Acute Indigestion is NOT Cute!

     So....here I am. I wasn't aware that was an option less than an hour ago. It's happened to me before, twice, in fact, but you never know if the next time is going to be the last time. Thank God, and I mean that, thank God, I'm not dying, and I'm OK, and all is well - or at least, it will be. I'll tell you all about it.

    About 12 years ago, I had my first real bout with acute indigestion. Of course, when it happened, I knew it wasn't a gallbladder issue because I don't have one. I knew it wasn't my heart, but not for the same reason. I do have a heart.  I knew it wasn't my heart because even through the horror of it all, the pain, the sweating, and the shallow breathing, I could tell my heart was doing OK; at least I thought so. 

    About 12 years ago, in the early summer, I think, I was at a BBQ, and I ate a big burger, which was part of the issue, and the other part of it was that the mayonnaise had been left out for a minute; I had both acute indigestion from the burger getting stuck and I had a touch of food poisoning. What all happened that day, I don't remember; the drugs were that good. I do remember the ambulance ride and my daughter driving me home. After that, I can only remember paying off the hospital bill for the next six months.

    The diagnosis was acute indigestion; something I was a little embarrassed about because I was literally calling 911 while curled up into a ball, sweating and crying. It was terrible! How could it be that bad? But it was, and when they finally were able to pull my legs down from my chest and hook me up to the medicine, it was lights out until I was in my bed later that evening. I don't recall a single minute of the ordeal after the needles.

    The next time, and maybe another time, I ate burgers again. The reactions occurred only after I either ate too much or ate two meals closer together than usual. That's what happened today. I had a Burger King Whopper, but only 1/2 the bread. The problem arose because I had eaten a good-sized breakfast only two hours beforehand. I should have been more careful, but you don't really think that way - until you need to think that way - and now, I do need to think that way.

    About two weeks ago, I went to Braum's (an ice cream and dairy store with an attached restaurant), and they had an amazing new double bacon burger. I had to try it. I knew I shouldn't, but I did, and yep, I felt it. At least, and this isn't much of an excuse, I hadn't had much to eat beforehand, so it didn't "kill" me the way I was slain today by the Whopper! Both were doomsdayers, but today's problem was so much worse. I can't blame the restaurant -it was me. I'm old, it's just the way it is. If beef isn't settling correctly and is causing me this much pain -- I'll give up beef.

    Today, after eating a really nice, perfectly cooked Whopper (I never eat all the bread. I have dogs.) I may have had five minutes from the last bite to the first pang. I immediately knew what was happening, but I decided to thwart it if I could. I drank a really big drink of my tea and chomped down two Tums as fast as I could. I tried to go to the bathroom to vomit it out of me, or get it out of me the other way - I know it sounds really gross to say, but I thought if I could poop or vomit, I could get the pressure that was beginning to build inside my chest cavity to subside.

    I couldn't do either; I couldn't make the thing budge. It would not move. I began to breathe; those deep and practiced breaths you do when you're having a baby, when you know you need to stop and take control of everything before you can't. It wasn't long before I became both light-headed and ultra-sensitive to movement, sound, light, dogs under my feet, and even my own breathing. It all bothered me.  It all seemed to echo and throb...and then came the sweat.

    Laura sat me up because I couldn't get up on my own. She helped me breathe, and I squeezed her hand. Sweat was pouring from my face and back, as she called 911, asking them to pull up into the driveway. The last time they came to take Laura, they pulled up along the curb. I knew I couldn't walk that far. They pulled up close and had the gurney ready for me. I could at least make it that far.

    Interestingly, the bumpy, rough ride over the grass and gravel helped jostle my body a bit, and I could feel the lump in my chest move. I sat in the ambo for a good 30 minutes with Luke and Zoey, the great EMTs who came out to help.  Luke started to put in an IV, but couldn't find a good vein. He tried both arms. Zoey asked me a lot of questions, forcing me to speak, and though it was painful, upwards of 7 out of 10 at one point, I felt that the bulge was moving and the pain subsided to a 6, then a 5, then it all but went away - until it didn't.

    Several minutes went by as they ran tests on my heart rate, asked me questions, and made sure I was both alert and able to make my own decisions, and, in doing so, it gave my body time to react to the fact that digestion works in both strange and wonderful ways. Prayer helps! I was praying, telling God I know He's there, asking Him to make it go away and to be with Laura because she was about to overload mentally. He knows me, and He knows her. She wasn't going to be able to handle me being gone, so I was really thankful when the pain left my chest completely.

    Luke and Zoey continued to talk with me, gave me options, and we discussed them. It was determined that I do know what is best for myself. If the pain were to return, I could call them again. They are less than one mile from my home. They worked very well together, and because I was conscious, breathing, able to answer, and able to decipher some of the silly, simple questions they ask on purpose to see if you can jump start your brain on your own -- it was determined that I'd be OK staying put; staying home.

    It's been one hour since I left the ambulance. I'm sitting upright, I'm breathing, I'm typing, and I'm drinking electrolytes in my water -- but I will not be eating beef again. I don't need it. I love it. I really do, but I don't need it, and it doesn't work with my gut anymore like it used to. Luke mentioned I could have Alpha-gal, a condition a person can develop after being bitten by a particular tick. I've been bitten 100 times by ticks, so yeah, it could be that now that I'm older, that disorder has come to the surface. It would not surprise me.

    What to do if I can't eat beef? Eat more vegetables, grains, nuts, chicken, rice, and fruit, I guess -  at least I don't have to give up something really important like chocolate. That could end me. Beef is just that: beef. It's not a deal breaker for me. Well, that's my next-to-death experience story for you. I told Laura that dying would be an upgrade to how I was feeling. I don't know about you, but I can't stand being in pain - I am such a weenie about it. I hate it!! Knock me out or something. I just don't want to feel that way -- Thank God, I don't.

Photo Credit: Burger King 

Clearance Candy!!

     Well, I don't know about you, but I am not a happy after-Easter candy shopper, I can tell you that. I'm the person who buys candy every day after a holiday, so I can have both what I want and have it at a much reduced price. I think, honestly, it's the best way to handle the candy situations in one's life. Chocolate can last up to a year if kept cool; so yes, I do like a good sale when I find one.

    All that being said, I was just simply gobsmacked to find out that my local grocery and other outlets allow their employees a first shot at buying the reduced candy after a holiday. Now, I haven't lived in this particular city long; maybe four or five months. I didn't try to buy too much after Christmas because I cleaned up after Halloween. Then, when Valentine's Day came, and candy was on sale on the 15th of February, that's when the brick hit me squarely between the eyeballs. There was a very, very dismal amount of boxed candy at most stores. I finally (finally) found one that hadn't been picked over.

    Then, not realizing it was a real thing, I went back out on Monday, the day after Easter, to buy more. Nope...shot down again, and this time, even my out-of-the-way store was depleted. What I found most upsetting was that Walmart (of all places) had a few bags of jelly beans and, of course, a million Peeps left, but nothing else. I say that, there were other things, but believe me when I tell you that it wasn't worth the bother to even try. They had the candy on sale, but only 25% off, and Reese's doesn't pack their bags the way they used to. You'd end up paying $3.74 for about 10 pieces, and even those aren't full-sized eggs but are compromised "fun-size" or even smaller. NOPE.

    The Family Dollar had one worker who was in the back. I couldn't find any on-sale candy, and no one was there to assist. I looked and finally found a few pieces, picked over again, and nothing was worth purchasing. I didn't have time to wait for the worker to come to the front, so I left. I met a woman who was coming from the other store next door - she must have known what I was doing. She said to me, a stranger, "If you're looking for day-after candy, they ran out yesterday. They have those stupid Peeps and a few bags of mixed no-brands left." I mean, to be fair, no named brands are fine - but I looked, and she was right - nothing worth looking at.

    My thoughts ran the gamut for about a minute. I wondered whether to venture into Yukon, a larger city nearby, or even into the big city of Oklahoma City, but when I really thought about it, I realized it wasn't worth my time, gas, or effort. I should just get over it, not buy any day-after candy, and live with the sad but possibly new way of life. Things change; not always for the best. I was told by one store that the actual day of the holiday was the day they allowed their employees first shot - I get it; it's a perk.

    Dollar General did have quite a few Russell Stover eggs to choose from this afternoon, a full three days after the holiday, but they were still only 25% off, and even reduced priced, they weren't worth what they were asking - not when the size of the egg has been reduced, but the price of it has gone up. I know, I know, I sound like my dad - but the older I get, the smarter he gets.  I'm learning to be more like him, and in doing so, I'm not losing out on life as much as I am reserving time, money, effort, and even the experiences. I wasn't happy when I went into those stores to find out that trying to buy the candy was a bust - but if I don't go in at all, I don't have to deal with that loss. There you go!

    I think I'm maturing, which could or could not be a good thing. I'm 64 - maybe it's time I let that sort of thing happen. If I want candy, I'll buy it - but I won't spend more than what it's worth; that's not who I am. It seems the systems have changed. Maybe stores can better guess now how much to buy based on last year's sales, or a combination of several years in a row - it makes sense. Then they order 10% more, knowing their employees will take up the slack, draining the shelves to make room for the new stuff, and those of us who thought we could get a bargain just... well, we don't. 

    There's not another big "candy" day in the future. Fourth of July is the next big holiday, and it's not a special candy time. I'll have to make do with what I can make do with -- which at the moment, is nothing outside what I would normally buy. Oh, the sorrow of it -- the simple, yet agonizing pain of being without copious amounts of chocolate! If only I could survive...oh look, I did! Yep! I pushed right past it. I'll smile and walk away - but I won't pay more for something just because it's there - that will never happen. It doesn't matter how much I make; that part of me remains. I am a spendthrift in some ways, and overpriced candy tops the list.

    I did take advantage of the egg prices this past weekend. I did buy two cartons of eggs for .67 cents each. That was good. It again goes to prove that if they wanted to, they could keep the price of food (eggs, milk, bread, cheese, etc.) lower instead of expecting people to pay a premium for it. If we all just said no, they'd have to comply -- we hold more power than most people realize. The consumer is the driving force of supply and demand; truth.

Photo Credit: Etsy

Hans it is! (New dog)

     No one really has to twist my arm too far to get me to agree to take on another dog. I'm not that stubborn about it. I'm tougher than a rusted bolt when it comes to a few things, but not dogs. I'm not a pushover either - there has to be a good reason, and yeah, you can define "good" in various ways. I'm really not going to fight you if you're just damn set on giving me a dog. 

    I have, in the past, and probably still will, take a dog for someone and fatten it up, find it a good home, and pray over it knowing it's going to a good place. I've done that a few too many times in my life. I've also, God knows, been the one to simply take a stroll through a dog pound to just window shop; you know how that ends. I can guarantee you that if I go to a pound, I'm going to walk out with a living, breathing friend I didn't walk in with. That's a given.

    Well, there is one breed - the Dachshund/Beagle, that no matter what my situation is, I would make room for it if it had to be. I couldn't and wouldn't turn down a Dachshund/Beagle for any reason, really, and if I needed to, I could always find room for it around the place. It's just a fact of life. There's a really good reason (Good being the word) that God has kept most of the loose or needy Dachshund/Beagles in other states. He knows my weakness. I can't say no. I'm incapable. 

    Well, Hans isn't a Dachshund/Beagle, but what he is (is) just as good. He's a half-standard and half-mini Dachshund, which makes him the exact size of the most perfect dog to walk the face of the earth; the Dachshund/Beagle. When he first became available, I wondered how the other dogs would be with him. But after seeing Kiah with a toad baby the other day, I'm convinced Hans will be perfectly safe in our home. Kiba was tiny when he came into our house, and he's been squashed, kicked, bitten, and rolled over a few times, but nothing he hasn't deserved - he's an instigator. 

    Hans was available, and I said yes. Then, after thinking about it, and the training that would be necessary, and all the worrying about his safety (not to mention, I have four other dogs), I decided not to get him. I told his owner, and she understood. I just knew someone else would come along within an hour and snatch him up! She's not charging much at all for her dogs. Her full price is usually what some charge for their deposits!  I told her no, and then a week went by, and I noticed she still had him advertised as if he was available.

    I called and talked about it; no one was willing to put the deposit down until he was weaned. That's not how it works, folks. You put the deposit down to keep the dog when he is weaned. Well, with no one beating down her door, and me really wanting him despite my better judgment and despite the fact that I won't be all that thrilled about training another puppy, I decided to tell the owner I'll take him. She agreed, and she's really happy about it because she and my daughter are long-time friends online -- it makes good sense.

    So, in just under two weeks, I'll pick him up. He'll come home, and he'll start his little black and tan butt life right here at my house under strict supervision - I know my daughter. He'll be my dog, but she'll run his life from the get-go when it comes to where he can and can't go, what he can and can't do, and who he can and can't mess with -- the cats will no doubt train him well, too.  I'm excited about it. I can't lie. I won't lie. I'm not being a very responsible adult right now, but with Ginger's inevitable passing, maybe it is a good thing. God knows. He could have let someone else come along, but no one did.

    I'll consider that my sign. He'll never be a Rover. He won't ever replace Matrix; he may only come close to George, but the truth is, he's going to be perfect -- he's my Hans.

The Mother Road (the new book)

     Book 22 (I think, I'm pretty sure it's the 22nd) and the 9th Posh book is about to be started. I wasn't planning on this one either. I had "Shadow" on my mind to write, but with the 100th birthday of Route 66, "The Mother Road" across the U.S., I decided to write another novel where Nick and Ralph take a road trip up and down the new highway chasing a couple of killers as they make their way hitting up diners in small cities all along the route. 

    The premise is simple. Two would-be Bonnie and Clyde types out to make a name for themselves are double-dipping in the world of crime; they are aimless in some ways, hitting what they can when they can, and yet have a method to their madness. Not quite as organized as the gangsters they pretend to be, these renegades prove to be dangerous because of their lack of discipline. Anything can happen, as their lives are as unpredictable as the Oklahoma wind.

    Ralph Ferguson, now a private investigator in his own right, lives in Oklahoma City, within walking distance of Posh. They ride the Mother Road together, much like they did in the book "Mesa", but this time, they are primarily on the road, not just taking the road from Point A to Point B. This time, it's personal, it's business, and it's scenic. They'll necessarily stop in on a few old friends, make new acquaintances, and find souvenirs and treasures along the way. 

    I won't give away too much of the plot, but if you know much about Ralph, you know he's from Chicago. He'll shine there in style, while Nick remains reserved as he usually is. The two pair up perfectly in "The Mother Road", which will see the exit of one major book character and the emergence of a new face to help the boys solve what needs to be solved in a timely and professional manner. It's hard to let a character go, but when you realize he's no longer progressing in that character, it's time to shelf him until such time I can either revive or officially retire him. It needed to happen.

    Back to the road! With "The Mother Road" about to take up a lot of my time over the next few weeks, I'll be sure to keep you up on what the two detectives find along its route. They'll stop off in El Reno, of course, for their first meal at Johnnie's diner for a big, fat, heavy-on-the-mustard onion burger with a sackload of fries for the road.  Then it's to the West first, picking up clues and realizing that the dead should bury the dead and the living are the ones worth trying to save. 

    You'll have fun - I know you will, you may even get the opportunity to stay at a quirky motel, eat at a truck stop, or have an outdoor street BBQ on your way through the Texas panhandle. You know we'll run into Dennis Rockford on his body farm! It wouldn't be a whirlwind road trip without that!  I'm betting by the time we're through, you'll be glad Nick makes it home safely to help Elaine diaper those twins she just had in the last book-- spoiler alert: He'd rather catch a murderous fiend than wrestle with safety pins and pooey smelling nappies.

    Enjoy the ride - I know I will. If you get a chance to make it out to a diner (any diner) on Route 66 this year, remember to wish the road a happy 100th! She deserves the attention. She's been hostess to a whole lotta love in the past 100 years. She's probably just about seen it all.

Photo Credit: Me. "The Mother Road"

TAXES 2025! Use TurboTax and NOT H.R. Block.

     OK, this is strictly my opinion. I am not being sponsored by TurboTax. I wanted you to know that. I am frankly blown away by what just happened when I redid my taxes before filing them. I am so very happy that I took the time to do them online with TurboTax after what I found out when I did them online with H.R. Block. You have to see the difference. I don't mind shouting it from the rooftops because what happened to me is more than likely happening to a lot of other unsuspecting people.

    I did my taxes online two weeks ago with H.R. Block after using them last year and getting good results. I didn't worry about last year, but now, after what happened this year, I may want to consider going back over my 2024 taxes to see if TurboTax would have been a better choice. It may just be water under the bridge, but I will look into it to see if there is as much of a difference as there was now with my 2025 taxes. I mean HUGE differences...I hope you'll be able to relate.

    When I did the online thing with H.R. Block, it was fairly easy, but I didn't like how they left my Social Security Administration contribution almost as an afterthought, while TurboTax asks you straight up if you received anything from SSA.  I had finished my tax upload online with HRB when I realized I had forgotten to add my SSA. I went back in, and since I had not had any money taken out for the 12 monthly payments, I owed more. I expected that, but I didn't expect it to be as much as it was! It was over $3800.

    Then, on a whim, before agreeing to pay monthly through my bank account online with HRB (to the IRS of course) I decided to check with TurboTax to see if there could possibly be any difference. There shouldn't be. They should be the same. I'm filing the same 1040-X form with both. Well, there was a difference, a massive difference. Instead of owing $3800, I am getting a refund and -- yes, they asked me straight up if I had SSA contributions, and what, if anything, I had withheld for taxes. I answered honestly, and wow -- a refund vs. having to pay a monthly payment to the IRS!

    When you think about it logically, there should not be a difference. It's not right to have one site configure things one way, and another site configure the same (very same) information so vastly different. One thing I did see with TurboTax was that I was able to enter my Employer ID, and it connected to PayCom. It used the numbers PayCom put into my file to configure, rather than having me do it manually, as I did with HRB, but I used the numbers on my W2, so it really doesn't make sense. I'm glad it's different, but it makes no sense.

    All the way through, TurboTax kept saying I was getting a refund, and I kept waiting for the shoe to drop. When it didn't drop, I caught myself breathing loudly, pushing out a sigh that was welcomed. I'm grateful and thankful, and I will never use HRB again. I will tell the world not to use them. I can't believe there could be that big a difference.  Now, if the IRS comes back and says I actually do owe them, I'll give TurboTax an earful, but I don't think it's going to happen.

    Just an FYI to anyone who wants to think about doing their online taxes. I was able to file online, too. To file online, I had to verify my 2024 income from my tax papers, and it had to match the numbers they had on their end. They matched, and it was filed online -- cost? NOTHING. It didn't cost me anything to file for Federal or State. That too was a first. I don't understand it, but you know what -- I'll take that too.  TurboTax made it simple, and I was done in 30 minutes. I love it.

Photo Credit: CNET

Floating the Horse!

   I love words that make no sense whatsoever when you first hear them, and then, after someone explains the word, you make that lightbulb-over-the-head face!  I love those words. The word "floating" is a word like that, but you have to say it in context for it not to make sense. You can float down a river, make a root beer float, or buy a floatation device, but when I first heard someone say they were getting their horse floated, I had to think about that one. I didn't want to appear stupid, so I just listened and did a little nodding of the head until the person said something that put the phrase in context - OK, yeah, I get it. 

    Floating your horse means you're about to have someone come out and work on their teeth, like an equine dentist. In most states now, it's supposed to be a licensed dentist, but it really doesn't have to be. You can find good floaters who do the work, get the job done, and as long as you buy your own sedative (meaning they don't sell it to you, or bring it with them when they come onto your property), you're good. There's always a way around something if you need it to happen.

    We've used the same floater for years, and he's one of the best. He uses the legal type of sedation for horses; the type he's allowed to buy and carry. If we needed something stronger, we'd literally walk or drive across the street to our vet and pick it up. They're not opposed to selling it to us since they've seen the horses professionally and know the man doing the floating. He's good. He has a very good reputation with owners and veterinarians. They use him too! 

    If you've never seen a horse being floated, it's worth watching the video, but it's even better if you can go watch; most ranches will let you tag along if you know the animal's owners. It's an incredible thing to see a 1200-pound beast drunk on his legs while his head is held just high enough by a sling-type apparatus that both holds his mouth open and his neck steady. Wyatt (today) didn't need the apparatus; he wasn't out that strongly, just enough to keep him from being scared or nervous around the drill. Like you and I going to the dentist, the abrupt sound of the drill scraping our teeth can be unnerving, to say the least.

    Because he was a former racehorse and he had probably been given illegal drugs before, Wyatt wasn't bothered when my floater gave him a dose of Ace, the legal sedative. He just stood there, almost as if he remembered. He didn't stomp, he didn't move away, he basically stared the floater down until he was loose and limp and just sort of giggled while the man did his thing with the irrigator. The horse has to be irrigated first, and that's always hilarious. It's amazing how much grass they can keep up in their cheeks, teeth, and gums. 

    First, the irrigator; then the exam; and decisions are made on the type of drill and the coarseness of the tools to use. Again, Wyatt just took it -- like a champ. He sighed a big, low, long sigh, and let out a really big poop. He was so very, very relaxed. The floater got in there, grabbed Wyatt's tongue, and moved it to one side, then the next. He ran the drill over the teeth that needed to be filed, and he spot-checked himself a few times, being sure to align the teeth over and over to see that they were matching up correctly on the top and the bottom; they did.

    Remember, Wyatt is a rescue. I've only had him for 2 weeks. Sometime between last month and six years back, he was kicked in the face at least once, breaking off his teeth, cutting through his gums, and making a mess out of his pearly yellows. You thought I was going to say whites, huh? Nope, that boy's teeth are not bright. I teased my non-horse co-workers today, telling them I was having Wyatt's teeth cleaned, whitened, and set up for braces. They believed me. It was hilarious.

    Overall, the floater said he had two badly broken teeth and one slightly broken tooth. He lost two when he was injured, and they're probably not going to fully come back. (Horses' teeth continue to erupt) He has a really pretty smile now, and the two teeth that are shorter, well, he has character! He's able to eat well, and that's what really matters. Before today, he was dropping food because the sharp points made it hard for him to bite down and hold it in his mouth. He's perfect again, or as close as he can be. He's a very happy Thoroughbred; I can tell you that.

    So, the floater today, the farrier last week, and next week he'll see his chiropractor. Yes, I'm not teasing about that one. I can give you her name; she won't mind. Dr. Lacey Hoel in Oklahoma! She's the best. Best. Best. Best. We love the stuffings out of that woman. She's been our equine back cracker for years. I wouldn't trust anyone else with my babies.  I'll keep you posted and send photos!! He's gonna love her, too. He just doesn't realize it yet. That boy is going to be the most spoiled gelding this side of Heaven.

Photo Credit: Me. Wyatt with Laura and the floater.

Reasons Why I'm Single.

     I could make this blog so very short and simply say the main reasons I'm single are because no one wants to put up with me, I'm really mean, and I don't take orders. Those are all true, but I've decided to go into more detail about most of the reasons I have remained single since March 31, 1999.  Wow, when I see it in writing like that, I realize it's been a really long time since I've been in a relationship. (Look! I survived!) 😉

    Reason #1 (I shouldn't count them), and you all know it, is that I don't want to be in a relationship with anyone. I have too many people in my head now. If I had to add another man, a real man, into my daily conversations, I'd have to ask Nick, Ralph, Eoghan, Alistair, Elaine, Ama, Wilma, Stella, and all the others to stop talking. Those few are just from my Nick Posh books; what about Craig Allen MacKenzie? How would I ever truly explain my fictional lover-husband to a real lover-husband? Not happening. Craig doesn't eat the last slice of pie or throw his towels on the ground.

    There's a book out there about why spending time with a horse is better than spending time with a husband, and I could rattle off a few of those reasons now to make my point about not wanting to be in a relationship. The thing is, horses don't really care if you pet another horse, but you try that with a husband, and you're opening up an entirely different can of worms, for sure. Horses, as you know, listen to you when you're talking, and they listen to you when you're singing, too.  They don't tell your secrets "accidentally" to anyone, and they don't make you late for important things - but they do give you built-in excuses as to why you can't show up to some lame shower, party, or function.

    I'm single because I'm incredibly selfish. I love me so much more than I could ever trust someone else to love me, and I'm not about to start loving someone more than they every knew I could love them -only to be hurt, dumped, cheaped, ripped-off, and/or worse - no, those days, weeks, months, years, and decades are long long gone. I spoil me. I spoil me rotten; as rotten as I want to be spoiled, and I don't question my reasoning when I do. I just thank me, accept me for who I am, and I move forward. I like me - I get me. 

    A husband would not fit in my bed. It's simple Math. One full-size bed can fit me and my dogs, not a husband. I haven't tested the theory, but I'm more than confident about this one. I'm about to get a new puppy, who, thank God, is tiny, and will fit between my chest and the edge of the bed because frankly, there really isn't any other space for him. All the rest of the bed space is occupied from the moment I lie down until the moment I get up - and there's not a man on this planet whom I would trade my dogs for. (I'm also confident that any man would agree.)

    Lastly, and this is a good one - I'm single because I have plans to write, fix my house, ride my horse, and just chill. I am one of THOSE people who think the Rapture is soon, or soon enough, and I just want all the peace and quiet I can muster in these times of (End Times) feather ruffling and intolerant, complicated, constant upheaval we're facing at this time. I want to read. I want to write. I want to rest. I want to love my dogs, cats, horses, kids, and grandkids. I want to eat food without judgment. I want my stuff in my house, not anyone else's (unless I gave birth to them, I will concede to that).

    I want everyone to be happy, find Jesus, and wait on Him the way I do, and I'm just too old, fat, and grumpy to even try to impress. I won't wear makeup, I won't dress up, I won't go anywhere with anyone except my family and friends, and no, I don't need more friends. I'm good -- I'm really good. I'm in the best place I've ever been in my life, and because I simply never get bored, I'm able to keep the clock turning without feeling lonely or left out.  Again, how could I become lonely with all these people in my head jabbering away about what they're going to do, or should do, in my next book? Besides, I have a man -- he is my firstborn! You can't improve on perfection.

Wyatt is Shoeless!

  Wyatt is no longer being forced to wear heavy metal shoes on his hooves. His new farrier (interestingly named Logan) came out today and removed his steel shoes and trimmed his hooves up very nicely. So, nicely, in fact, I teased Wyatt (formerly Awesome Logan) that I might treat him to a little more pampering and get him some pretty blue glitter hoof paint. You know, just because I can, and he's literally never been hoof painted in his life, I can all but guarantee that! This is the first time he's ever been a pet.

    My baby boy is going to be so damned spoiled. He'll think he's already died and gone to Heaven; he has no idea just how pampered he's going to be, but I'm already making plans. He saw his farrier today, who said he was well balanced. Wyatt has more toe than heel, and after his trim, he was fantabulous! He didn't have anything like an abscess, rot, or thrush. He didn't have any hoof issues at all, and to say he stood still like a pro would be just about accurate. Then again, he was a racehorse. He's had a few sets of shoes over the past several years, but NO MORE! He is 100% shoeless, and we are both thrilled about it.

    Right after he was trimmed and filed, he took a really long and deserved roll in the grass, and shook himself off. He ate his apple, his carrot, and his hay and did what just about every horse does after that sort of thing - he farted very loudly, and we all laughed because it was so normal and he probably hasn't been normal in a very long time.

    I was going to make a little cross out of his shoes, after maybe buying a couple more, but I decided instead to buy a shadow box and place them in it. I'm also adding his auction sticker and a photo of him from the auction sale barn. That was the last day he ever had to worry about being fed, being cared for, having shelter, or being given water when he needed it. He won't sit on a trailer for days and nights on end, traveling from place to place, only to be run and then beaten for not winning. He will never have to worry about a thing. Never again.

    I may not have told you, but I'm not (or wasn't) a Thoroughbred fan. I would not have bid on him if I knew he was one. I'm not anti-Thoroughbred, I just don't like the way they behave most of the time, but God knew. God knew this one was a lot different. I love the verse in the Bible (I love them all, but this one in particular) Jeremiah 29:11. God says, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future".   God knew. He knew when Wyatt would end up at Bowie. He knew what number he was, and when I'd be watching. God knew.

    He not only had a plan for me but also for Wyatt. "Stay here, be still," He told the horse, "There's someone out there watching now, she'll bid, and she'll win the bid. You're going home with her - and you never have to think about being harmed, hurt, or ignored again."   When I think about all the things that had to happen for that one horse to end up at the one barn sale, on that one day, when not only would I be watching, but I had decided to buy a good riding horse. If the horse had been walked in, I would not have bid. There was a 90-pound boy on his back - with four stocked up legs, he couldn't have taken more. God knew.

    I was sitting at my desk watching. He came out, and I liked him immediately. I thought he was a big Quarter horse, to be honest, and I watched. I bid, and when someone tried to outbid me, I hit the bid button again - and then again. In my heart, I told myself that horse is mine!  He was!  He is. There's another verse I like that goes along with Jeremiah 29:11, you know it. Psalms 46:10 "Be still, and know that I am God."  Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to do nothing - just waiting and waiting and waiting is difficult. But when the time comes, God puts the right horse in the right barn at the right time, and drew my eyes to him. I love God.

Photo Credit: Me (Wyatt with Logan the farrier) 

Taking Jesus to Walmart!

     It's true, I take Jesus with me wherever I go. I take him spiritually, of course, but I have been taking him physically as well. Let me explain. You can, if you want to, buy 30 little tiny rubber Jesus characters from Amazon. They have different colored sashes that read "Jesus Loves You". They're adorable, and people like them. People like to see them, and they like finding them in odd places, too. They really like it when they are given a little Jesus out of nowhere! I know this because I hand off little Jesus from time to time if someone makes eye contact with me.

    I'm not sure where I first saw the little "toys" or figurines. It may have been a YouTube involving a few of the cast members from The Chosen, if I'm honest. I know one of the cast members was placing tiny little trees in other cast members' trailers, but I think they were also carrying or exchanging little Jesus figurines with people. I decided to do it, and it has been so much fun; and to be honest, it's a good way to witness.

    Today, I took several and gave several of them to Laura when we went to Walmart to get our weekly groceries. I hadn't even gotten into the building when I spotted a great spot for one. It was in the cash dispenser of a game outside the store; perfect fit. Another stood on top of a box of chocolate chip cookies, and another still was standing between the apples and oranges on a little ledge. You know someone is going to find him there and take him home.  Then, just because I could, (and because a man made eye-contact with me) I handed my last little Jesus to a man who looked like he could use one! He smiled. He didn't say anything, but he took it, and he smiled.

    Laura thought the process was interesting, but she couldn't quite get into it. I think after she sees it a few more times, she'll feel free to let her inner Jesus go! She, too, will scatter love at random, praying for those who find Him and asking angels to guide the right people to where they are. They are just such a little and powerful tool -- one anyone can share. I'll tell you a little story, and you'll get what I'm saying. When you decide to share Jesus, He finds the right circumstances for you to spread His love. You just need to be open to the ministry.

    There was a man, a shorter man, maybe 28-30 years old. He was special, different, and you could see it before he even turned around. He was dressed in a way that spoke volumes about who he was and who he followed. The man was actually a boy; maybe 10 years old in his mind, no older. He had an air about him that simply said he was a follower of Lucifer; probably because Lucifer likes to confuse the simple-minded, stealing them away from the Truth and the Light. Not today, Satan, not today!

    We were leaving the store, and I saw the man again. He was sitting on a checkout stand, waiting for his brother, he told me. I asked him if he needed help, and he asked me why I was talking to him. He could tell. I knew he could tell; he was nervous, and there was something inside of him that wanted to be nervous, but he fought it. I smiled. I handed him a little Jesus, and he took it. He immediately calmed down and looked at me again, this time with a smile and wider eyes. "Do you give everyone these dolls?" he asked. "No", I told him, "you're special."

    He wanted to know why he was special. I told him. I told him I pass people, but when Jesus tells me to stop, I do. He smiled again. I asked him why he would be special, and he said sometimes he goes to church, or at least he used to. I asked him if he could do it again, and he said yes. I told him if he needed to just talk to Jesus, he didn't need to go to church; he could just talk to Him. He smiled and said he would because he liked talking to Jesus, or he did. That was it. I left him, and I prayed for him. I asked God to bring an angel to protect him. If he's thinking about being closer to God, he'll need an angel to keep the demons away. Satan just may lose another one!

Photo Credit: Me.  Jesus just chillin' with Mervin.

What's in a Name?

      We all do it. We all tell people our name, and when we do, we are either proud of who we are, or maybe we're not. Maybe something has happened in the past, whether recent or not, that makes us a little nervous about sharing such information. It's a little like that in the horse world, too.  I could throw a few names at you, and you'd say, "Oh, that was an amazing horse!"  I like to think that most horses are amazing, but I'll concede to the facts at hand; there are some horses that, without question, are more memorable than others.

    Among the list of horses that are both outstanding in their respective field of racing, and who were gallant and stunning to look at, would be names such as Secretariat, Man O'War, Mr. Prospect, and Raise a Native, to name a few. I could go on, of course; the list seems endless, and those are only the Thoroughbreds!  Why am I mentioning Thoroughbreds, you may ask? I'll tell you—but I think you may already know if you've been keeping up with my blog over the past few days.

    I rescued a horse from the Bowie Livestock Auction this past weekend. If I had known he was a Thoroughbred, I may not have bothered to bid on him - seriously, I'm not just saying that. I'm more of a Quarter Horse fan. I don't mind TBs, but in the past they've been flighty, strong-headed, too tall, or something. I know from experience, having owned a few, that they aren't always easy keepers. They have higher metabolisms, and they tend to want to...you know, run! They are quite the athletes, and generally speaking, I usually pass.

    Well, apparently, God had other plans for me and for my new Thoroughbred! That's right. I rescued Wyatt, or Hip #479, and got him home. (Thank you, Dawn Foil) The second I took a good look at him, I knew. I didn't even have to pull up his lip. I knew. If anyone was a Thoroughbred, this guy was. He was tall, a little gangly at the moment, but he had an enormously long head, thinner or narrower in the chest, and legs that went on for miles. If I had to guess, because we haven't measured yet, I'd say 16.2H. What was I thinking? 😀

    This guy, Wyatt, had the look of a prince from first glance. He's regal, and he's handsome. He's injured, but has that warrior look about him. He's not going to let life dictate his fate; it's all over him. He's not an alpha in the sense we usually use the term, but he is strong-hearted, a deep thinker, and cautious. He's curious, naturally, and that's a good sign too. When my daughter had the opportunity, she lifted his lip while I videoed it so we could see for ourselves exactly who he is. The tattoo is there, and it tells his entire story right up to the time he stopped racing.

    S19205 -- According to the Jockey Club, his name is Awesome Logan. He was born on April 27, 2015, and was a racehorse in New Mexico from the time he was almost three until the time he was almost five. He ran 27 times and won first place only once. He took second place four times, and he placed four times as well. Then, he either lost interest or faster horses entered his races. He was retired on 1/14/2020, and Covid could have had something to do with it as well. Either way, he never officially raced again.

    I say officially, because the boy is still wearing racing shoes. Those will come off soon enough. He will never have to race again - but he can run if he wants to.  According to the man who dropped him off at the sale barn (who picked him up in El Paso a week before he sold him to Bowie), he was basically run into the ground by folks who didn't keep the horse's best interest at heart. Sadly, and I can say this, he was abused.  There's clear evidence that someone dragged him around by a metal chain. His upper gum is severed. It's healed, but it's obvious the horse was not their pet. We'll leave it at that.

    When I read his history on Equibase, and then looked him up on All Breed Pedigree, I found so much more to brag about than I ever expected. My horse, my beautiful, sweet, kind-hearted, clear-eyed, sweet boy, is out of good stock, and for whatever reason, the faster racing gene just took a beat. Remember those wildly famous horses I mentioned earlier? He has every last one of them in his bloodline -- he has Man O'War in his lineage four times (different babies of Man O'War mated with different horses to make that happen.) He has such a great history running through him - and now he has a great future ahead.

    He's been bitten, kicked in the mouth, harmed, hurt, beaten, and trashed. He was forced to take drugs, no doubt, something to make him do a little better for his trainers, but not anymore. Wyatt (as I call him) will be spoiled, pampered, loved, and cuddled. He'll eat a lot of hay, grain, oats, and apples. He needs to gain 200 pounds, and I need to lose 40, so we can ride together. It'll happen. I'm off to buy him a new halter and lead. I could end up dolling him up a bit, but I think I'll wait to let him settle in.  I've already called the dentist and the farrier. When I say he'll be taken care of, I mean it.

Photo Credit: Me. Laura is holding his lip.