I Ramble On

My husband Mike (always looking out for my interests) found a copy of my novel, A Hard Dry Road, for sale on Amazon from a library in Great Britain. He asked me if I wanted it. Of course, I did. I got it yesterday and have been feeling smug about it ever since. My novel actually sold internationally and people read it, giving it a literary sheen I never would have expected. I was sitting on the couch this morning thinking what a grand thing I had pulled off when my cat Sally jumped into my lap, patted me down to suit her napping needs, and curled up to sleep. This is the same cat who jumps up onto the kitchen counter and insists that I turn on the faucet so she can get a nice drink of running water. I do as I am told. I am humbled. I am a Mattress Mom and a Water Girl. No more feeling smug.

This is the time of year when my horse Chance's coat is its most beautiful, rich, and shining. He is a liver chestnut in summer and well into fall when he begins to get his winter coat. It's as if winter gets even with him for being so stunning all summer; his winter hair is loooong and red. And it doesn't shine. I look at him and think of wooly mammoths. I trim his fetlocks so they don't get gunky with mud and icy snow. I get him a trace trim so he doesn't sweat so much when he works. A wet horse in winter is difficult to get dry.

Then in the spring I spend hours with the shedding blade, up to my ankles in winter hair, making him look snazzy again. While I'm breathing horse hair and watching it stick to my clothes, he is happy, relaxed, stretching out his neck and letting his (unmentionable) drop, showing me just how much he appreciates his grooming.

And I am happy. Only another horse lover could understand.