The wedding march

Patch's room is the shelter. No one except Patch seems to like the shelter, there is only room for one. You can see the barn and typically the horse in the end stall, Texas or Amber. It's also huge, covered on three sides, complete with two windows and a doorway area to look out. It's hardly torture. All that does not equal the "ideal room" for Katie, Texas or Amber. Patch on the other hand uses the space and privacy to do what he loves best, eat in peace. Heck he's even started pooping in one general area, I am convinced he just needed more room before and wasn't really the single messiest pony ever. I watch these things; pooping habits occupy my thoughts at least once a day. In any case Patch does not hate the shelter, he normally walks right behind me and into the shelter we go. Last...

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Let's mix it up

Normally right around 5pm or so everyone comes in for dinner. Lately whether we're coming in from the pasture or the yard, everyone goes to their respective stalls, where hay is waiting, with little to no mishap. They usually see me getting hay ready and putting it in the stalls. If they are in the yard Katie is almost always the first to notice and head in, Amber typically follows then Tex. Patch kinda hangs out watching until we go up to his stall. If they are in the pasture it's Texas, Katie, Patch then Amber (because Patch tries to follow Amber out). Everyone knows where their stalls are and generally they go to the right one, if there is anyone that goes in the wrong stall it is Texas. He does not do this because he is confused about where his stall is, he does this because there might...

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Out on the ledge

As it happens I have done something I never really believed I would do. I have loved words for as long as I can remember, even in music I hear the lyrics first, music second. I have loved writing for as long as I can remember. I especially love poetry. In poetry I find all the voices that under normal circumstances are kept quiet for one reason or the next. In my poetry, rather in others reading my poetry, I become embarrassed. I have to squash the desire to say "yes the poem talks about standing naked and upside down in a corn field somewhere deep in Iowa but no I've never been there and rarely do I stand upside down and naked at the same time." It's a different voice that can relate rocks in Utah to Mormon marriages and talk about standing upside down in a make believe corn field. I've...

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At least the rain is consistent

I have had a hard time blogging with any consistency these last few weeks. It is however another rainy day and I thought I'd take a minute and try to write something readable! There hasn't been a lot of horsey activity in the last few days, everyone is pretty on schedule and enjoying the smattering of sunshine we've had recently. I'm pretty happy with Amber's weight, her weight always concerns me. She is a worrier and it seems the minute she worries off come the pounds. She is however finally leveling out. She is a lot more relaxed these days and it's starting to show which makes me happy. It's strange to me that people (wide generalization here) discount, if not completely disregard, the range of feelings animals have. We have no problem understanding an angry dog, for example. Why do...

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Hanging out with the horses

I haven't written much in the last week or so; I've been "busy", mentally busy. I've spent a lot of time hanging out with the horses, I've spent hours pouring over poetry, I've tried to get up early every day, and examined every skill I have trying to figure out what to do with this life that is now sitting at my feet looking up at me like Leo does when I am holding a hot dog! I still haven't quite figured it out. So I hang out with the horses and think. I shovel wheelbarrows full of poop, make up exercises, and pretend my 40 something back isn't killing me! I talk to Texas as if he understands me and look to Patch for the sage advice I know only he is capable of. I watch Katie run and dream. I cuddle with Amber and hope she doesn't mind. I drag poor Leo everywhere with me, tell him things...

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Poetry, Ponies, and a good case of writers block

I've spent the last few days crawling through my poetry convinced that it was about time I did something with it. I have found some interesting work, and some really sucky work (nice language no?). I was, at one time, very disciplined in my poetry. I found one today that brought the recent lack of discipline home; it's a Sestina. Rather, it was a Sestina before I saved it into a text file and lost every, very important, line break. Today I tried to fix the lines however I managed only to dump the form and create new line breaks. ---- Morning It has stopped taking me back, my creating you. Though I do wonder how the truth would hold you, against a winter morning struck in Technicolor, with ferries to deliver yesterday's shore the wake to turn,grain for grain, a lover, grateful the existence...

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