On Writing and Horse Bootcamp

This blog has been oddly silent.

I mean, I’ve never been the most dedicated poster, but lately I’ve been even quieter than usual.

This is because I’m writing.

I know. “Sorry I haven’t been writing, but I’ve been writing” is a weird excuse, but it’s the truth. In a perfect world I could manage to write and do regular blog posts at the same time, but the truth is I’m not very good at typing on phones anymore. I miss phones with real keyboards – I can’t write effortlessly on these new-fangled contraptions like I used to. It ends up being 90% typos, and fixing it is more trouble than it’s worth. I try voice to text, but it usually ends up gibberish…. so I find myself waiting to write until I’m sitting down by a real keyboard.

Of course, once I’m sitting in front of a real keyboard, I always ask myself: do I want to write a blog post, or do I want to write something that will eventually earn me money?

I know, I know. Some people want to publish because of lofty dreams and aspirations. That’s not me.

I’m not saying that I’m entirely mercenary. I write because the words bubble up inside me and explode out in unhealthy ways unless I let them spill out like lifeblood on paper.

That’s why I write.

Publishing, on the other hand, is a whole different ballgame. I want to publish because

I’m not dumb – I know I won’t make a ton of money. Still, it’d be nice if I could make enough to do little projects around the farm. Maybe I’ll name my books after my hopes and aspirations?

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

Anyways, I’m writing. And for once, I actually have a pretty good feeling that it’s going to be done sooner rather than later. This is all because of a Facebook ad that I stumbled across a couple of months ago. I can’t remember exactly which book it was trying to sell me, but even if I did I probably wouldn’t say… and that’s because I want to be honest about it without hurting anyone’s feelings. And here’s the honest truth:

Holy crap, the writing was AWFUL. It was some kind of dragon story, and the excerpt was so horrible I downloaded a sample. People would shout things wincingly (<– I’m not making that up. “…he shouted, wincingly” was honestly part of the book.) The plot was confusing and cliche, all at once.  The grammar was all over the place, and the whole thing was just… just WOW. It was bad. It was really, really bad.

It also had 4 star reviews from several hundred people, which meant that it was selling pretty well.

If you’re curious how that is even possible, it’s because there’s a science behind independent publishing, and if you churn out a book every 30 days you can beat the Amazon algorithm, and then if you give some of your books away for free, people will respond favorably.  Once you  get the 50 review minimum Amazon will start recommending the book to people, and…..

And if you’re really interested in learning more, there are better blogs than mine to explain about it.

I sent a screenshot of the book (even the cover had problems!) over to Melinda over at Dr. Mel Newton. “Look at this! This is awful! We could write ten times the book, without even proofreading it once.”

We laughed, and then went on with our day.

The reason I shared it with her is that she’s kind of an awful human being.

I mean, she’s really the best kind of human being, but she’s just awful in that she actually follows through on stuff.

She’s like that kid in high school who does all their homework before they watch TV… only they’re not actually going to ever sit down and watch TV, because they’re off learning how to play classical piano, and eating only salads and lean grilled chicken.  You kind of like them, because they’re the best people ever, but also you don’t’ want to hang out with them too much because you can’t relax on the sofa with three ice cream sandwiches and binge watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Although, now that I think about it, I never binge watched TV in high school. What did I do? I guess I binge read Dragonrider of Pern books? It’s getting to the point I don’t even remember what life was like without chasing after a pack of kids.

Anyways, in case you think I’m making this up, here’s proof:

Back in 2015 I went to a writing conference. I attended a couple of “how to write magazine articles and make money” classes and came away with some great notes. I’ve shared those notes with a couple of people. We all agreed it was really good advice.

I’m not sure any of us ever did anything with them, but seriously – it was super advice! It was just the best advice.

When I found out that Mel was looking to do more nonfiction writing, I shared the notes with her.

“Oh, that’s great!” she said. “Thank you!”

And then she did something really weird.

She actually went and DID all the stupid advice I sent her.  Like, immediately.

Ick.  Who does that?

As a result started getting picked up by Equus (a very big name horse magazine) and having people regularly buy her columns, and just… I bet she went out and ate a big bowl of salad and went for a run in celebration. Oh, that’s right, she probably did do that, because she regularly runs 100 mile ultras.

Sigh.  She’s not even human, I swear.

Still, she’d enjoyed the advice so much I sent her some fiction tips. Once again, she expressed a ton of gratitude, and went off and PLOTTED AN ENTIRE BOOK.

Everyone who knows anything about writing knows that you’re just supposed to dabble, and endlessly revise the first 30%, and never actually finish anything. I mean, duh.

Anyways, one evening as I was having trouble falling asleep, I started thinking about this wish list, and how much I wished that I actually could do Tinder For Writers and find someone to collaborate with.

And then I remembered the crappy dragon book, and I got an idea.

The next morning I got up, and started writing an email to Mel. In the subject line I typed “A Really Good Bad Idea”. In the body of the email, I basically said “Do you remember that crappy dragon book? Dude. We could do that. And I’m not just saying it… I mean, we could literally do it.”

And she took me up on it.

And you know what? It’s kind of perfect. We’re both good at what the other person is not-so-good at. We made a list of ideas, and we chose to start off with…

Wait for it…..

Crappy Dragon Book.

Yes, that’s it’s current working title. No, that’s probably not the title we’ll eventually publish it under. There’s still a lot of behind the scenes work to do between now and a finished book, but it’s actually really, really working. I stay up in the evening and vomit a bunch of ideas and scene suggestions onto a document, and then she shows up in the early morning and basically turns into the annoyed robot from Wall-E and sweeps it all up into some kind of format and works on it… and then we go back and forth and back and forth.

And now we’ve got the thing, like, 80% plotted and have about 20k words in it. I kid you not, I’ll be very surprised if we don’t have a finished product by January.

So, yeah. I’ve been writing. I just haven’t been writing here.

Anyways, now that you know what I’ve been doing with all of my “free time”. As for what else I’ve been doing, I’ve been pretty busy. Last week Carrots had some laminitis, so I sat there and imagined the worst.

By Friday she was visibly limping, horribly uncomfortable while standing, refused to do more than nibble at her meds, and I steeled myself for the worst.

When the vet showed up on Saturday morning, she walked right up to the fence, no trace of a soreness, no heat in her legs, barely registerable digital pulse, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. She nickered happily.

I glared in relief, which I didn’t even know was possible to do until that moment.

That pony is just…. She’s kind of too perfect.

So she’s on a diet now and on an exercise regimen. Last night we moved the goats in with her, and it’s been very entertaining to watch. I figured she could use the company, because Reverie went off to boot camp yesterday.

Here’s the thing with Reverie – if she’s not the smartest horse I’ve ever worked with, she’s in close running. I don’t say that as a compliment – I kind of like dumb, happy-go-lucky horses.

Reverie is not lazy and dumb and happy-go-lucky. Reverie is sweet, and loving…..and eerily intelligent and easily bored.

She’s also alpha – very, very alpha. The good news is that she’s a nice alpha, not one of those bitchy mares that takes joy in ordering others around. She just stands her ground and doesn’t like to give in when another horse heckles her. She’s also sweet natured at heart.  She’ll trot away from a giant pile of food to meet me at the gate to let me scratch on her (IT’S SO NICE HAVING A HORSE THAT ENJOYS BEING SCRATCHED ON!!!).  She’s also happy to accept my leadership – I’m sure we’ll have battles in the future, but for the most part she doesn’t challenge me too much.

PHEW.

The bad news is that she’s alpha enough that she’s been ordering Carrots around for several months now. I think the passing of the baton happened some time right after her first birthday, and I just can’t help but think that it’s an absolutely horrible thing for a yearling to grow up thinking she runs the entire world, and that everyone 4-legged needs to get out of her way.

So, I contacted my farrier – Rose. Rose is amazing, and runs a happy, healthy herd. She has a bunch of Appaloosas she’s owned almost since birth, and a tiny herd of rescue minis that were all foundered and lame enough to put down, that she nursed back to health. She came with a trailer and I walked Reverie over and loaded her in.

By “loaded her in” I mean I made a complete hash of the job, and I’m too embarrassed to talk about it, but Reverie doesn’t phased at all by my ineptness (I swear, I used to know how to handle horses.) and I resolve to do much better in the future. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that for today.

Anyways, when we arrived at her place and unloaded Reveri, she looked around alertly, paused at the entrance, and hopped neatly down.

One of Rose’s appaloosas whinnied hello – a high, bright tenor.

Reverie raised her head and answered back in her deep, almost stallion-like baritone.

I walked her over and let her sniff through the fence – there was no squealing or striking – just a lot of intense interest.

Aside from a rare glimpse of a neighbor’s horse when I walk her in the lower pasture, she hasn’t seen another horse since January, when Caspian was put to sleep. (One of these days I’ll get around to owning a trailer.)

I was surprised that she didn’t seem as short as I thought she would – I guess she really is growing up. She was still literally less than half as wide as Rose’s foundation bred Appaloosas (who are all GORGEOUS), so she’s not that big yet.

Eventually, once the excitement had calmed down, we turned her loose. Ears pricked, she floated out in a graceful, delicate trot straight at the big horses, neck arched, eyes bright. She moves like poetry.

She made a beeline straight for the alpha mare, reached her neck out as if to sniff at her, then suddenly pinned her ears, planted her front hooves, and double barrelled the alpha mare straight in the chest.

C-RACK, went Reverie’s hooves, as they made impact with the much larger mare’s chest.  I couldn’t believe my eyes. To be honest, I’m pretty sure the only reason it made contact was because Rose’s big mare couldn’t believe her eyes either. Did she just….. Did she really just…..?!?!?!?!

It was a little bit like taking your 11 year old scrawny pre-teen out for a nice dinner and as soon as you turn your back, your kid strides right up to some giant thug on the corner – the one with the tattoos and the hard eyes – and ineffectually shoves at their chest, telling them to “Get off my corner. This is my neighborhood now.”

Luckily, Rose’s mare and I were on the exact same page.

And thus began Reverie’s schooling.

The neat thing was, none of the horses were particularly mean about it. When I worked up at the ranch we had a large herd of 40-50, all divided up in different paddocks (or sometimes running altogether). Horses can be downright cruel sometimes. Rose’s herd could have been much, much meaner with their discipline. They didn’t corner her or kick unnecessarily. They just decided to push her all over the property, whether she wanted to go or not.

We’re trotting….

We’re trotting…..

We’re trotting in total unison….

Oh, crap! I didn’t see you there. My bad. I’ll just….I’ll just go around you.

Ack! With emphasis! I’ll go around you with emphasis! Sorry!

If she refused to move out in a submissive enough way, she got a double barrel kick in her direction.

Oh, are you over there? Well. I want to be over there now. SO MOVE, little snotty red horse.

I would feel sorry for her, but honestly, these were foundation appaloosas, and while powerful, they weren’t exactly moving at the speed of sound. Reverie only got kicked once, and that was because she tried to stand her ground and let it happen.

Even when she was trotting off, she didn’t look very repentant. In fact, she looked like she was enjoying the heck out of herself.

Okay, maybe she is looking at me for a little backup in this pic.

I mean, look up at that last pic. That is not a horse who is having a bad time, despite the fact that in that pic she has 8 horses trotting after her.

Despite the action shots, the whole thing was pretty low key, and by the time I left, everyone had settled down.

Reverie was exploring the place with an unbelievable enthusiasm. I did feel a bit guilty about that – I know she has been bored, but I didn’t realize she was that bored. The look on her face as she navigated the hills and explored the different terrain made me feel a bit sad for her.

We are in the process of fencing in the lower pasture – it will be done by next spring, and I will probably even have the upper part fenced off for light grazing by the middle of September. Still, up till now, Reverie has been 100% bored stiff. She’s in a dirt paddock with a stodgy old pony who has no sense of playing. I gave her things to play with, but she’s not mouthy and doesn’t really enjoy that. I did consider letting her play with the goats, but I am not entirely convinced playing with the goats would result in happy, not-hurt goats. The few times she’s been able to herd cats in the paddock, she’s enjoyed herself a little too intensely. I could see her happily herding goats to death, or trying to engage in a fun little kicking fight. Maybe when she’s older? We’ll see.

I was pretty impressed at how brave she was with terrain. At one point she was exploring a lower area that was blocked with a bunch of scrub brush. She walked up to it, and picked her head up high to see if she could see over.

She couldn’t, so she busted right through it.

CRASH CRACKLE SNAP, went all the brush as she disappeared.

Rose’s herd stared at her, horsey eyebrows raised.

“That’s mostly stinging nettle”, commented Rose.

CRASH CRACKLE SNAP, went all the brush, and Reverie came out the other side, tail flicking in annoyance at the welts rising on her skin…. and with a giant, tomboy grin on her face. Well, alrighty then. I guess she’ll be okay on trail?

Anyways, that’s where Reverie is right now – learning how to play nicely with the other horses, and take orders, and share her toys on the playground.

Scat, Reverie

Hey, Reverie. Yeah, I see you sweetie. You just need to back off for a bit, okay? You can’t share Carrots’ grain. I mean, even on a normal day I want you eating out of your own bucket, but right now hers definitely has too many medicines in it. I’m just going to stand guard till she finishes it.

Yes, you look pitiful. No, I’m not changing my mind. Scat.

Yeah, see, where I come from “vaguely turning your head to the side while giving me sideye” does not constitute a “scat”.

I’m sorry, did I use too many words? The basic underlying definition of “scat” means “get further away from me”, not “try to get as close as you can with a soft, sad expression.”

Why, yes. Yes, that is Finn. And no, I’m not buying your sudden intense interest in the 3-year-old. You and I both know that as soon as I move away, you’re going to dive headfirst into the grain pan that you’ve “forgotten” all about. Yes, I just waved my hands in the air with sarcastic quotes around the word “forgotten. It’s a human thing – you wouldn’t understand.

What you can understand, right now, is that scat means move. So, you know, move. Away.

Yeah, nope. “Move Away” does not mean “move to the other side of the pony and try for the grain again.” Nice try, though. Keep on moving, sister.

Oh heeeee-double-hockey-sticks-NO.
Uh uh.
No you did NOT.
You did not just subtly angle your butt towards me and give me that pissy body language. Uh-uh. Nope. I don’t think so, girlfriend.

I hope you like moving, because this was just going to be a 3 minute scat thing, but now it’s going to be a whole session.

That’s right, pissy pants. Move.
(And yes, Finn. I see you, “wunning with Wevewie.” That’s such a wewy, wewy, bad idea. I’m gonna have to ask you to stop when I notice it in a few laps.)

(Insert joke about chestnut mares)

Okay, but for real. Why are horses prettier when they’re being total snots? Did I just bond unnecessarily hard with some evil-eyed carousel horse at Disneyland or something? Why can’t I get that fluttery feeling looking at a placid-eyed horse in a stall? What is wrong with me?

That’s a vaguely better expression, but not good enough. Keep moving. In fact, why don’t you turn around and go to the right.

Yes, yes, I know you prefer to do everything in a half rear levade thingie. Impressive.
Now go left.

Nice, but your eyes still look..,.I dunno. Not kind? Keep going.

Holy moly, you’re beautiful. Like…. like seriously. Wow. You totally fill my eye. How are you only a yearling and already so gorgeous?! You are 13.2 hands of absolutely perfection. Someone who desperately wants their next show horse is gritting their teeth in frustration at my luck, while I’ve got you ungroomed and just hanging around in my backyard, jogging through poo piles. Ah, well. Such is life. I have to admit, you’re pretty enough that you kind of make me want to take you to shows, although I’d probably end up throwing dirt clods at anyone who points out your supposed faults.

Maybe it’s better if I don’t take you to shows. I don’t think I want to be known as Dirt Clod Becky in the Morgan showing world. Still – golly, you’re pretty.

Oh, are you trying to say you’re sorry? Are you all calm and submissive and wanting to “join up”? Are you lowering your head and asking to be my friend and… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA – Oh, man. Sorry. Sorry, I’m out of breath from laughing so hard. Reverie, I was not born yesterday, and I have lived with you for almost a year. You are such a dirty liar. Don’t you dare start slowing down.
**Insert kissy noise**
I said MOVE.

Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. What happened to that soft, sweet, totally apologetic filly from three strides ago? LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE, that’s what. Now, move.

Mmm hmmm. Don’t you wish you were over here, getting scratched and loved on, instead of moving out in endless boring circles? Well, maybe you should have thought twice about talking back to me with your butt earlier, hmm?

Keep going.

That’s a much better expression. Good girl. Please turn around.

That’s a good girl on the side, too. I love that look on you – listening, respectful, but still enjoying yourself. I believe that expression a lot better than your earlier pretend head skating.

Okay, I’m gonna get closer, just to make sure you can still be polite with a little bit of pressure. Turn around, please.

Very good girl. Now, turn around and see if the right side of you is still in a better mood, too. I need to make sure both RightReverie and LeftReverie are in agreement.

You are gorgeous when you gallop, but you don’t have to run if you don’t want to. We could do this at a walk if you wanted.

Excuse me. Yes, I know Carrots is over there, but I’m over here. Kindly pay attention to me.

Much better.

Gorgeous, inside and out.

There you go – good girl. See, now that’s a face I believe. Turn around again, please, one last time. Does your left side still remember how to be a nice, respectful filly?

Oh, good. Good, it has. It looks like you’re good, through and through. You may stop, whenever you want. All pressure is off.

(Literally every single time I set aside a weekend to clean the paddock this summer, it has poured and made everything wet and super heavy. Every. Single. Time….. which is why I now have photos like this. I shall title this one: Million Dollar Dream Horse Standing Proudly On Poopie Mountain.)

But seriously, very good girl. Stand there for a moment, so you don’t think you can run at me every time I take off pressure….. okay. Good. Would you like to come over for a scratch?

I’ll take that as a yes. I love you too, girl.

Getting ready for Reverie

I introduced the twins to Reverie yesterday.

I figured it was time, since she’s going to be coming home in less than a month (GACK!). I didn’t want the first time she saw a pair of loud, hyper two-year-olds to take place during the stress of her move.  There’s enough craziness at our place that every day is a lesson in desensitizing:  kids on trampolines waving towels over their heads, flying kites over the paddock, wagons full of shrieking children being pulled all over by a hyper Labrador….

If I can take any steps ahead of time to make her transition to Bean Acres easier, I definitely want to.

In case you were curious, the answer to “How many people actually refer to it as Bean Acres?” is still “just Becky”. Even when I do use it, it’s usually only in my head.  There’s something about naming your property and then saying it out loud that feels a teensy bit pretentious, like you’re talking about yourself in third person.

Well, I don’t care. I’m going to keep calling it Bean Acres, in hopes that one day it will catch on.

Of course if really wanted everyone to call it by a name, I could probably should have named our home FartFartPoopFart Acres.

And if you don’t understand why that is, then I congratulate you, because you aren’t living in a house filled with mostly males. Seriously. I will never understand why farts are so unbelievably funny.

Anyways, I had a few minutes in between getting off of work and showing up at the house to get started on dinner, so I decided to stop by and see if I could say hi to Reverie, and scratch on her a little bit.

There have been times when I’ve come to see her she was waaaaay out on the back side of 20 acres and all I could see was a tiny brownish speck next to a larger brownish speck, but lately Kathleen has been putting her in a shady paddock during the day, to protect her incredibly sensitive pink nose.

I foresee a lot of Destin/long-nosed fly masks in our future.

Luckily for me, Reverie and her mom (Sparkle) were hanging right by where I normally park, so it didn’t take very long to find them.

Reverie was very, VERY interested in the twins, almost to the point of spooking. It didn’t help that Finn was in a hyper mood and kept jumping rather than walking, and that Magpie had dragged along the singing puppy she takes with her everywhere.

 

His (apparently it’s a boy?) name is Doggie PurpleBow, and bless the makers that gave him an off switch that’s easy to switch off but hard for toddlers to find.

Seriously, thank you. There are only so many times you can hear “That’s my tummy!!! Tummy begins with ‘T’!!!! T…U…M…M…Y.. spells TUMMY!!!!” followed by semi-maniacal animatronic giggling before you get the urge to run away and join a cult. That off switch saves my sanity.

For being only 3 months old, I am really impressed at how laid back Reverie seems to be. I know a lot of adult horses that would not stand still with two screechy twins coming running full tilt at them, complete with creepy singing dolls in their arms.

I prepped the twins as we got near, to better direct them.

“This is Sparkle. Sparkle is a mommy horse. Sparkle is nice.”

And dude.

Sparkle is SO nice. Every horse should be a Sparkle.

Sparkle is just a gem of a mare in a very pretty package. You could tell she really liked the twins, because she just came alive when they drew near, swooping low to snuffle at them and standing patiently as they patted the sensitive tip of her nose with their inept little hands.

Magpie, who lives up to her namesake more every day with her penchant for shiny, sparkly things, was in awe of the name.

The horse was named Sparkle.

Not only was the horse named Sparkle, but she, Magpie, also had on a pair of sparkle shoes (light up Sketchers with sequins I found at a yard sale.)

She couldn’t get over it- it totally blew her little two-year-old mind.

“Yook, Spahkle. Hi, Spahkle. Spahkle shoes! My Spahkle shoes. You Spahkle. Dese my spahkle shoes!”

Sparkle is thinking, “You’ve literally been showing me your shoes five minutes straight, saying the same three sentences over and over. I get it. I see them.”

 

While the twins were VERY interested in Reverie, and she in them, I discouraged it as much as possible.

“That’s Sparkle, she’s a nice horse. And this is Reverie, Sparkle’s baby. Reverie is Mommy’s new horse. Reverie is a baby, and Reverie bites. Hard. It will hurt. No touching, or she might bite you. This horsie bites.”

Okay, maybe Reverie doesn’t actually bite…but hey man, two-year-olds and three-month-old horses don’t mix. Reverie would probably nip out of boredom given half a chance, and I’d rather terrify the twins a bit and have them keep a safe distance than try to explain the concept to them or give her a chance to learn bad manners.

After all, for all Reverie is amazingly sweet and calm, she’s still just a foal. I trust her as much as I would trust a hyper kitten near priceless lace curtains.

The twins were horrified at the concept that Reverie could bite, and proceeded to spend the rest of their time lecturing her.

“No biting. No bite. No. Ow. No biting,” they said, over and over…. and over and over…. and over and over, in a kind of squeaky tandem Gregorian chant.

It almost made me miss the whole “Dese my Spahkle shoes” litany. I wish I’d thought to take a video instead of a pic.

You can actually see Finn saying “no bite” here.

Anyways, it’s a little disconcerting that Reverie will be coming home in a few weeks. For the one thing, it means summer is almost over, and that makes me sad. With my full-time job, I feel like I barely spent any time outside.

In addition, although I’m not nearly so worried as I would have been if I hadn’t brought home Jupiter last year…. She’s only going to be four months old.  Jupiter was the youngest horse I’ve ever owned, and he was already a yearling when I got him.

The idea of her actually being here, so young and impressionable, is totally terrifying.  I know in my head that it’s actually not, but my heart disagrees and keeps insisting it really is terrifying.  Reverie represents years (decades?) worth of dreaming come true.

The most disconcerting thing about her impending arrival is the fact that she’s, you know, going to actually be mine. I’m a perpetual daydreamer. I’m used to daydreams – they’re easy, and airy, and fun to live in…. but the Bean is a realist. When I daydream, he tends to take it literally.

 

It used to cause us issues in our marriage, because I would want to daydream with him (“Wouldn’t it be cool if we could get 30 chickens and make money selling eggs? Wouldn’t it be great if we had more property, and could raise our own beef?  What if we packed it all up and headed to Montana? Look at this gorgeous chocolate Labrador, I wouldn’t mind owning a dog like this”, etc, etc.) and he would start to get stressed, trying to figure out all the complexities of turning my imaginary scenarios into a reality.

Even after ten years of marriage, it still weirds me out when the Bean manages to turn my daydreams into reality ,and I think that’s where I am at now. The sheer realness of Reverie makes me nervous.

In my head I am Alex Ramsey on a deserted island with my amazing Black Stallion who is bonded with only me. I am athletic and confident and young, galloping bareback over deserted stretches of sand, and I always know the right thing to do.

In reality…. I’m a 37-year-old mom of four who is out of shape and struggles with depression and has never really taken many riding lessons or had a foal this young, and what the heck am I doing with a horse this nice? What if I ruin her? What if I break her?  I asked for water, but someone handed me the nice china, and can I please just use one of your plastic tumblers to get a drink out of so I don’t have to worry about dropping it?

Caspian is also an amazing horse, but he wasn’t necessarily my decision so I didn’t feel as responsible for him as I do for Reverie.  That’s not to say he’s not magnificent – he’s athletic and amazing and calm and wonderful and talented and I’ve never met a horse as honest as he is.  Still, I didn’t set out to buy him. A horse trader sold him to a horse trader, who sold him to my parents, who needed to find him a quick home after they had some unexpected hospital time.

I’m sure I’d feel just as panicky if I’d bred him from scratch.

Of all the things that are not on my control, there is one thing I can actually do something about, so I’ve channeled all this:

Image result for now what do I do

 

into slowly getting back into shape. I set an initial weight loss goal for myself back in May, and I’m almost there. Once I hit that goal I will then let myself join the local CrossFit.  I know, I know, Crossfit is the devil/the best/the worst/your savior.

I’ve heard it from a lot of different people, trust me.

The thing is, I tried CrossFit before, and it suited me perfectly. The trainers were wonderful and modified all exercises for out of shape me….

But during the free trial week I found myself getting super competitive and I pushed myself too hard for where I was phsically.  I didn’t injure myself – I just ended up having to go up and down stairs on my butt for three days because I didn’t trust my quads to hold my weight.

You haven’t really lived until you’ve tried to navigate stairs on your butt with a set of 7 month old twins in your arms.

I know you’re imagining that in your mind, and let me assure you, the reality of it was even more ridiculous.

Anyways, I figure I’m almost as the point where I can try again, and hopefully by the time Reverie is rideable I’ll be in a place where I can sit a three or four-year-old green broke horse (you better believe I’m sending her away for the first 90 days!) and not feel totally off-balance from lack of core strength.

Giving myself something to do helps. It gives me something to do while I think, and as I ponder, I’m also realizing that it’s okay. It’s okay to love something this much.

In those quiet moments where I’m honest with myself, I think that loving Reverie may be my biggest fear of all.

When I was in my early 20’s I had a flame point cat named Fuego. If you’ve never had a close connection with a pet, it will sound weird to say this, but he was my best friend.  When he escaped from my house and got hit by a car, I was devastated. That’s not hyperbole either- after I received the phone call letting me know he’d died I started crying so hard I had to leave work, and for the rest of the week I barely managed to pull myself together enough to show up for my receptionist job.

Months later, still in the midst of  my private mourning, I lay curled on my side under the covers as silent tears dripped down my cheeks. I still felt aching and raw, lonely for the way he used to crawl under the covers and sleep against me. And that’s when I had a total lightbulb moment, to the point I even muttered it out loud:

“Well, this is stupid.”

Fuego would have lived, what … Fifteen years at most? Seventeen? It just didn’t make sense to give away that big of a piece of my heart to a pet only to have it destroyed every decade or so. There wouldn’t be anything left of me when it was all said and done.

And that was that. That was the last time I let myself get really close to a pet. Oh, I still love my animals, but it’s an easy-going love, more like warm affection.

With Reverie I can sense it is going to be so much more, and it makes me nervous.

Of course, maybe I’ll get lucky?  Maybe it’ll turn out that she has a nasty PMS cycle or that she likes to pee on my shoes whenever I get close to her, or barely tolerate me scratching on her neck.  Maybe she’ll be a habitual stall kicker, or like to stomp chickens, or rub her mane out, or pin her ears a lot?

It’s a weird thing to secretly hope for, but then at least I’ll feel like I can relax, because then she wouldn’t be quite so perfect, so the idea of being responsible for such a perfect daydream of a horse won’t be quite so daunting.

And in the meantime…. if you’re looking for books on training young horses over at the St. Helens Public Library, you’re outta luck.  I’ve already checked them all out. After all, when in doubt, go to the library.