Moving on....

A friend and I have talked about what we would be like when we are old. Some days, I really feel "old", but that is usually self-inflicted by over-doing it in the barn or yard or whatever. By "OLD", I mean OLD... in our 80s or 90s.

What will we be like?
So often we see older folks, nicely dressed, maybe a little scatter-brain or forgetful, who are dignified and mannerly. Oh sure, there is the occasional crazy old coot, but for the most part, the old folks you see in public are "normal". This will most DEFINITELY not be me!

I am getting to the point where I really don't care what other people think of me. They either like me for who I am or they don't. I have REAL friends, and the ones that aren't real, I don't need. They are a waste of my time.

I am finding that life is getting much shorter, much faster than I expected, and surprise!!! There aren't any do-overs. So I find myself not caring if someone likes me or not. I intend to be who I am.

I will wear sweat pants and t-shirts that clash because I just came in from the barn and didn't want to get my "good" clothes dirty. Mike says I look like a frump. Ok... I look like a frump. People of Walmart - here I come!!

My hair will be pulled back in a ponytail because I didn't feel like running an eggbeater through it that morning. I will most like have hay and perhaps bits of manure in it. I'm ok with that. I can take a shower before I go to bed.

I won't need to wear "Granny Pampers" - I can go in the barn. I might need help getting back up, but at least I won't have to worry about whether or not I make it to the house. If I DO wear Granny Pampers, they won't be like everyone else's. I will get a Bedazzler and bling those babies out!

My walker or wheelchair will have a hot pink bicycle flag, a clown's horn, and pink sparkley streamers like they put on bicycles. Because I can. I will wear shorts and a tanktop that show my white chicken legs and my arm flab. My comfort is more important than whether or not "its gross". I will just be gross.

Since I will be gross, I might as well warn you that I will belch, fart, and pick my nose without a tissue. I will probably swear and say embarrassing things. I figure if I live to be 90 years old, I have earned the right!

The road is long and dusty, and I bear the scars of my stumbling. Oh yeah, I will have earned the right!

Letting Go

Letting go is so hard! On Thursday, Lucy and Foxy were euthanized. It wasn't due to an emergency like colic. It was a carefully thought out and planned date with sadness and regret. We regret having to do it, but in our hearts, we know it was the best choice. Foxy had DSLD - Degenerative Suspensory Ligament Disorder. It caused her hind pasterns to drop to a 45 degree angle, causing pain in her ankle, pasterns and hocks. Her joints were swollen and looked deformed. She spent a great deal of time laying down, walking away from her feed to find relief from the pain. She would never get any better. Pain meds masked the pain, but she never really found relief. She walked painfully slow and this last week, would rarely venture out of the barn because it was too far and painful to walk back for water and shade. It was time to release her from her pain and let her go. Lucy was mostly blind. She showed zero reaction in her right eye, and had deminished eyesight in her left eye. If she was out on pasture after dark, she would stand and call to her friends. More than once, I had to walk out to get her. This was the only time she would follow me, knowing somehow that I would lead her back to the barn. When I went into her stall or run and was anywhere near her, I had to talk constantly so she knew where I was. I NEVER put myself between her and "escape". She couldn't see me and I was in danger of getting run over should she react to horse eating monsters, real or perceived. While she was "bad", she became a danger to herself and to me. At 1200 pounds, the danger of being injured unintentionally was very real. It was time to let her go. Horses are sent to me. I am expected to feed, vet, and hold for the farrier. I clean stalls because I like the horses to live in a "clean" barn. Never, ever, has any owner expected me to love their horses or get attached to them. But I do. I fall in love with their unique personalities and little quirks. I brush and cuddle them. I take pictures and sign their praises as if they were my own. I share funny stories and pictures with their owners. And it hurts my heart to release them. It would be so much easier if they were put on a trailer to a new home, to be loved and cherished by a new owner or that special child. But they aren't. They are the tossed out, thrown away, heartlessly discarded that were saved by a loving heart and sent somewhere safe, if only for a few short months. As hard as it is to let go after becoming attached, the thought of turning my back without giving those few months of care and love is unthinkable. I give. I love. I let go. It's so hard. Rest in peace sweet Foxy. Your sweet gentle soul will be remembered always. Thank you for letting me love you. Rest in peace dear Lucy. I'm sorry for the cruelty of man. You tried so hard to be brave.

A little turnout

Everyone got turned out tonight. I set up some tape to let Naners graze between the arena and the pasture. She stood quietly and watched me, not rushing the open gate. Then she sauntered out and started grazing. She let me approach her and pet her neck, then decided that was enough.

Naners

Naners checking out the rowdy bunch!

WHOA!!! WHO is THIS?

Ticket and Roger checking out Naners. She didn't even lift her head to look back.

Jazzy, Ticket, and Roger

Jazzy, Ticket, and Roger

His Magesty - Bullwinkle

See the tapes saging between Lucy and Angel? Yeah... thanks Ticket!

Naners grazing

Angel

A New Face

Cathy sent me a new horse Sunday. She arrived Monday at 2:00 am Here's what I know... Cathy calls her Chiquita. One of Cathy's friends calls her Ms Bananas. I'll probably call her Naners. She is SHORT, a wee tiny thing! She will kick the snot out of another horse if given half a chance, so she will get her own run and only be turned out alone. She doesn't tie. She is dead broke, clips, bathes, hauls, stands for the farrier, and is lame. She is also from Mexico and of questionable decent. Actually, there is no clue to her breeding. She gets fat on air, dirt, and mud! Oh... and she has really bad hair! Say "Hello" to Naners/Ms. Bananas/Chiquita/Squirt/Shorty. (I'm gonna call her Naners)