13 reasons why ~ I Love You ~

...and you know who you are!

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Missing Mustang Sally

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We adopted Sally in February 2007 when she was about a year old. She came to live with us, along with Hanna (who was pregnant) and Jennet Reno (a burro), all adopted through the Bureau of Land Management’s Adopt a Mustang program.  Sally was beautiful. She was a lineback dun with tiger stripes on her legs, very primitive markings. None of our other horses have those markings. She had deep brown eyes and a white star. Her mane and tail were long and luxurious -- often to her disadvantage because she'd have twigs and mud embedded in all that long hair, and if we didn't groom her often, she'd end up with the next best thing to dreadlocks.  We named her “Mustang Sally” because she’d been born at a holding facility near Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, and it seemed like a good name for an Okie. So, in essence, she’s always lived in captivity, except with us, and after some varied efforts to gentle her to ride, she was pretty much free to do as she pleased. That meant that she had about ...
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Gender Names for Pets

There was a time when I had trouble with the gender of my pets. People often wondered why we had chosen the particular names my pets had. Every instance has a perfectly logical explanation. It was the quantity of the misnomers, I think, rather than just one little misnaming. Let me explain. First, I worked with a friend of the family, named Tom, oddly enough, who had a farm cat that, as farm cats often do, had produced a litter of kittens. The hobby farm now had more felines than mice, so he was giving the litter away. He offered me one, and after consultation with my other half, and in spite of the fact that we had a slightly deranged golden retriever, we decided to adopt one of the kittens. We told Tom that we wanted a tom cat, however, as getting a tom fixed—or broken, as the case may be—was generally less expensive than breaking a female cat. Tom brought this little ginger cat to work one day. I don’t think he was old enough to leave his mother, or if he was the constant attention ...
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Temporary Distractions

I t has been too long since I last made an entry. I could blame the hectic pace of the holidays, my frantic social schedule, the demands of my stressful job or even the overwhelming responsibilities of my household. But then you would say, “Liar, liar, pant’s on fire”, and the fire-ies would have to be called, the neighbours would stare, and we’d, neither of us, be any better off. So let us begin rationally – I’m just lazy, easily distracted and fantastically unorganised. I still have nothing weighty or revealing to enter here (as if I ever have); nor do I have any original thought of any depth to share with you. I have, however, had some recollections, insights and thoughts during my blog absence, so here goes: First, I remember being taught how to make the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (Note to my Australian friends: that’s ‘jelly’ as in ‘jam’ not as in ‘gelatine’.) My tutor was one of our favourite babysitters, Roberta Supranaut. She was a teenager who stayed with us dur...
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