME WHILE I ABSORB EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW ABOUT CARING FOR A HORSE AND IMPROVING MY EQUESTRIAN SKILLS.
I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU ALL AND THANKS FOR LETTING ME BECOME A MEMBER OF THE FOREVER SKY FAMILY! I JUST LOVE THIS PLACE!

CHER HEFFERNAN, LILY'S MOM

I smiled when I read that note. It was full of such life and energy, such warmth. I knew then that Cher coming to Forever Sky was a blessing of some sort, like a gift from an angel. (Actually, if I found out that Cher WAS an Angel, I wouldn't be surprised one bit. I'd probably say something like, "And?")

A few weeks ago I was having a moment of inner turmoil. Something inside me looked to Cher for what I hoped would be a small piece of advice. Her return email was long, thoughtful, and caring. It actually brought me to tears. She ended her wonderful letter by writing

"Pray. Be yourself. Be happy."

Thank you, Cher. For being part of the family at Forever Sky. For your laughter. Your joy. Your friendship. And your smile. But most of all, THANK YOU for showing me that regardless of what life throws at you, it IS possible to hold on to your appetite for life, your passion, your excitement, and your love.

I'm Really Not a Biker Chick

I love tattoos. I always have. I wanted to have a tattoo long before tattooing became a fad and every California teenager had have her navel surrounded with an image of the sun. There really should be warnings posted about tummy tattoos--something like "If you get this now, don't get pregnant. Ever. Just saying."

My Uncle David was "inked up." He was retired from the Navy and sported a blue splotchy anchor on one forearm and a blue splotchy busty woman on the other.

I LOVED those tattoos. I was six years old, and I loved them. I used to trace the anchor with my fingers. I think I was too embarrassed to touch the lady.

Of course when I told my mom I was going to have tattoos when I grew up, her response was "That's nice, honey." She probably thought that my desire to put permanent marks on my body would pass along with my desire to have fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror of my future car.

But it didn't. (Sorry, Mom!)

So when you walk into the barn and see a woman with a tattoo of a panther on her upper arm, that's me. Hi. I'm really not a biker chick. I just love tattoos.

Carla, my very first boarder and my very good friend, sent me a text yesterday. It was just a picture. Of a tattoo. A wolf and a dragonfly on a woman's shoulder blade. HER shoulder blade.

"Did you just get a tattoo???!!!?" I exclaimed with texting punctuation.
"Yep," was all she wrote.

My first thought was "We're going to have a barn full of chicks with tattoos." My second thought was, "I have such a cool barn."

Tattoos are addictive. Once you get the first one, there's something inside you that wants to get another.

I have four.

I think number five will be a horse. Not sure where that one's going just yet. I'll let you know when I decide. :-) Just don't tell my mom.

Whiskey for my Men, Beer for my horses.

A few years ago I hated the Toby Keith song about Whiskey and Horses. I couldn't listen to it. When it came on, I would turn the station.

"Awful," I thought. "Just Awful."

I hated it.

It's important to say, I suppose, that I always thought the lyrics were "Whiskey for my men, BE-FORE my horses."

I was appalled. Those horses broke their backs to get those ungrateful poor excuses for men to wherever it is they were getting (yes, I realize it's just a song, but still) and those pathetic self-centered cowboys were going to give their men whiskey first? Not on my watch. Heck no.

Later I realized the song was "Whiskey for my men, BEER for my horses."

I felt much better after that.

I have to say, Naysa LOVES beer.

She smells it and her neck stretches out so long you would think she was a giraffe.

A friend of mine who drinks Corona--and only Corona--gave Naysa her first sip of beer last year. After that, she became a total addict.

Today, when I walked in the breakroom, I checked all the coolers that were still sitting out after our amazing party this past Saturday. (I have been forbidden from blogging about the party. Yes, it was a REALLY fun evening.) The IGLOO cooler which held the beer was still full of ice--even after two days.

I picked up an ice-cold Coors and thought two things: 1) I would love to drink this (I'm not drinking beer these days) and 2) I bet Naysa would love this.

I covered the beer cap with my FSR shirt and twisted. A bit of cool fog drifted about the opening of the beer.

When I walked out to give Naysa a sip of beer, I heard Katrina call out, "You're not getting my horse drunk, are you??"

Katrina had brought her horse Amira in for a lesson with Alexis. (Amira is a gorgeous Arabain mare. Way too good for beer. I'd guess high-class champagne for her.) Amira was nickering at the sight of me providing "treats" to other horses.

"No," I called down the barn aisle. "Just giving Naysa her fix!"

Nay took a few laps of beer from my hand, but then turned her nose up. (Guess it wasn't Corona.) I ended up with most of the beer on my shirt and the rest splashed on the ground. I could hear my Corona friend say, "That's downright alcohol abuse, that is."

The moral of the story??

There IS no moral to this story! I'm just glad our horses get beer if they want it, and there's not much cowboy whiskey drinking going on.

**Amira would like to inform her public--now that she has become a blog star--that she will not be taking any phone calls but will be signing hoof-o-graphs for a special select few.

Every Journey Has a Beginning

My two sons and I were watching movie trailers today--The Last Airbender, Avatar, Toy Story 3, Twilight Eclipse--when somehow we came upon the preview for Star Wars, Episode I. The boys were captivated. I had to read out loud the words on the screen:

Every Generation has a Legend.

Every Journey has a First Step.

Every Saga has a Beginning.

I suddenly saw Alexis as Obi-Wan Kenobi training Jedi Star fighters, and I laughed out loud. The boys made me start the trailer over because I interrupted. Brats. :-)

It's true, though. Every journey does have a first step. And every saga does have a beginning. Forever Sky took that first step on July 18th of last year, when we officially opened for horsey business. We had a big party that day. It was Sky's birthday. One year ago the ranch was quiet. I had my horses. I had Janine. And I had a very big dream. The worst that could happen was that no one would share my dream. But little by little, things began to happen. And the dream began to become reality.

Now, a year later, I look back at all the activities FSR has hosted: Adult Horse Camp, Dressage Workshops, a fantastic Schooling Show, and an incredible summer kids' camp. The young ladies at kids camp had so much fun that they begged Alexis to start a Saddle Club. (Please, Obi-Wan. We are ready to train.) So this year, as we approach our anniversary, I'm no longer the only one holding on to the dream of what Forever Sky can be. Now we have a team of dreamers--the FSR team.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the FSR Saddle Club.

**Insert Applause**

Next Saturday, the 17th of July, at 4:00pm, FSR will celebrate its first anniversary. We'll have food and cake, wine and beer. We'll have brand new FSR shirts for sale. And we'll have plenty of nice, cold A/C in the breakroom. In addition, the Forever Sky Saddle Club will have its first official meeting. (If you're interested, come an hour early. The group is meeting at 3:00)

We are so excited about our upcoming party! Please join us and help us celebrate the fact that every so often dreams can, and do, come true.

Two Roosters in a Stall

34 days.

That's how long it's been since I posted the last blog. I've toyed around with a few stories, but I couldn't bring myself to wrap them up and post them, not until today.

Every time I would start writing about the FSR kids camp or Katrina getting separated from her horse, or my trip to get Ruby from Texas, or how I actually printed brochures with "Let your Imagination SORE," I would see that picture of Jake chilling out on the couch, his mouth slightly open in that wonderful doggy grin.

To post a new blog meant taking Jake off the front page. I suppose in my subconscious, somewhere, I felt that putting up a new blog meant that my life with Jake was really in the past. And I wasn't ready to let go.

This morning when I arrived at the ranch, everything was quiet. It was drizzling a bit, and the dark sky and cool wind promised we could expect more than a drizzle at any moment. Since I was just coming to drop off brochures, I planned to be in and out fast before the sky opened up and I had to carry on with wet clothes. But as I turned to leave, Naysa nickered at me.

I was forced to head to the peppermint drawer.

While I was feeding Naysa's peppermint addiction, I suddenly heard a resounding

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!"

I literally froze.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!"

I headed toward the noise.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!"

I stopped at an empty stall and slowly moved to peer over the door. There they were. Two roosters in a cage. They looked at me and cocked their heads to the side--no pun intended. Their big red combs flopped with the quick movement of their feathered heads.

I started to laugh. It was one of those laughs that comes from deep inside, the kind you know you can't stop. I just kept laughing. And then I laughed more.

Turns out the roosters were waiting for Janine's mother to come pick them up. FSR was just a short stop on their way to a new home. (In their cramped cage, I'm sure they felt like any of us do at the Atlanta airport.)

Life never ceases to amaze me. Somehow, on a rainy, miserable day, those two funny roosters made me realize it was okay to move on.

Rest in Peace, Jake. We still miss you. We always will.

King of the Mountain

This past Tuesday I had to have Jake, my wonderful dog and companion, put down. He had toe cancer. Apparently black male standard poodles are prone to toe cancer. Sounds almost silly. It's not. Jake was 10 years old.

We had two of his toes removed a couple of years ago, and we made the decision that if other toes became cancer-ridden, that we weren't going to keep cutting off body parts. It was a hard decision.

When Jake was a puppy, he would climb up on this large rock (nearly 5 feet high) in our front yard. Often he would be holding a frisbee in his mouth that he had successfully retrieved. We called him "King of the Mountain."

And he really was King of the Mountain.

It's odd coming home without seeing his big fluffy "fro," and that dangling pink tongue. Jake was big and black, and strangers were always terrified of him. So funny considering he was essentially a 75lb lap dog. Jake was truly the best dog ever.

I miss him.

Last year this time I had to put down my horse Arete because of tumors behind her eyes that were causing her pain. She was 26. You can find her portrait in the Forever Sky break room. She looked exactly like Sky. I miss her too.

When I got home yesterday, I sat down at my desk and the first thing I saw was a picture of Leslie and her horse, Rico. Looking at the picture brought fresh tears to my eyes. Like Arete, Rico was 26 years old when he crossed over the rainbow bridge. He went quietly. One day they simply found him lying down in the field. Peaceful. At rest.

Are we gluttons for punishment? We take these creatures into our homes and hearts. They become family. And yet we are destined to lose them.

Sky will be 26 next month. And while she acts like a bratty 3-year-old, I know she's not. I sometimes wonder when I'll have to say goodbye.

But it's not something I dwell on.

Losing Jake was hard, but it reaffirms for me my belief that you never know when your last moment alive will be. Nothing is certain. And so we must live every day in a way that fulfills us and makes us proud. We must live with Integrity. Joy. Fortitude. Reckless abandon. Tenderness. Compassion. And most of all, Love.

Take time today--and everyday--to really hug your family and your friends. Pet your dogs and cats. Wrap your arms around your horse. Take a moment to cherish the living beings in your life, whether they walk on two legs or four. Tell them you love them.

Take time to do the things that are really important.

Love more. Laugh more. Live more.

Famous Last Words

Thursday I had a great lesson on Sky. When we were finished, I was feeling so good, I wanted to keep riding. So I tacked up Bingo, the pony who is dead calm for children but will spook at his own shadow if an adult is on his back. While I was trotting Bingo around the arena, Leslie was having a lesson on Barney, her 20-yr-old thoroughbred.

I wanna ride Bingo!" said Leslie. (Everyone loves Bingo.) Leslie was frustrated with Barney because he was doing beautiful flying lead changes which would have gotten perfect marks for Level 3 dressage, but she was trying to get him to work on the Level 1 test.

"Wanna switch?" I asked.

"Absolutely!"

So when Leslie finished her lesson, I gave her Bingo, and she gave me Barney.

Barney is AWESOME. He stands at 16.3 hands and has the most amazing stride.

"You have to be firm with him," warned Leslie, "or he'll take off with you. He can be a butt."

"I'm not worried about him taking off with me," I said. (Famous Last Words.)

I could tell Barney was excited when I first got on him. Whether it was from just coming out of a lesson or from all the jumps in the arena, I didn't know. (Barney had once been a gold metal jumper. He had also had training under Michael Matz--the guy who trained the famous Barbaro.)

I took Barney into the dressage arena so he wasn't tempted to clear one of the jumps, and we began to canter.

His canter was almost too amazing. It felt like we were flying. I was totally comfortable in the saddle. The only problem was that once we were in that flying canter, I forgot to actually RIDE. I was leaning forward, and so Barney kept going faster. As we approached the edge of the plastic dressage fence, I suddenly realized I had no control what-so-ever. I looked at that little plastic fence and thought, "He's jumping out of this arena."

I prepared myself for exiting the dressage arena, but all of Barney's training must have kicked in at the last minute. He suddenly made a sharp turn to the right. If he had been a car, his tires would have squeeled. I, on the other hand, kept going in the same direction, at which point I "was separated" from Barney. Unfortunately, I landed on my back on that plastic dressage fence. Ouch.

"I should never have written that blog about the Physics of falling off a horse," I said to Janine when we got back to the barn.

"That's the bare basics of physics," said Janine. "If you want to get into real physics, you'd have to calculate the velocity of the horse, your velocity, and the angle at which you were separated."

Definition of acceleration: a = (Vf – Vi)/Δt
*motion equation: Vf2 = Vi2 + 2aΔx
*linear motion equation: Δy = Vyit + ½ ayt2

Hmmm. Okay. Maybe not. I think I'd rather fall of a horse than do anything resembling Janine's homework. Besides, the calculator on my iPhone doesn't have sine and cosine.

"Were you tense at all?" asked Leslie later that evening, when we were chilling out in the break room. "You looked really relaxed."

I laughed. "You mean relaxed as I was flying through the air?"

"Well, yeah. You seemed pretty calm."

I probably had been. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but I don't worry about falling off.

"And I can't believe you got back on," Leslie continued.


"Well, it wasn't his fault," I said. "I was leaning forward. He was doing exactly what he thought I wanted him to do. He's a good horse. I can't wait to ride him again."


The next day, my body hurt from head to toe.

When I told Alexis how stiff and sore I was, she had only one thing to say.

"Stay on next time."

Thank you, Alexis. It's good advice. I think I'll take it, along with some Ibuprofen.