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.