Sunday, November 24, 2019


Each night at my Writer's Retreat we had a prompt and the writing from that prompt was limited to 15 minutes.  My mind would search memories and like a spinning roulette wheel would land on something and the writing wrote itself...  The Hardest Thing...

When is it time?  When is it giving up?  When is it my time and not his?

They tell you that you'll know...  that they will tell you.  Then someone slips in the clinical signs, "can't get up, won't eat, incontinent - any one or more of those things may mean its time.
The Happiest Dog

A wise vet told me that she would rather do it "one month too early than a day too late."

Jonah is my friend and he's been through so much with me.  He was never the favorite - a shit head puppy, the Convict - kicked out of every barn in New England.  Oh, they loved him as they banned his eager hungry self for his gift for finding food was legendary.  I almost went broke reimbursing friends, neighbors and barnmates for all his stolen loot.

If Jonah had been a man, he would have been the BFF I should marry - loyal, eager to please and always there when I needed him.  But alas, he always remained the BFF while the Bad Boy, Chandler was the pup I married.

It's just a cough and yeah, its harsh but he's fine when its over.  And yes, sometimes its so violent that he loses control of his bowels but really, its ok...  Not much of a mess, just hard little balls of poop.

There is not a more joyful face than Jonah's.  His eagerness to please is palpable.  There is no greater expression of that joy than the greeting he gives when you come home.  It's a complete physical experience - a wiggling body, a wagging tail whipping trinkets off the table as he weaves between your legs.
Jonah and Chandler

Not now, look how happy he is.  Look he is eating with gusto.  Not now, not yet.

But that cough - Maybe in a week or two...
But that cough - It really isn't that bad, right?
But that cough - "Jonah, please breathe, come on boy, just breathe..."

One month early versus a day too late...

I hold his face in my hands.  I tell him the story of his life.  I apologize for not loving him as much as he loved me.  I stroke his thick black coat and I promise him peace....

Is it one month early?  I pray that is really isn't a day too late.

Rest In Peace - Nightwinds Sweet Jonah - 11/25/2005 - 10/14/19
I was lucky to know you!

Saturday, November 23, 2019


Hmm, that title seems to be a bit bold, a bit of a pronouncement and perhaps a teeny weeny bit of braggadocio.  And then one must remember the saying... what you think, is what you are (or something like that).

So, today I think that I may have found myself again.  Maybe its too much to believe that the self that has been found is the pre-tree incident self. And yet, this self that sits in front of the computer typing is a being that cannot contain the joy and enthusiasm found in today's jumping lesson.

You see...  I jumped.

That alone is not a pronouncement from most and from me, it's been more regular since Eventing Trainer gave me a prescription that said - jump!  Jump every time you ride until whatever it is that you jump feels normal.  Every time, jump.

HYP riding, not me!
For me, I should add - I jumped, I laughed and greeted the newness of Shanti and I's relationship with curiosity - not worry and fear.

Let me repeat, I jumped and laughed when she took a long spot, was so excited that I saw that she was going to take the long spot.

I squealed with delight when we cantered over it again and her jump went up and through me.

I jumped and for the first time in a very long time, I greeted my mistakes with a smile and patted the Lil' Redheaded Pony with an apology and did it again.

And, that little demon peeks out occasionally and notes that it wasn't a course and the vertical was "just" 2'3" and whispers gruffly - you should be doing more, you should be better.  Today, I acknowledge the demon and asked him to leave.

I am what I am and what I am is BACK!

Saturday, November 16, 2019


Warning - Non Horsey Post.  The writing prompt at my very first Writers Workshop was "What I didn't tell you then..."  After combing my life for something, meditating and dreaming of some subject matter, this is what flowed:

Yes, I am that person. There is little I leave unsaid.  As a kid, I was the Hermione Granger of my class.  A teacher's question and my hand shot up - "Me! Me! Me!  Oh, please choose me!"

Oh I could give you a million stories on why I needed my voice to be heard - a silenced child, a body born into a family of so many bodies - all loud and craving to be heard, a girl amongst men whose voice always seemed to be trodded on.

" You will hear me." screamed a voice threatened to be lost.

So I am that person who has no trouble confronting an angry soul, saying goodbye to the dying, and I have little fear of saying things that need to said.

Oh, did you notice the use of the words "little fear" because that was intentional.  And the use of the word "little" was kind of a lie.  I say things, appropriate things (I think) and I then worry if those things that were said were things that were the right things to say.

So, I am that person today more likely to silence my voice as my words get clouded with thoughts and fears all of my own making.  "OOO, what will they think?"  "OOO, she is so much more articulate than me."  "OOO, that was so beautifully written, so wonderfully read, I can't do that!"

And then, the words get hidden, stuffed in a brain churning with thought, brimming with stories and held captive by fear and self-doubt.

Oh, wait a minute, this writing was supposed to be about you, about the words I don't want to leave unsaid and not about the stuff holding me back.

YOU are your own words.  You are your own story and for every word, every story there is a reader.  Words heal, stories that are released from your heart, told honestly from your essence are perfect in every flawed way.  Be courageous and let your life become someone's lifeline.  Let someone say, "I thought I was the only one until I read this."

The hardest critic, the harshest comments, your silencer is not that girl who criticized your blog post and then linked to it for "ALL" to see.  Your silencer is that voice inside that says "I am a "writer" with heavy emphasis on the quotes.  The warden of your words is not the person who liked your blog but stated that it was a bit whiny.  Your warden was the person inside who believed it.

So be free with your writing and know that someone, somewhere needs to read it.  And that is good enough.