POTENTIAL CANINE AUTHOR?

 

Some dogs chew furniture.

Some dogs chew bones

Some dogs chew each other.

My dog?

She chews Bic pens.

But of course.

WHEN YOUR LITTLE BOY BECOMES A MAN

Sometimes it's an actual date.

It might be an event - like a brit milah.

But one day your little person is suddenly not a little person anymore.

I'm not certain when it happened with Roo, but it hit me today.

He is no longer a little baby colt.

He is just a colt.

 I may cry now.

A SICK KID IS A SICK KID

There are some mommy-genes that snap into alert the instant you have/see/hear about a child who is ill.

My granddaughter was sick last week, and even through just my daughter's iPhone photos, my heart was wrenched and twisted into a little pretzel-shape.

And today, I had a horse with a bad tummy-ache.

The problem, however, with horses is that they can actually die from theirs.

Tonight Renegade seems fine, but all my mommy antennas are all alert.

Hey, these are my kids now, okay?

SNORING IN TANDEM

When there is a person snoring next to you in bed, it's irritating as hell.

When two dogs lying at your feet are snoring together, it's sort of adorable.

Why?

FORGIVENESS

The analogy of the glass being half-full analogy - it can work for a lot of things.

And as I keep getting older (gosh - I wonder if that happens to everyone else?), I can keep trying to be optimistic about aging. And don't mind sharing some of what I am learning.

1) People assume you know what you are talking about. Age may not bring wisdom, but it certainly brings experience. And if you speak with enough confidence, you can get away with a lot.

2) If you ask for the senior discount and can keep a straight face, you usually get it.

3) Life does get easier, I don't care what people say. Actions that just about 'killed' you as a teenager are brushed aside. The events that were catastrophic in your twenties you now recognize as just part of life. Battles and arguments which were worthy of you falling on your sword are, in retrospect, not even worth suffering a pin-prick.

But I am constantly amazed that people actually feel the need to hold onto old grievances.

Somehow if you were mad at your sister when you were 23, it seems to be a point of honor to continue to be mad at her now that you are 53.

If you were raised a Republican/Democrat/Presbyterian, by god, you are going to die a Republican/Democrat/Presbyterian.

And it doesn't matter if you completely agree with Mr. XYZ on almost everything because he STILL is a Socialist or Marxist or Liberal or something that you simply know is the ultimate in evil... because you were TAUGHT that Socialism or Marxism or being a Gay Pinko Liberal is... well, the ultimate in evil.

A favorite quote of mine (which has been attributed to everyone from Mark Twain to Winston Churchill to Francois Guisot to Winnie the Pooh):

"Any man who is not a liberal in his youth has no heart; any man who is not a conservative in his aged years has no brain."

Aren't we supposed to learn and develop and CHANGE as we grow up? Why do we cling to same philosophies out of some sense of stability - tradition - or the hidden concept that if we say it often and loud enough, it must be true.

Ralph Waldo Emerson observed, "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines."

A person of religion will proudly annouce that they went from being a staunch atheist to a born-again Christian -- so why aren't they pleased to have gone from one political party to the other? Ideas, ways, means - our conception of them do or SHOULD change.

(Stop right here, Hope, and take a couple of deep breaths - okay, where was I going to go with this?)

So, FORGIVENESS should become eaiser as you get older - as you can recognize the follies of youth

Oh yes, forgiveness.

LET ME TICKLE YOUR TUMMY

I make no claim to being a horse 'whisperer.'

The one and only horse I have raised to adulthood is a big fat, spoiled brat who rests his head on my shoulder (sounds cute, I know, but do you know how heavy a horse's head is?),  grabs my shirt with his teeth, and refuses to move if he is convinced he has the right-of-way.

But I now have a herd, and am beginning to sort out which ones are rideable and which ones are not... at least, not yet.

So each horse is being individually separated, lunged, sacked, and saddled (if we get this far) to, er, 'grade' them -- to see who I can use for lessons, for leasing... some way to help pay for their feed.

Now, a couple of them were pretty skittish about even a saddle pad going on their back, so I employed an old trick of mine.

I had discovered my own equine prima donna likes being scratched in certain places; one in particular being his obese tummy. It's almost like a dog - if Najale could easily roll over on his back, all four of his hooves would be waving in the air, he enjoys it that much.

Do you know what this means?
So I thought, why not try it on the new horses?

And guess what? It works.

HORSES OBVIOUSLY MUST BE VERY VERY LARGE DOGS IN REALITY.

WWJD?

Certain voices bring specific images to mind.

And my gospel doctrine teacher has this wonderful voice; part Old Testament God, part remonstrative father speaking to the returning prodigal son, and just a little itsy bit of "WWKF, Rock and Roll Hits! Live right here in Philadelphia! All hits, all the time!" 

(Which for a Sunday School teacher is better than sounding like Animal from the Muppets, right?)

This past Sunday's lesson was mainly about Mark 1, when Christ began performing miracle and healing people:"And there came a leper to him, beseeching him, and kneeling down to him, and saying unto him, If thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And Jesus, moved with compassion, put forth his hand, and touched him, and saith unto him, I will; be thou clean."

And this same teacher (God/DJ voice) raised this very specific query: How can we show Christlike love and compassion for those around us?

I should mention that at this moment I had, five days earlier, BROKEN MY NOSE. One of my horses spooked and slammed me face first into our fine Arizona desert concrete. And I'm not exaggerating, guys, using this photo - I looked like the loser of a prize-fight.

And so far everyone in this particular Sunday School class were doing a very good job of avoiding meeting my eyes - even when I raised my hand and made a LONG comment about the lesson.

So after the class? Did anyone walk up to me, ask how it happened, could they do anything to help, was I still in pain?

Yup - can you believe it?

WALKING THAT FINE LINE

  

I can accept the fact that there must needs be opposition in all things.

We can't really understand health if we didn't have illness. Warmth doesn't mean much if you have never experience cold. Hunger makes you appreciate being fed.

But I have finally given up on two balancing acts which daily have driven me to the brink of distraction.

1) The seat in my truck. If it is upright enough for my back, the head-rest is then rubbing the back of my head, causing, literally causing hair to fall out. But then if I tilt it back enough that I can retain my thinning hair, my back doesn't have any support.

I can't find the balance here. And...

2) The temperature of my shower.

It seems pretty obvious - you turn the little knob so far in between H and C, and you simply leave it there, and you get perfectly warm water each time... right?

HA!

Clearly, the very instant that I walk out of my bathroom, some seriously dedicated hobgoblins immediately begin working on it. I'm not certain how they do it - if they shrink the hot water pipeline, if they alternate the reality the faucet exists in - but by the time I come back in, it is seemingly impossible to locate the correct water temperature... once again.

Any suggestions, anyone?

GETTING TOO CLOSE

I wrote a blog about my aunt when she was killed, and was surprised when I heard right away from a second cousin I didn't even know existed begging me to immediately withdraw it. I had mentioned my aunt's full, legal name, and the police needed nothing to be mentioned in the 'press' until the murder investigation was completed.

So I hesitate to talk about a police raid about 880 yards away from my front door. Although I don't think any of you (well, except for Harmony) actually know where I live, I am afraid that if I blog about it, a county sheriff deputy is going to begin banging on my front door, the upcoming court date will somehow become invalid because of me, and these... let's call them 'individuals' for the time being (following the premise "innocent until proven guilty") will be released.

I live a couple of miles from an international border, in a corridor used for both human and drug smuggling. Some form of law enforcement is patrolling within literally minutes of my house at all times. I have a neighbor up the road who was held hostage for two days in his own house.

And yet I feel such disgust and a sense of degradation from the alleged abuse and exploitation of children occurring behind, granted, closed doors - but doors I can see from my own windows.

Especially when my grandchildren were here visiting when the police raid went down.

 

For the first time in my life, I am looking at the drug smugglers and the coyotes as preferable trespassers.