nToday, I’m mostly staying off the usual publishing/writing/editing related topics. Today, I’m again focused on the equids in my life.
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nOn Saturday, August 22, I went to visit my horses, Diva and Teddy, where they’re being trained. Both, by the way, are doing well. The trainer and I went for a trail ride around the farm. She rode Teddy, which means I rode Diva. It was the first time Diva and Teddy had been ridden in company together; they’re usually ridden alone.
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nWe didn’t get off to a great start.
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nDiva did not want to move forward. Neither did Teddy. Finally, the trainer got Teddy moving. Once that happened, Diva was ready to move, too. She quickly outpaced Teddy, who’s a little more than a hand smaller than she, with a fast-paced, businesslike, purposeful walk that basically says, “I’ve got places to go, things to do, and people to see–and none of it involves you–so, let’s get this done!” Head up and alert, she was aware of everything and not at all relaxed.
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nThat might come in time, or maybe not. It never did with Stasia. In fact, Diva’s fast-forward walk is much like Stasia’s was.
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nWe battled B-52 bomber sized horseflies and prickly teasel. Diva didn’t mind the teasel, but the flies definitely bothered her. I’ve a mind to try a non-chemical horse fly deterrent: mounting a plastic dragonfly to the headstall. On an earlier trail ride with my friend Cindra, I tried Vick’s VapoRub as a recommended fly repellent. It didn’t work.
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nThe ride lasted 20 or 30 minutes, not long. Diva wore a bosal instead of the usual bridle with snaffle bit. The trainer stated Diva apparently prefers the bosal to the bit. I felt more confident using the bosal. So, I ordered a bosal with pretty teal accents that will look nice against “the monster’s” vivid chestnut hide and coordinate with a practically new, garish, purple and teal saddle blanket waiting to be used.
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nWe traversed across asphalt, navigated around and over roadside litter, and walked while vehicles rolled past. Diva was all looky-loo, but the traffic didn’t seem to startle or bother her. That’s good.
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nWe discovered that Teddy really doesn’t like to be left behind. Other than fighting the trainer to catch up to the big red mare, he did well, too.
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nSo, once again, I changed my mind. I guess I’ll be keeping Diva, since she’s doing so well. Of course, that might change. But that means I’m not sure what to do with Teddy. Next visit to the trainer, I intend to ride him, something I need to do before bringing the horses home. How will Teddy respond to me?
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nShould I keep Teddy as a companion for Diva and ride him every other time? Or should I try to find him a home where he’ll get regular (and frequent) use? He’d be a terrific for some kid in US Pony Club: he’s speedy, smooth, and can jump. Really, he’d make a great hunter-jumper type of pony.
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nTime and opportunity (or lack thereof) will help me decide.
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nIn another change of mind, I abandoned the sequel to Hogtied. The story couldn’t flow past another story that was beating against my skull. So, I switched gears and started a new story, a paranormal, historical romance. I fully intend to come back to the Hogtied sequel, but don’t know when that will happen. In the meantime, I’m struggling with the new story. Nothing’s coming easily right now.
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nMaybe I need a break. Or maybe I just need some inspiration. Regardless, I’ll be heading off to a twice monthly art class. I’ve no particular skill in applying paint to canvas, but it’s fun.n

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It’s been a rough week, emotionally speaking, that is.

Those familiar with my assortment of four-legged beasties know of the lovely Lady Anastasia, the geriatric horse who came into my life exactly when I needed her. She was 19 years old. I expected to have five or six good years with her, but she gave me so much more. We joked that she’d outlive us.

She didn’t.

There’s a huge, Stasia-shaped hole in my heart.

We buried her on the highest point of our property. “Stasia stays home,” I said to my husband when we faced the inevitable on Saturday morning. All but one of our other horses that passed were hauled away, because the water table here is high. With tears in his eyes, my husband agreed and added, “Stasia gets a tree.” When the dirt settles, we’ll plant a magnolia over her, something pretty, something with flowers, something nontoxic that will grow large enough to give shade.

For the first time in over two decades, our farm has no horse. It’s disconcerting, but that emptiness will be put to good use. My husband’s been working on installing new fences and will rebuild the loafing shed. We’ll be converting a stall to serve as a chicken coop. And I’ve decided to bring Diva and Teddy home at the end of September.

Condolences poured in through social media, mainly from equestrian groups who know the pain of having gone through this before. Many mentioned, as have I in the past, the journey over the Rainbow Bridge. The concept of the Rainbow Bridge is assumed to have arisen from Norse mythology, but its first mention in concert with deceased animals comes from a poem written in prose style by Paul C. Dahm. The poem’s a bit clumsy. Steve and Diane Bodofsky rewrote it in variable meter and rhyme. Their version (below), published in 1998, says it well. I try to take comfort in the concept.

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