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.

The Kill Buyer in the Front Row.

     Have you ever thought about how much money changes hands in the horse meat market? Maybe you never had a reason to find out. Maybe you never wanted to think about it. It's real, but if it's not affecting you, maybe you don't let your mind dwell on it too much. I was that way. I still don't want to get into the gritty details of it, but owning horses for as long as we have, you don't have much choice. You have to think about it. It's one of those horrible things that exists in our world; some say it's necessary, but it could be reformed.

    There's an old saying that goes something like this: "You get what you pay for."  I heard it all the time when I went to auctions to buy my horses. Friends, enemies, friemies, and a few others in my circle would go out and buy their pure-bred horses, pay gynormous amounts of money so they could brag to all of us about how much they spent; all the while making fun of us (me) for picking up a good gelding for $800 at a local auction.  I can honestly tell you that the best two horses I've ever owned were either free or really cheap.

    Bedtime Hero, a registered American Quarter Horse, was 25 years old when he became mine. He was given to me. Norman, a registered American Mustang, cost me $25! That's right, nothing really -maybe it went for administrative costs. Neither horse was going to win the Kentucky Derby, but I didn't need them to.  I have loved and cherished many horses that I either bought cheaply or accepted when they were thrown away by someone who had no more use for them. I can tell you this, I wasn't the one rescuing them usually - they rescued me. 

    When I decided to buy a horse from the Bowie Auction yesterday, it didn't even occur to me that the men sitting in the front row were kill buyers. I didn't know. I found out later today when two separate people made it clear to me that if I hadn't continued pushing that bid button when it came time to bid on Wyatt, he would have been on a truck now, heading south to Mexico -- not to be loved; to be eaten. Horse meat is used to feed many zoo animals and domesticated animals around the world. It's eaten by humans too, but most of what comes out of Mexico, I'm told, is redistributed to zoos and sanctuaries for large cats.

    I was at my desk when I saw Wyatt. He wasn't named, of course; he was just another bay gelding being run through the gates at Bowie Auction. He was Hip #479; that was how he was known. The auctioneer didn't say much about him; they rarely do when the grade horses come through. He was being ridden, so he had a chance to at least be seen by someone like me who wanted a friend or companion. The buyers in the front row were more concerned with his weight and the meat on his bones; they didn't give a damn that he was stocked up on all four of his legs.

    Jesus must have kept Wyatt's legs from my view as well, because if I'm honest, I wouldn't have bid on him if I thought he was injured. I didn't know until today when the lady who is hauling to me told me. She also told me who I had outbid. I outbid the kill buyer by $50. Wyatt is coming home, to my house, to live his best life instead of being slaughtered, and $50 is all that separated that destiny from becoming a reality. Angels do more than protect us - they blind us when we need to be blinded, and they shield us from knowing too much if our decisions could be disastrous for someone - or something else.

    Kill buyers have a job to do. It's unfortunate, but it's true. They don't take the old lame broken horses you think they take. The average age of a kill pen horse is seven years old. They need healthy meat; they don't need bones and stretched skin. They get XX per pound - they offer less for a horse than what they'll be paid by the slaughterhouses. It makes sense, and it's a multi-million dollar industry, and it's worldwide. We don't slaughter horses in America. They travel first - to Mexico or Canada -- and once on that truck, it doesn't matter who wants them off, they don't come off until they unload to be killed. (It's the law)

    Thank God, and I mean that, thank MY GOD for blinding me when Wyatt came out of that gate. I only saw his face. I saw him walk of course, but the screen wasn't too clear, it was a bit blurry, it was a bit dark. I couldn't see the detail. I watched his head to see if he bobbed - showing pain, he didn't. I watched his head turn as the boy riding him steered him gently. I watched him cross his legs to turn, perfectly. He was a gentleman, and I knew I wanted him. Had I known the man in the front row was a kill buyer, I would have stopped at nothing to get him -- but God was gracious there, too; he was only $1000. 

    The only reason the kill buyer went $950 was that Hip #479 is about 15.2H and 1100 pounds. They pay about $.70 per pound and are given about $.90 per pound - it wasn't worth it for the man. He was right there in front, and he saw the horse's legs. He knew they were swollen. I didn't know. He stopped bidding at $950 because of it, and I'm sure he drew an easy breath when he realized he was off the hook. He would only have broken even at best with Hip #479, whereas I have a goldmine waiting to come to me!

    The sweet woman who is bringing Wyatt to me is keeping him at her house tonight so he can rest. She's giving him medical care and treatment without me even asking. She's hosing him down right now, and keeping him comfortable. He must have been in a trailer for days to get as bad as he was. I know he came out of El Paso, Texas, about 600 or so miles to Bowie to be auctioned off - he was likely auctioned a few times before yesterday to be in such bad shape. You can't let a horse stand in one spot for days on end and not expect him to become thick in the legs or worse. 

    God bless Dawn, and God bless anyone who has a heart for an animal in need. Like I said, I know there are reasons for kill buyers and slaughterhouses - big cats have to eat, too. But this time, I couldn't save them all. The one I did save will be mine and will help me get a fresh start, too. I had given up having horses due to an injury that left me overweight and stiff. I'm changing -- God's changing me, He's changing Wyatt, and He's doing it all at the same time, in the same place.  It goes without saying that you get what you pay for — and I paid for Wyatt! He is MINE!

Photo Credit: Dawn Foil - Bowie, Texas (Hauler extraordinare!)  If you need a horse hauled, give her a call (940) 393-3580.  

Wyatt!

      My best friend just told me I need to stop watching horse auctions. She's not wrong. However, this time, I did it on purpose. My daughter has an Arabian mare that is simply too lonely and really needs a friend. We thought about it, and we could either (a) buy her a little friend she could talk to that we couldn't ride, or (b) buy her a little friend that we could ride. The options are limited in some ways. Then again, we could buy a big horse that we couldn't ride or could ride -- and that's the option we chose.

    Bowie Auction is smack dab in the middle of North Texas, about 145 miles south of where we live. I don't think Hwy 81 goes through to Bowie, but the hauler will no doubt take I-35 straight up, hit 40, and hang a Louie to 81. We're about a mile off the junction. Haulers charge anywhere from $2-3.00 a loaded mile, so for about $350, I'll get the horse hauled. I'll tell you what he cost me a little later on.

    I said "he", and from the title of the blog, you already know I named him Wyatt, but it does make you wonder (it makes me wonder) what he was called before I bought him. I'll be really honest with you; I struggled between Waylon and Wyatt, with Wyatt winning out in the end only because of what the name means. Waylon refers to a piece or patch of land on the wayside, and Wyatt means hardy warrior -- yeah, I'm going with Wyatt. It's a no-brainer for me.

    We chose Bowie because we've had some success buying horses from them in the past. We already know that the auctioneers aren't always truthful. They like to make up stories and throw in little tidbits about an animal just to make the sale, but after the 10th hour or so, they get a bit more relaxed. The auction started at 9:00 a.m. this morning, and I think I bought Wyatt about 11 hours later -- close to it.  You'd be gobsmacked at what some of those horses go for, and they're not even as pretty as my horse is! (Some are. Some will knock your socks off, they're so amazing!)

    After a long, long while, and several hundred horses later, Wyatt came out as a barn ride, meaning his owners weren't there to promote him. They leave their credentials with the office, allow the barn to sell their animal, take a cut of the sale price, and wait for their check to come in the mail next week. That's the only way I'll buy a horse. I won't buy one on the "green light" because, nearly every time, the same horse, if sold on the green light vs. the red light, will go for at least $ 1,000 more. 

    You can watch the animal move. You only have about a minute with these "lesser" horses. They come out, they do their thing (being ridden if they ride out), and the auctioneer tries his best to get as much as he can for it. The barn gets a better cut if he can get the buyers to pay more. He'll encourage the barn rider to move the horse in certain ways. He'll have them canter if they can, spin around, or do whatever they think the horse can do to get that last dollar out of it. 

    Laura knows me. I wanted a good, solid horse, older if possible, and one that has more "whoa than go".  I didn't care about color, but I did want a gelding.  When I hear that a horse likes to take things slowly, I'm interested. It means I won't be coming out from under him when he decides to take off, or gets spooked by a stupid plastic bag. I need (and want) a horse that really doesn't need to race or compete with another horse. If he likes to smell the roses, I'll plant him a garden full of them. I want to walk, trot, canter, and just hang out -- but like I said, he was mostly purchased to give Laura's mare someone to "talk" to. She's getting a little depressed without a friend.

    Buying Wyatt took care of a couple of boxes that needed to be checked. I wanted a horse last year, and bought one, but she was pregnant and refused to stay in the fence. When we sold her, Laura's horse became very sad; almost to the point of starving herself from depression. Wyatt will not only boost Lady's spirits, but he'll also boost mine as well.  I haven't met him yet, but I'll meet him soon enough. Laura has repositioned the pen out back to handle two horses, and she's stocked up on grain and hay for the pair as well.

    All in all, Wyatt's fee was an even $1000.00 (only a few of us bid on him). There's a 3.5% card fee for using a card over the phone, and the hauling, as I said before, will be about $350. Not a bad price when you do a little research for what 16H dark bay Quarter horses are going for these days. Yes, I said Quarter horse, but he's considered grade, because he doesn't have his pedigree all nice and tidy, written out on registration papers. You can't ride papers. I don't need a fancy-schmancy pony. I like mine a little mysterious anyway - it gives me a reason to dream up a backstory he may fit.

    Wyatt is about 16H tall, about 1100 pounds now, and will fill out a bit after he's been here a few months. He's between 7 and 10 years old, and as far as we could tell from the video and the time we watched him live, he's a good sound horse. He's broke to ride, and that's the most important part for me. He will be used - he will be loved. He will be appreciated. We prayed about it before we made the decision, and to God be the glory! I'll show him off when he arrives. I'm sure I'll keep you up to date, whether you want to be or not.

Photo Credit: Snippit from Bowie Auction online.

    

    

Chest of Drawers.

     I rarely buy anything new for myself, but I did do so when I purchased my car back in 2018. It is a 2018 model, and I've kept it in good shape. It has just over 50,000 miles, so in 7 years, which means I drive about 7000 miles a year. This isn't true. My son borrowed the car for five or six months and put about 1/2 of those miles on it.  I laugh because I know for a fact that my own parents would never have done that for me; they'd either give me the car or help me buy another one.  But this blog isn't about my car -- it's about my "new" chest of drawers.

    I say "new" because it is new to me, but it is not new. The back of it says it was made in China, but that must be when they were making good pieces of furniture, because this thing clocks in at over 200 pounds. It's a rock-solid piece of office furniture that was once a part of a three-piece set. I think it was a credenza. I did see the middle part, but the other end was purchased by someone else.  I paid $40, and then my good friend Steve (owner of S&S Bargains in El Reno) delivered it for an additional $10. He's such a nice guy, and his wife, Shelley, is amazing!! I love their shop. 

    Today, I went to S&S to get a few LPs. I go through their collections whenever I drop in, pick up one or two, and then look around for something I may need. I found a really cool-looking homemade Teddy bear that I'll pick up next time. They always have them, and they are made locally. I will always shop locally when I can. If I can give back, I will. I am not a picky person, so my home may look eclectic to some, but I love it.  This piece will serve us well. It is no longer an attorney's credenza; it is an overflow dresser for all of my winter clothes. 

    Tomorrow is March. In just three weeks, it will be Spring, and with today's temperatures topping out at 82 degrees, I need a winter and a summer chest of drawers to keep things separated. We have, on average, 4 to 6 days of really cold weather in Oklahoma, and the rest is a battle of wits between the Arctic air rolling over the Rockies and the scorching heat pushing north from Mexico. Any day, any given day, one or the other will win - and we're often caught off guard. You can't fully put away your "off-season" clothes, but I can separate them.

    I was going to put the chest of drawers in my bedroom, but I can't do that until I move the bed and the other dresser out of the way — it's in the living room, and it may end up staying right there. I'm OK walking the length of the hall to grab this or that T-shirt. I think I'm supposed to spell it Tee-shirt, or tee-shirt, but I can't be bothered. I'll stick with the lakes and the rivers I've been swimming in for years - it's a T-shirt. I've decided.

    Yes, the chest of drawers has a story, and Steve knew enough of it to let me know that it once belonged to an attorney in the area who was a criminal attorney. Oh, I like that. That means the ghosts of all those old files will start talking to my shirts and pants, keeping them busy and filling their fibers with all sorts of lore. I can't wait to hear what they say. Maybe you don't listen to or talk to your clothes, but I do. Why not? It's better than talking to the ghosts of old, dead files of past criminals, right? This is a good piece. I'm glad I found it.

    Oh, you caught that? You saw where I said I went into S&S to look at vinyl? Well, yes, I did. Today I picked up a few good ones. I bought four LPs:  Herman's Hermits, Cat Stevens, Waylon and Willie, and Bob Seger! Oh, yes, the "Live Bullet" concert album. I paid $6 for three of them and $8 for Seger.  I've been cranking up the little Victrola and just lovin' what's coming out of it.  I don't go crazy when I go LP shopping, but I could. S&S has 4 or 5 big bins full -- and I don't buy them all at once; I am a sparing sort of LP shopper.  There will always be something I love - or fall in love with.

    Did you know that Poco put out 19 studio albums? I think all of them are at S&S, and I will have to get one or two when I go back. I think I know 2 of their songs. I need to hear more. OK, back to the chest of drawers. There was an actual chest of drawers there, and it was from the mid-20th century, maybe 1940-1950. I wanted it, but someone had purchased it only five minutes before I arrived. Wow...talk about bad luck, but it's OK. I bet this one has better stories anyway.  I bet it does.

Photo Credit: Me

Casual Friday.

     I'm not gonna lie, I love (and I mean, LOVE) my job. Today, on another Casual Friday, was just another example of why I love my job so very much. I clock in at 7:25 a.m. because I'm allowed to do so five minutes early. If I were allowed to be ten or fifteen minutes early, I'd do it. I don't get paid by the hour because the pay structure is structured so that I'm basically paid a commission plus a bonus. It's not about putting in extra minutes to earn a few more dollars, but I remember when it was like that at other jobs, and I used the system to earn about $25 a month more than I would have if I clocked in on time.

    See, for me, being early is being on time. Being on time, is being late, and if you're going to be late, just don't show up. Call in sick or something. If you can't make it to your desk, ready to go five minutes before your shift starts, you don't get to call yourself dedicated. You're average at best, and don't get me started, because I'm far too opinionated on the matter, and I'll alienate myself from most of my audience if I keep on about it.

    Fridays really aren't that special for my position. I don't have to wait until a good day at the end of the week, like Friday, to dress casually for work. I remember times when everyone looked forward to Fridays because it meant they could relax a little, dress down a bit, and wear a polo or nice soft shirt as long as it wasn't a T-shirt. They could wear jeans as long as they were dark, didn't have holes, and were loose-fitting. I haven't worn jeans in over three years. I wouldn't know how they felt, to be honest. I'm more of a sweats-and-hoodie type these days. 

    Of course, when it's warmer, I'd like to say I wear shorts, but the truth is my dog would scratch my bare legs when she jumped up onto my lap throughout the day. I wear lightweight sweats and/or joggers, as I think they're called. They look a lot like solid-colored pajamas, if I'm honest. Casual? I'd have to step up a few notches before I reached that level. I'm freaking comfortable, is what I am. I sit cross-legged in my huge soft office chair that both reclines and massages my lower back. If someone upsets me during the day, I lean back, turn the back of the chair on, and let them rant! Please, please rant; this feels really good.

    I work about 60-80 claims every day, in one capacity or another. Sometimes I'm doing what's called a "first touch": I go through the file, summarize it, build it into a subrogation package, and send it to someone on the other side. I could send it (by email) to a damager or to their insurance carrier. The insurance adjuster and I speak briefly, assure one another that we'll work the claim, and I move to the next claim. I may call an adverse adjuster to give them my take on the claim, or I may call them to ask them their take. I often send out emails for updates rather than calling, and sometimes I do a deep dive into the internet to find insurance carrier information if the excavator who broke my client's equipment has decided to avoid paying the claim themselves.

    We recover. We are not a collection agency. We attempt to recover the funds for the damage before the claim is sent to a legal team. For this, I am paid well, and I don't mind saying so online. I have made (and continue to make) more money over the past two years doing this job than I have when I worked for others or for myself. I never get bored. I never get tired. I never get truly upset because I have little "mantra" cards posted around my desk and on the corkboards above it that read things like "It's not your money!", "Be nice...listen."  My favorite one is "God has this, let Him have this." I don't need to worry about it.

    If I can't recover the money myself, I have to send it over to the legal team as mentioned. They let me know when —or if —they can recover it—and I laugh (usually) because had the damager dealt with me, he/she would have been able to negotiate a bit of a deal—not so much when the lawyers get involved. I tried to warn them! Of course, I am rather casual when I'm talking to people as well. I have had to push my mic up so they can't hear me sometimes - I have a squeeze ball to assist my mouth at times too. I literally have to put my palm over my mouth at times because what comes out of it may or may not sound as professional as perhaps my employers would prefer. 

    My boss laughs when he goes back to listen to some of my calls. He tells me I have the sweet Southern charm of a Texas rattler at times, but other times I'm dripping with sweetness that he knows is sarcasm, but it comes across (over the phone) as me being genuinely caring -- I'm not really all that caring most of the time. I can be. I will let some of the "sob" stories get to me, but most of the time (50x a day) I hear someone try to get out of having to pay the claim by blaming the locator (811 location tech) saying the lines were mismarked, they weren't there at all, or my favorite, they were "off by a mile". Listen, buddy (excavator), if you're digging a mile from the marks you called in to be located -- you're the problem.

    Back in the day, Casual Friday was something I looked forward to. I sluggishly forced myself to work Monday through Thursday hiding myself in the monstrosity that was the job, keeping my head down, nose to the grind, just hoping for a break and praying I could make it until Friday where at least I could wear somewhat comfortable relaxing clothes at work - hoping my jeans were as fashionable and my blouses were as cute as all the others ladies who tried to out do one another. I knew I couldn't win, but I tried to fit in to the point that I wouldn't hate myself. Not anymore.

    We have Teams meetings (video) with one another, and I'm not kidding, my teammates, colleagues, whatever you want to call them, are wearing jammies on top and on bottom. I will at least wear a T-shirt on top - not going to stand up and let them see the Winnie-the-Pooh pants that have seen better days. I had to laugh a few times and shake my head. When it happens, someone always says, "Wait, Casual Friday, right?" And we laugh. We all laugh. We're all pulling down more than we've ever pulled before, wearing the most relaxing attire on the planet, taking breaks when we want to, not when someone tells us to, and get this -- we find ourselves clocking in early and clocking out late because we're still talking to each other and comparing notes from the day.

    I think, no wait...I KNOW...I am where I want to be.

Photo Credit: Cartoon Stock (Nickel-artist)