And mother wondered why?

 Growing up, I was not your normal city girl.

I was a tomboy from the word "go". My friends were boys. I read boy's books. I absolutely loathed anything even remotely feminine. I wasn't gay, nor am I now. I was just a  girl who was not girly. 

What I was, from the very start, was horse crazy. Despite having been born in urban Detroit to two very non-horsey parents, all I wanted was a horse. I'm certain my first words were "I want a pony". When a western was showing on the TV, I watched for the horses. I pretended I was a horse...my upper body the rider, with reins in my fists, my lower body the horse, which trotted and cantered and even jumped. I learned to draw horses, indeed, it's the only thing I CAN draw. I designed my stable and ranch. I had plans on owning dozens of horses...chestnuts. Bays. Racehorses. Cowponies. I had names for every one. In first grade, I was reading at 4th grade level, and devoured every horse book in the library. 

Having been born the first week in May, I was convinced that the Kentucky Derby was run for my personal pleasure. 

I made plans that someday, I would ride a horse from Michigan all the way to the Rocky Mountains, where I'd buy a ranch and raise horses.

My mother tried desperately to convince me that I was a girl. Putting me in dresses, buying me baby dolls: all that did was make me miserable.  She tried to console my longing with dogs. I didn't want a dog. I wanted a horse.

My younger sister was a girl. She had dolls, she liked to play dress up, later on, she sneered that because I refused to design my wedding dress that I'd never get married.

Wellllll, I'm on husband #3 and haven't designed a wedding dress yet...nor did I ever wear one. 

I remember my mother saying in despair, where did this passion for horses come from in you? Why don't you just accept that you're a girl in the city?

As children will when they are told by their family that something is wrong with their dreams, I had come to believe that loving horses was something to be ashamed of. So, while I still rebelled at my sister and mother trying to turn me into a girl, I began to keep my passion hidden. But  I swore that someday I wouldn't be a girl in the city, but a girl in the country with a hundred horses. 

Well, now I am a woman in her sixties. I live in the country with plenty of room for horses, no longer want a hundred of them. One will do just fine. 

And now, I believe that I can finally answer my mother's question of 'why was I so horse crazy'.

The picture at the top of this post is the last of a series of four that my mother had hanging on the wall of my childhood home. I believe she'd gotten the four as a wedding gift. How I came to be in possession of this last one...the other three are long gone, I don't know...but I have it.

I don't know who painted it when, but judging by the clothing and the woman riding side saddle (a mode of riding I will NEVER do. I always felt sorry for the woman who was forced to ride that way, solely because some male decided it wasn't right for women to ride astride.) I believe it is set sometime during the Victorian era in England.

The only other artwork that I can remember in the house was religious...which probably is why I became an atheist in second grade. 

So I believe that my mind was affected early on, perhaps as a toddler by a set of four lithographs, all showing the most amazing, incredible animal on the planet...the horse.

And mother wondered why? 

Why no posts? Because it's 2020

Because it's been a very long, hot summer. Never in my life have I experienced a year like this one has been. We've had three deaths: my brother, and two of our friends. Sue had to put her dog down. My husband had a trucker try to kill him while he was driving on the interstate. Fortunately, he is unhurt and insurance covered the damage to the car. We have that moron in the white house doing his best to steal the election and have himself anointed emperor. He's already a dictator and wants to keep it that way. This epidemic has curtailed so many activities, and doesn't seem to be relenting. But it's mostly due, in the US's case, of nitwits refusing to wear a mask and maintain a distance. The police have turned into monsters, and despite my gender and skin color, now I look at them with trepidation. I had to evacuate my home due to wildfires. I had just enough time to throw the cats, my laptop, and a bugout bag of clothing into the camper. The flames were right up to my truck's windows. You see those terrifying views of people driving through tunnels of fire? Now I know what it's like. Fortunately, those wonderful men and women who fight fires saved my house. The area around it is blackened and scorched, and the air has been full of unbreathable smoke for two weeks. I'm not out of danger yet, but the rains are trying to return. No one in my neighborhood lost their animals, although, sad to say, one person's house did burn. They were unharmed, but now they're homeless. But there's a gofund me website set up for them and they've accumulated quite a bit. I learned that when a disaster such as this hits, you hope you are on good terms with your neighbors, because you have to pull together. My neighborhood is pretty much a smoky wasteland. But no one died. Now we have to deal with carpetbaggers...opportunistic 'contractors' going through the area, looking to 'rebuild' whatever you lost...outbuildings, sheds, fences, houses...:-( and they're shysters. We also have had our share of lookylous...people coming to gawk. Not help, just gawk. It's the same sort of reaction when one sees a car accident. This is when you want to cover for your neighbors...when a stranger says, oh, where does so and so live, you just ask, why? I'll tell them you were looking for them. That runs a lot of the shysters and crooks off. I have no horse in my life at the moment, but...that may change. In the meantime, thank you for reading. Khutulan

Sorry for the very long break

It's been almost a year since I posted, the last being when Raven had to be put down.

Between then and now...June 2020, so much has happened that kept me from blogging on this specific topic.

We are in the midst of a pandemic; an unhinged maniacal despot is still in the White House and fully supported by his republican lackeys (and that's the last bit of politics that I will dispense) and a world wide recession is ongoing.

I've heard that the Chinese have a unique curse: "May you live in interesting times"..well, that is now, in spades.

People change, and sometimes, it's not to our liking. I am not very happy to say so, but once Raven was gone, his owner and my friend, Sue, surreptitiously, made it known that she had no more interest in maintaining a friendship. She didn't quite come out and say it, -she doesn't have the courtesy to say so. She was certainly happy to have my help in her quest for a new horse, but once she brought the new one home, I was, what the kids call now "ghosted". Meaning, no response to my phone calls, or emails, or texts. When I've actually MET her in passing, she's very friendly and "Let's get together" but ...oops, Covid 19, you know? Or, I never got your text, my phone isn't working, or any number of excuses.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. I'd be lying if I said I didn't resent it. I am glad I do have a screaming tree...this blog...to vent on.

But in retrospect, we were friends because of RAVEN. The HORSE chose me. The moment I met Raven...and I was leasing an OTTB at the same barn at the time, Raven and I clicked.
Only once before in all my horses have I had the same sort of instantaneous bonding, and that was with my little grey Arab,Jordan.

 Raven literally demanded I pay attention to him, and once the lease was up on my OTTB, he somehow managed to convey to Sue that he wanted ME.

I truly believe that had he been capable of making a choice of only one of us, he would have chosen me.

So the trio of friends was born, and maintained, til the day he died.

Do I miss Sue? Well, yes, but I do have my pride. You can't force someone to like you, you can't force yourself on someone else without it being a hair's breadth from stalking.  And I've met her new horse, Marty, twice and while he's a very nice horse, he's not Raven.

Do I wonder at her seeming inability to be honest with me? Oh, yes, but that's not how ghosting works, it would seem. She wants me to get lost without saying so, that would make her a 'bad' person. By ignoring my every attempt at contact, and never contacting me, she is plainly saying, why don't you just get a clue and eff off? 
 I wish she'd come out and say, get lost. That would make the pain lessen and eventually leave.

If it weren't for the fact that while it lasted, I had free access to Raven, I would have said she used me. She did, but I was 'paid' for it...and Raven's love was something I will never, ever forget. 

Sooooooooooooo, I am again currently horseless, but...when one door shuts, another opens. My neighbor down the road has a very lovely Lusitano and rides dressage on him...and gives lessons. I chatted (at a social distance) with her yesterday and she offered to let me ride him! Soooooo, here we go again, I hope!

The Hardest...yet the Only..Decision

It's never easy to write the following words.

Raven was put down today. At about 0930, he began showing signs of colic.

The vet came out and worked with him until noon, when it became apparent that this wasn't colic.

It was a twisted intestine. 

I got there about 1100. He was drooling like a leaky hose. You could see that he was in pain. But he still…believe it or not…asked me for carrots. 

I held his lead rope…completely unnecessary, and sang to him. I sing to my animals when they're anxious or in pain. Whether it made a difference or not to him, I don't know, but I like to think it did. 

At noon, it was decided to take him to the vet's clinic. Despite being in pain, Raven willingly loaded. Sue was with him.

No, I didn't go. I've been ill and am on medication that needs to be taken at specific times.

She'd said in the past she wouldn't put him through surgery. 

When it was found that it was definitely a twisted intestine, Sue made the decision. 

There was no need to put him through anymore pain.

As they walked out to the back pasture of the clinic, Raven reached down and snatched a mouthful of grass.

Raven was a wonderful horse. He was just perfect for someone like me. He taught me so much. He put up with my fumbling. He taught me what collection feels like. He was my friend.

He was 25 years old.

Thank you, Raven. I love you.

Raven  Hanoverian 1994-2019