Red, White, and Blue -- EVERY DAMN DAY

I have a few new "followers", people who like to stalk my blog trying to find something really cynical and/or incriminating about me. Oh, it's not so bad now, is it? I'm not the bad guy am I? Nope, what I am is a true blue American Patriot, who just doesn't happen to take crap from anyone. I'm not racist, I'm not prejudice, I'm not going to discriminate either; if you're unloading on me, you're going to hear about it. I should probably have the "Don't Tread on Me" emblem tattooed on my forearm so that when the idiots try it, I can give them the ol' back of the arm treatment with my clinched fist held high in the air! Maybe do a little salute, and start quoting the Pledge of Allegiance!  (Too much? LOL) You can't see me, but I'm laughing just a little, my mom didn't raise a pansy, no way.  My mom raised a tomboy who learned the art of staring a man down by practicing with snakes. My own snakes. Maybe you don't realize it, but snakes don't have eye lids, they don't blink. I don't either.

One of the best things about being the daughter of an American hero is that when I grew up and had a son of my own, having named him after my father, I watched my son grow into the fantastic military man that he is today. I gave birth to my victorious protector after being able to be his for the first 18 years of his life. He's paid it back in spades. Protected, loved, honored, given to bragging just a little bit, this Patriot is never going to let anyone put a mark on me without that person being worn the worse for trying.  I may lose a job, I may not be accepted into the club, or allowed to hang with the cool kids for what I say and what I believe, but you'll sure as hell know where you stand with me. You'll never have to worry about it, I'll flat out let you know. Just ask. If you dare. Besides, I have a few good attorneys who feel the same way I do about the way people treat other people.

Now, having said that, welcome to my blog. I hope you find it to be both entertaining and enlightening. You'll find out more about me, and you'll either respect me or you won't. You have to understand, I don't give a damn what you think. I'm the only me I could ever be, and I've been me for far too long to be anyone else. My kids love me. My mom loves me. My daddy loves me, and watches over me from his place in Heaven.  My dog loves me, and if nothing else ever happens to me in this life, I've been loved by more dogs than most people have ever known. I am born again, a child of the Living God, and having been born in the GREAT STATE of OKLAHOMA, I am Sooner born and Sooner bred, when I die, I'll be Sooner dead.  There's not a lot anyone can do to upset me, but there are things they can do to piss me off.  Getting back to my upbringing for a second, my mom taught me that if I couldn't say something nice about someone I wasn't to say anything at all. Well, sorry Mom, Daddy taught me to say what I am going to say, and leave it at that. My yes is my yes, and my no is my no.

If you're my friend you'll be my friend for the rest of my life. I will defend you, and everything you do. If you screw up I'll let you know, but I will never throw you under the bus.  If you've chosen another path, and you don't want to be my friend, I won't stop you. I am who I am, and I'm damn good at it. You'd be lucky to call yourself my friend.  It's a very selective group of people to be a part of.   I hope you have yourself a good day now, and I hope you understand that when you step on me I bite back.  What's that Toby Keith says? "We'll put a boot up your ass, it's the American way"...that about covers it.   Army strong!

Ava, My Sweet Horse.

About six weeks ago, in August, 2018, I was asked by my daughter Laura to look at a few horses she was following online at the Stroud Kill Lot on Facebook. We live in Oklahoma, and Stroud is a smaller city just about an hour East of Oklahoma City off the turnpike.  At the kill lot, there are good horses, some very good, just sitting around waiting to be sent off to slaughter.  The owners of the kill lot realize that some people would rather work and ride these horses, and they can actually sell them for more money, or about the same as they would pick up from the meat buyers who only buy the animals to slaughter so they can produce dog food, cat food, and other by-products. It's a terrible, horrific story, but it is a reality not only in our state but in most.

Laura had me looking at the horses for another reason, other than just to show me how pretty they were, or how healthy some were. There are some that are being sold that have fundraisers going on, where outsiders online will donate funds toward the "bail" of a horse, and then if the kill lot receives a "home" offer from someone who is willing to pay a full half of the needed bail, the fundraiser's money goes in with the home offer, and the horse(s) finds itself home, safe and sound.  This was the reason Laura asked me to look at one horse in particular. Her name was Mora she was a Missouri Foxtrotter, about 9 years old, dun in color, and she had a baby on her side. She wasn't just any ol' baby, the baby was a mule! She had a little Jenny Filly on her side, that the fundraisers were calling Molly. They were such an attractive pair, both gaiting in step while a young boy rode the mother mare hap-hazard around the muddy arena online.

"She's only $410 mom, she's gaited, a good age, and look, you'd get a little baby mule with her!"   A little baby mule? Hardly.  The mule was about ten months old and darn near as tall as her mother, who was just under 15 hands. Laura was right about one thing, with this horse having a fundraiser going for her all I would need to pay for the pair was half the bail, which at $410 is a steal for a broke to ride gaited Missouri Foxtrotter, not to mention a gaited filly mule I could sell for twice that amount even before she was trained to ride or drive.  I said OK, it's a deal, and I made a call.  It was agreed that I would become the home offer for Molly and Mora.  The following day I paid the remainder of the bail, and there you have it, I owned a new horse and a mule baby! LOL...that was easy. PayPal is a wonderful thing.

As you can imagine, most animals coming out of kill lots are not all that healthy, and not all of them are broke. This pair was exceptional, and I knew there would be hurdles to jump for sure.  First thing, I needed to convince my friend Angie to pick the pair up with her rig and truck, and to keep them at her place for at least a month while they sat separated from other horses. Horses from kill lots can bring sickness to new barns; something like strangles or EPM could go through a barn-like wildfire and harm any and every equine in the place. It could be expensive, time-consuming, and even deadly. Angie has a place between Stroud and Oklahoma City, a 260-acre farm where she keeps and rehabs several equines for the Remington Park horse track. She has her personal animals on the farm as well. Keeping my new girls separated wasn't a difficult task, but it did take a bit of planning and work on Angie's part, for which I am very thankful.

The conversation went something like this:  "Hey, Angie, do you want a mule baby?"  At first, all I heard on the other end of the phone was silence, then a resounding "YES!! What do you have in mind? When?"  That was easy!  "OK, so I bought a pair of kill lot specialties today, a mother mare, a Foxtrotter, and her baby mule filly. You can have the filly if you pick them both up and let me keep my mare at your place for a month or so."  I waited for a response...it came rather fast. "OK! YES! WHEN!"  I told her anytime, I just paid for them to be bailed....maybe in a day? Would that work, I asked.  It worked, and she was off to the kill pen the very next morning with bells on!!

I had already decided I wasn't and couldn't name the horse Mora, it didn't suit her. I liked the name Ava, and Angie liked the name Georgia for her new little (big) mule baby. When they arrived both were skinnier than they had appeared online, it had been an older video I think. They were certainly underweight and sad from stress and sickness.  It's taken Angie and I (and my daughter Laura) a good month now to get them fatter, dewormed, clear from a bout of strangles, which can be described as snotty nose, throat, and eye discharging, leading to lesions that open up on the throat and under the neck to drain. It's disgusting and can be deadly if not cared for immediately. Georgia had it the worse, being a baby, but my sweet Ava was affected as well.

From the very first moment she arrived at the farm I knew she would be an amazing friend. She had no issues with me loving and rubbing all over her. She enjoyed being handled, loved, and groomed. I was even able to spray her with water, lessen her fever a bit, and help her with her healing through prayer and singing to her. When a horse has strangles you can't give them antibiotics, it could kill them. The disease is an odd one for sure.  Angie was taxed with daily feeding, watering, giving of herbs, prayers, and love. Georgia took to Angie like no other. It's obvious these two love us both, and we're tickled pink to be their moms. 

In about another month I'll take Ava from Georgia, and move her to a barn much closer to my house, but we'll ride often as we can together after Georgia is trained in a year or so; it won't be that hard to wait. By that time Georgia will probably be 15.2 or taller and outweigh her mother by 200 pounds. 
As the weeks go by I'll keep you posted on all of the good news about them. They are truly gifts from God, and we couldn't feel more blessed.

Switching Gears

OK hey, it's been quite a while since I last wrote. I have been doing so much, and just haven't gotten around to doing more writing. I'm thinking hard about changing all that, not only because I'm unemployed again, but also because I think the world is about to come to Jesus! I should actually clarify that, and say that Jesus is about to come to the air, where He'll take all of His Church! When that happens you can bet your ... well, your anything you care to bet, that the world will be mourning not only the loss of their loved ones, but also the babies, the children, the special needs people, and mostly those who thought they were going to go UP will realize they didn't go up with the Church. They will probably mourn the most! People, it could be in a matter of weeks, months, or days. We don't have time. We do not have the time that Satan wants people to think we have. We DO NOT have that kind of time; so get it through your hearts and heads now...it's time to SWITCH GEARS and kick it into overdrive!

Christians..STEP UP. Tell people. I doesn't matter if you'll lose your job. God will provide for you. YES, it sucks! It sucks really really badly, but it's time to tell the world that if they don't take Christ as their own personal Savior, there will be hell to pay - literally, HELL to pay.

With the 2 major signs coming this late summer and early fall, you can't help but know that God is fulfilling every last prophecy He ever said He would. He told us He would, and He even said in John 14 that He was telling us (them) that these things would happen, so that when they did happen we (us) would not be taken off guard. We (us) would see the coming of the Son of Man in the sky and we would meet Him there (rapture).  What signs?  Well, the Moon will be turned to blood, which we saw already, but there will also be a darkening of the Sun before the day of the Lord, which is the beginning of Jacob's trouble, or the Tribulation.  THIS August 21, the Moon will eclipse the Sun and there will be a nationwide eclipse over the U.S. and many other gentile nations.  That will be one sign. The 2nd will be on September 23, 2017, which is the Revelation 12 sign. THE GIANT BIG FAT SIGN that will tell the world, the WHOLE world, that Lord is God, and He will not tolerate the continued mocking of His word.

Revelation 12 talks of the star constellation in Virgo with the Moon at her feet, clothed in the Sun (during the day) and 12 stars above her head. That's 9 stars of the constellation of Leo, and 3 roaming planets: Mars, Mercury, and Venus...all lined up perfectly, with JUPITER between the legs of the virgin about to be "born". The BIRTHDAY is September 23, 2017.  Jupiter (which has been in the belly of Virgo for 42 weeks at that time) will exit. This HAS NEVER happened in the history of the history. NEVER has this constellation and/or sign ever happened, but God said it would, and He said it would in the LAST DAYS people.  If you don't hear anything else, pay attention. That day may be too late for you if you are not a Christian. I'm not saying it WILL happen, but there are a lot of reasons why it may.  These reasons would include, but are not limited to, the fact that Israel is 70 years old after May 12 of this year. Some think it will be 69 after the May 14 celebration, but God's calendar is 360 days, not 365 days, and since the day Israel became a nation, there have been 70 years of 360 days...so she's 70.  The Bible says THAT generation, the one that sees Israel become a nation, will NOT pass without these things happening, and it is not passing - - things are happening.

Of course there are signs such as wars, rumors of wars, famine, earthquakes, etc...that's the beginning, and not we have more birth pangs. THIS IS IT people, and I don't care how religious that sounds, it's Biblical, not religious.  There is a difference.  Now, that being said, Jesus is NOT bound by the Feasts dates to show up. He could come at any minute...any minute at all.  We are to live our lives accordingly. We are to occupy, and to plan for the next years to come, but not expect to live here for them. We know this generation will not pass.  We are there!!!

Please, to know more, to hear more: Go to YouTube and look up the following preachers and/or teachers.

1. Charlie Garrett of The Superior Word in Sarasota, FL
2. J.D. Farag of Calvary Chapel Kaneohe, HI
3. Perry Stone Ministries
4. Pastor Paul Begley
5. Thomas Ice
6.  Lamb and Lion Ministries
7.  www.gotquestions.org is a good one for Bible questions.

I just want you to be SAVED. I want you to know Jesus really really is the Son of God, and He really did die for you, and He really will forgive you. REALLY...have I said REALLY?  OK. I love Jesus, and I know you will too once you find Him and know it's not a joke -- this world as we know it is coming to an end; why not leave it and join Jesus in eternity, in peace.  I pray you do.

Trumped!

I am not the least bit ashamed to admit that a year ago, in January 2016, I was not sure I wanted Donald Trump to be "my president". In fact, I remember laughing at the fact that he was being serious when he said he would run. I think I was narrow-minded and perhaps thinking too much in the box when I conjured my first impressions of him. It wasn't his hair that did it, but that is a rather strange piece of mop-top (if we had to be honest) now, isn't it? I think what I was thinking at that time, or what I remember thinking, is that he won't make it past the General election, so there's no reason to worry about him.  I didn't vote for him in the General, and I was really surprised he won! I was elated to find out this past November that he won the Big Prize, because I don't know if my heart could take it if Hillary Rodham Clinton had won. She is such a waste of space! In my opinion, and probably that of millions of others, she's a murdering piece of trash that doesn't need to be breathing right now, but that's being polite. If I really wanted to verbalize my opinions about her, I wouldn't hold back.

Trump? Really? Well, OK, let's talk about it. From the day I first heard his name, sometime in the 90's, I thought he was the guy that killed the Canadian Football. He was the guy that outbid every contractor in NYC and he was the guy that started a ridiculous reality show that set people up to be humiliated on air. I watched the show 2 times and said to myself "No, he's rude, he's arrogant, and we can't all be rich and semi-famous for being rich and semi-famous."  I wasn't impressed.  As time went by, and through this past year, I've become impressed.  I've become more than impressed, I've become convinced that he may be the one guy on the planet that can actually do what needs to be done if he can stay alive, and not be shot for his work, words, and deeds.  There are so many whack jobs out there trying to make a name for themselves, or trying to push their New World Order agenda, that his life may be in constant jeopardy. We'll have to add a few extra prayers for him now and then.

When the debates came, and he wouldn't (or couldn't) stop harassing Hillary, I was amused. I'm not going to lie. I was Twittering "Bitch stop lying!" and worse. I was screaming at the television and hoping he'd bring up the leaked emails. I was hoping he'd dominate and bust her chops more, but he was a gentlemen and held back most of his disdain for the former First Lady.   Sadly, the only time the word "Lady" is every associated with Hillary is when the word "First" is tagged with it. She's no lady. She's a witch, and a practicing one at that. Well, no worries...from what I understand, Pence and Trump are both born again, they can pray a hedge around themselves and the wrath of her kind can't touch them unless and until God wants that to happen as part of His plan.  Obama was most assuredly in God's plan. God used him to divide this nation, to bring about prophecy, and fulfill His promises. Just days before Trump stepped up and took office the Satan-lovers in the Obama camp wrecked havoc as they saw fit, but God protected Israel -- and He will always protect Israel.

The ONE thing that got my vote for Trump in the Primary was his stand on Israel.  Ben Carson was a good choice too, as was Huckabee. There were a few good people to choose from. I knew I didn't want another Bush. I didn't want Cruz, and I didn't want Rubio. Cruz is a great guy, but he's Canadian born, and I just have an issue with that....since our LAST president was Kenyan born, I have a real issue with it.  The stand Trump took for Israel was the clincher. I wanted to believe him. I watched, and I listened, and I cried when I heard that he stood up during this past week's Peace Conference (not at it, but during it) and he said he would do everything in his power to stop the 70 nations from coming against Israel, he wouldn't honor their forcing of a two-state solution, and he wouldn't back the UN in the future. LOVED that...that was that. He will be a good friend to Israel, and possibly spare America from REAL punishment from God. Trump, like me, takes God at His word when He stated in Genesis that He would bless those who bless Israel, and curse those who curse her.

Mike Pence is from Indiana. I spent 4 good years there. I loved that place. I loved that man when he was our governor. He and the man he replaced, both fantastic!  Trump and Pence make an amazing team, and I have to be honest with you, I was short sighted then, but looking toward the brightest future we've seen since Reagan, and I have to add, it may even be better.  We're going to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.

Go Trump.

Paleo, Paleo, Where For Art Thou, Paleo?

My new life, my new diet, my new way, my new challenges - here we go.  My son is a Paleo Diet eater, he looks good, so maybe it won't be so bad.  My best friend is a vegetarian, and there's absolutely no way I could do that. I'm not fond of diets, never have been a conformist in any way. I've always had to beat my own drum, even if the beats sound very familiar to someone else's drum.  I don't listen to anyone else telling me what I need to do, it has to be MY decision.  OK, it's my decision now; I'm going Paleo.

I remember when the Paleo Diet was called the "Cave Man Diet" because apparently you're allowed to eat just about anything they ate back in the way-back day. If they caught it, if it lived, if it was hanging off a tree, or growing out of the ground you can it. That's nice and all, but I'm also throwing out the lectins.  Lectins are (according to Google) "any of a class of proteins, chiefly of plant origin, that bind specifically to certain sugars and so cause agglutination of particular cell types."  Well, of course they are!  Did you catch that? What the hell is an agglutination, and really, I don't care what it is, I don't want my sugars or anything else doing that inside of me. Keep your lectins!

Lectins are found in tomatoes, potatoes, all beans, nuts, soys, any grain whatsoever, and that last one is the saddest bit of news I've ever had to type out in public.  If coffee or chocolate had lectins I'd say screw it, and die, but they don't. I can have all the dark chocolate and all the coffee I want! Take that LECTIN!! In your face!  But I digress.  Giving up grain products is part of the Paleo / Cave Man Diet too, but it allows tomatoes, and it allows potatoes. I'm choosing to let them go; just one more thing to not have to worry about in my digestive system. That area of my body hasn't been properly clean in years, and it's about time to start.

About nine years ago I started the new year with the resolution to lose 30 pounds in 60 days or something silly like that. I jumped feet first into the gambit. I swam in the lies. I was all over it for about a week before my body decided to shut me down with an unforgettable gallbladder attack. Seems you're not really suppose to go cold turkey when you're old, and you haven't properly prepared yourself for that big of a change.  What a set back! I was in the hospital for over 4 days due to complications; which of course is an entirely different blog spot, remind me to tell you what happened. I was on really really good drugs for most of the duration and I do actually remember some of the stupid things I agreed to with the nursing staff.

Again, I digress. I'll get around to letting you know how this thing works out, and when I do you'll either decide to do it as well, or you can have fun laughing at me, with me, because of me, it doesn't matter, I'm doing it!  I'm not looking to lose 30 pounds in 60 days this time, more likes 40 pounds whenever it decides to come off, but I'm going to chip, chip, chip at it until it does come off...without chips, chips, chips too! I'm going to do it one egg, one side of green beans, an apple here and there, carrots for snacks, and chicken! I'm doing the chicken thing! If I can eat all the chicken and eggs I want I should be good. I was all about those beans and tomatoes yesterday. I couldn't wait to pile on those red chunks and scarf...until I found out that lectin THRIVES in tomatoes and more so in BEANS.  What the hell? Well, it's true, and there's not a thing I can do about it. This cave woman is not caving in. I'm not allowing it, I'm saying no, and there's not a gallbladder in me now to argue! Ha!

Tonight Laura and I went to the barn to love on the horses, then we drove to Crest to get a few days worth of good from the Earth eatin'.  On the menu for the next few days will be:  eggs, turkey, chicken, beef, avocados, apples, carrots, grapes, spinach, salad (premix), pumpkin seeds, walnuts, raisins, dark chocolate, coffee, my one downfall - half and half in small amounts, and green tea. Lots of green tea will be made in the Stringfellow house my friends....strong green tea!  Raw honey is good too, but I already have it, and Reuben told me I can eat peanuts, so there's that binge too. I'll allow it as I'm just that much a rebel. I can't do anything 100% properly, it wouldn't be me if I did. There, I have my one dose of half and half, and my handful of raw peanuts. Oh, you don't like raw peanuts? You think they taste like plastic? OK...I'll eat yours, I have no issues with it.

Paleo, here I come!!  I'll keep my calendar handy so I can write down any substantial weight loss. Maybe once a week I'll weigh in. Seems like a plan. Keep reading, you'll probably find something you can relate to.

The American Mustang in My Life: Norman Brock Stringfellow

Ever since I was a kid I wanted a Mustang. I never dreamed I would actually have one, owning a Mustang isn't like owning a domesticated horse. A domesticated horse, such as a Quarter Horse, Paint, Tennessee Walker, or any number of other breeds, have one thing in common: they have been handled by humans since the day they were born. Their parents were born in captivity, their ancestors too, and that can make a huge difference in the social and emotional make up of a creature.  Think about this way; would you go out and find a wolf pup to raise in your house? Taking on a non-domesticated animal has certain challenges. I wanted to be up to accepting them without compromising the animal's experience. I didn't "own" a Mustang until I was 55 years old. I don't own him now, I have adopted him. There is a difference.

His name is Norman Brock Stringfellow today, but when he was born he was dubbed #10612979, a bay colt born to a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) captured mare probably under the age of 6. If she had been older than 6 she wouldn't have been kept once she was rounded up. She would have been treated, allowed to foal, and then returned to the herd she came from. Norman's number was shortened to #2979 when he was tagged at the facility where he was born. He was born in captivity on May 11, 2010, at the Herd Management Area holding facility called Broken Arrow in Fallon, NV. He was one of many bay colts; nothing really all that special, and certainly nothing stood out about him as the next few years passed. He was chosen or picked to be trained at a northern Nevada prisoner camp, a place where wild burros and horses are taken to be gentled and adopted out, but Norman wasn't adopted out. Somehow he had been dubbed a "hump back" and was either left untrained, or wasn't given the full training as others were. He was passed up on adoption day, and then returned to another holding facility, and onto yet a third, the Pauls Valley holding facility in central Oklahoma.

Once at the Pauls Valley BLM area #2979 was taken to two more places to be seen and examined by would be adopters. Though he would stand taller than most American Mustangs at 15.2H, and he had both back "socks" of white, as well as a star, stripe, and white snip on his dark bay face, he was not chosen at either. Perhaps it was the hump back that kept him from being picked, or perhaps the BLM had grouped him with more flashy horses and not enough adopters had shown up to pick him on either occasion. I like to think that God had other plans for Norman, and that he was saved for the day I would happen to ramble onto the premises this past October 11, 2016. I think Norman knew something was up before I knew, but however it happened, it did in fact happen, and before the adoption-ending noon bell rang, Norman was being loaded onto a trailer and being carried off to be trained by a professional TIP, or Training Incentive Program trainer.  He was adopted by ME and he was no longer a wild horse. He was on his way to being...well, domesticated.

I wasn't going to the BLM that day to adopt anything. I wasn't expecting to adopt, I wasn't thinking about adopting.  I was there to look at horses for my daughter Laura who had wanted to adopt one soon enough; she wanted to train one to become her mounted shooting partner. She and I took the day off, the 2nd Tuesday of the month, as that is when adoptions take place at the BLM in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma.  I went to help Laura. I wasn't going to find the love of my life; it just sort of happened.

When we pulled up to the gates we saw a few others standing around, waiting for the adoptions to take place. We had never been through the process, so we were hanging back and watching. We weren't participating, we were just viewing to see what would happen, how it would happen, if it happened, and why it happened. There was a woman there with her young blond daughter, the girl was about 11 years old. We watched as she galloped back and forth calling to the horses. She was home schooled, and her mother wanted to show her the animals up close, as sort of a field trip. There was a man with his wife as well, she was smallish, and seemed a bit timid around all of the barricaded animals; she looked as if she feared at any moment one of them would jump the 6 foot fencing and attack her. Nothing of the sort would ever actually happen, but she stood close to her husband just in case.   Her husband, a wealthy car-dealer from another state, was eager to find the exact horse that would make him happy. He wore an arm sling, a trophy of the effects of finding a horse that wasn't exactly the right horse.  He and his wife had decided to bring a horse back to the BLM facility in fact, one that didn't work out for him.  The man was open, fun, and smiling at all of the horses, going from one to the other, hoping to make eye contact and know instantly that he had found his match!

There was another set of people there too. There was a man, his wife, and her young adult daughter, who looked to be around 18 or so. The couple were quiet, and moved about, watching the daughter, and listening to the eager man wearing the sling. It became obvious by counting the trucks and cars in the parking lot, that these two couples had come together in a truck with a very large trailer. The fact that the quiet man had the keys in his hand, led me to know that he was the owner of the truck and trailer. This meant one thing to me, he had to be a trainer, the other man was the buyer. The man with the sling bought or adopted horses, and the quiet man trained them. I figured this out about the same time that Norman decided to put his large imposing head over the fence and onto the top of my head without warning!  "He likes you!"  said the quiet man; that point was obvious to everyone now, as the horse continued to press himself closer to me, and through the rails of the fence.  If he had arms he would have reached through the fence and grabbed me, probably holding me against his chest, it was quite interesting how Norman would not allow other horses to come near me. Using his body, his tail, his voice, and his feet, he kept all of the others away, and stayed as close to me as he possibly could. To the quiet man, who was now smiling, and sticking out his hand for an introduction, this meant that #2979 had found his match, whether or not I was obliged to return the sentiment.

"Hi, I'm Tim Brock", said the quiet man now standing in front of the larger than life horse who was refusing to release me from his gaze. I introduced myself, and listened as Tim explained that for the past few minutes he was considering taking #2979 as a TIP horse either for Jeff, the man with the sling, or just because, as he felt that the horse had more potential than others. He hadn't made up his mind, but he was thinking about it. Lauren, his step daughter, who is also a TIP trainer, had a few others in mind, and the boring big bay gelding wasn't one of the ones she wanted.  Jeff didn't want him either, he was too big, and there was that hump or high wither that didn't interest him. Laura, my own daughter, laughed at me and said, "You know, you already have your adoption application in the BLM  system, so you could take him."  I smiled. I didn't do more than that, but I did smile.  It was then that Tim explained to me how the TIP program worked. Seems he was being paid by the Mustang Heritage Foundation to train qualified horses at the BLM; ones who would then be adopted. If I wanted Norman, or as he was named #2979, all I had to do was say so. Tim would take him to Missouri where he lived and operated, train him for two or three months, and bring him back  all ready to go!  It would only cost me $125 to adopt, and whatever to bring him home, but since he'd be back to pick up others, it shouldn't be much.

Was I hearing this correctly?  I was being asked if I wanted to adopt this massive 1100 pound horse, the one standing a good hand taller than the tallest horse I would ever want? The horse that for some odd reason found me more attractive than the others at the gates that day, and the one that wasn't even all that...different. He was in fact rather ordinary if you had to be honest about it.  The Mustang I had always dreamed of owning would be smaller, around 14.2 hands maybe, and he'd be bright colored, maybe sorrel, maybe roan, he could possibly be a bay, but with a broad blaze and four white socks. This horse was staring at me, and in that moment I realized that he was absolutely perfect. There wasn't a single thing wrong with him; even his hump backed wither seemed to be saying "at least your saddle won't ever fall off".  I told Tim yes, I would adopt the horse, and yes, he could take him to Missouri to train. The only thing left to do was to let the BLM guys know, because they're the ones who actually take the money!

There's more to the story of course, and I'll save that for another blog post, but suffice it to say that on that day, October 11, 2016, #2979, a big beautiful bay American Mustang gelding became my new best friend; and naming him after the city of Norman, Oklahoma was easy! It was that or Boomer. His middle name is Brock for his trainer Tim, and of course he bears my surname.  When Gary, the BLM hand,  cut the nylon tag with the number on it from Norman's neck he handed the tag to Tim, who then handed it to me, symbolizing that Norman was no longer wild or captive.  Norman was now adopted, I think I cried in my soul.  He deserved to be loved, and on this day he demanded it.  Thank you God.

Most photos by Karin O'very (Tim's wife)

PEOPLE Magazine SHOT MY DOG!

Actually they shot all of us!

Brandi Simons (Photographer) and Shasha Gill (Hair/Make-Up Artist) got us ready for a really fun shoot for an uncoming PEOPLE magazine.

Confessions of a Writer

The man in this picture was not only a writer, he was an orator - a speaker of great power and prose. He was Temple Lea Houston, son of the great Sam Houston, our country's legendary hero. So why would I be interested in this man - well, besides being talented both as an orator and a writer, he was Oklahoma's premier lawyer of the frontier. I don't know the exact count, I used to know the numbers, he represented the little guy, the downtrodden, the poor - and without asking for much in terms of payment because he was set for life by his father's wealth, Temple Houston brought true legal justice to a group of people who otherwise would have faced jail time or worse - a noose if he hadn't been gracious, generous and giving.

That said, I also think the man was really hot and when I first found out about him all I wanted to do was read everything I could about him, trying to weasel my way into his life long enough to really get to know him intellectually. I used to tell people that my main goal once I actually got to Heaven was to track this man down. The fact that he's now had over 100 years to get to know the territory up there gives him at least a fighter's chance - but I do have time on my side. Eternity is truly - eternal.

I think the statutes of limitations has run out on what I am about to confess - and if you've read this story before somewhere, it may very well be that you have relatives in Western Oklahoma who have sent it to you after a version of my tale was recorded in the papers - making it legend itself. Truth can be stranger than fiction, and in my case, in this case, it is indeed quite strange - but I had my reasons.

It was at the time that I was reading about Temple, getting to know him through one of the only two books written about his life - Glenn Shirley's book "Temple Houston: Lawyer with a Gun". I found myself mesmerized by the very spirit of this compelling pioneer who would not only choose to leave the life of luxury that he had been given but to avoid politics in general after having been nominated for such high offices as a senator, governor, even once being asked to run for the vice presidency - he declined. After getting to know him, knowing that his temper was as fiery hot as his silver-tongue oratories were generous and lyrical, he made the right choice. Today, he would likely be arrested notably for outrages in public that you and I would consider manic at best - firing guns in the courtroom, for instance, bringing snakes in baskets to public schools to prove which ones bit and which ones didn't - you just can't do that anymore without licenses and surety bonds, letters of recommendation, and all the red tape Houston would have thrown out the door as being unnecessary.

I wanted to know the man, I wanted to hold his gun, wear his hat, sit at his desk, breathe in the air of the city he lived in - which at the time of his death was Topeka, KS, but he lived in Woodward, Oklahoma for many years prior to the actual event of his demise. To think that the museum of history in Woodward, OK was not only NOT displaying his things, they were saying they wouldn't be getting around to organizing them either.  What I did wasn't exactly criminal, as I was not told I couldn't be on the premises, I was never asked to leave either. I simply didn't leave when the ladies closed down the museum for the night.  I set out the tables in a fine and organized way, still in the back room, as I felt that there may be cameras in the front lobby. This being 1987 or so, I wasn't sure what type of technology to expect. I wanted to be safe as possible, but do as much good as I could.

When the ladies returned the next morning to open shop, the display I had created using almost all of Temple's belongings at the museum, was in fact in order and ready to be viewed - even if only in the backroom.  I was careful to use gloves, and I recorded everything in a fine and meticulous fashion. The only thing I didn't use in the display was a book owned by Temple Houston, one he had personally drawn in. I took that book home, again, not breaking any laws because it was never mentioned (or warned) that I could not. I returned it after I had cleaned it properly so that it too could be displayed (and wipe my fingerprints from it).  When I returned it I looked the front desk clerk in the eyes, handing it to her, and I said "I believe this belongs to the museum."  She looked at me with a sparkle in her eyes. It had been a few weeks since I had organized the display.  She took the book easily, gently, and she said to me "Why, yes, it does belong here. Was it a good read?"  I answered that it was. She then said, "Thank you, by the way, the display couldn't have been more tenderly created."  I smiled back at her, not wanting to betray myself, and I said..."Well, I don't know what you mean, but if I did know, I would say you're welcome."

How did I manage to evade the ladies that day, you may ask? When they went to close the museum I was the last patron. I excused myself to use the bathroom, then called out "good night" before retreating to the men's restroom. There was a bell on the front door, so I let the door close before sneaking back to the men's restroom. They never looked in the restroom for me, I never came out. It wasn't exactly against the law, but I wasn't exactly going to take the chance.  

I Have Horses

I have horses. What that means exactly, is that I have a built in excuse not to attend weddings, not to attend funerals, not to go anywhere or do anything that I really don't feel like doing. If I get the call from a friend or family member asking me to help them move, or go furniture shopping, I have that covered with a simple begging off with "Oh hey, I would love to go, I really would, but I have horses! I have to feed them. They live far away you know, and I have to go to them, feed them, and one of them needs farrier work. Wouldn't you know it, this is the day the farrier is coming to the barn!"  It works every time.  What are they going to do, argue with me? Have you ever seen a horse person NOT take their horse over a date, over a show, over a movie, or anything? Well, if you had horses you'd understand. I may be broke, and yes, it's because I have horses, but I do have my priorities straight. I'm not out drinking, I'm not out gambling. You won't find me spending money on art work for my house, a new mattress, or on even a new pair of shoes. Why would I need new shoes? You don't wear shoes to the barn!

There are really only two types of people in this world; horse people and non-horse people. Horse people get it when I say I haven't seen what Kim Kardashian is up to. They understand if I don't ask questions about the latest fashion, or the next big thing in electronics. I haven't seen an online game in over ten years and I think I heard My Space wasn't being used anymore, but I didn't really care because I really never got on mine. It was made for me by my kids back when I had the Haflinger - did I just refer to a time frame with a horse analogy? I think I did.  Some old people will say "Back when I had a good knee to stand on.." I use terms like "I had Rocket then, he was about 4, I remember!"  Those without horses do tend to stare at me when I wipe my hands before I eat rather than wash them. They also shake their head when I don't apologize for walking into the store with mud on my boots. It's not that I'm being rude, but I have to get back to the barn soon, and this little trip to the store to get toilet paper was a necessity! It is what it is. I have horses.

We board now, but when we were living in Indiana we had our own place for a while. I can't tell you how great it felt to wake up to a frosted window with the automatic coffee pot calling out to me. I'd look outside, past the initial backyard to see five fuzzy faces staring at me just wondering if I was going to get around to bringing them their first feeding.  I never really missed a day, but with horses you have to remind them every now and then (every damn day) that you're not going to let them starve, that you are a responsible owner, and that you do have their best interests at heart.  Some mornings I took my time sipping my liquid brain-opener and other times I let them get the best of me and put their stomachs first.  Most mornings I spilled coffee down my coat trying to do both.

Now, because we live in the city, Laura and I board our babies at a nice little facility just outside of town. We have access to the indoor arena, the outdoor arena, several acres of land, and of course the best part is I get to drink my coffee every day without the pangs of guilt slamming me in the chest each morning.  I pay people do take on that guilt. They don't mind - I don't mind. The horses could freaking care less who it is that brings them oats and hay as long as someone brings them oats and hay.  Most days they are fed twice and most days I go out to see them in the evenings to bring them apples or carrots. I don't know why I spend so much time, so much energy and my very last dollar on them, but when I don't, if I didn't, I think the horse-sized void would be too much to bear.

Happy Coffee Day!!

Suffice it to say that it's be way too long since I've written a blog.  I looked on the site and noticed that it had been 21 months since my last post. I wanted to scream "Are you serious?", but that tag belongs to my friend Pastor Paul Begley, and I'd feel rather plagiaristic if I took it.

Happy Coffee Day! Today is September 29, 2015, National Coffee Day, and let me tell you, I'm celebrating. I do coffee. I am one of THOSE people. I think I was three when I started chugging down the dredges left in my parents' cups after breakfast. I remember mom taking the cups away from me when I would steal them off the table, but I think honestly she was more concerned that I had a glass cup in my hands than coffee in my mouth. She's like that to this day, believe it or not, she'd rather see me drinking my coffee in a plastic cup on the tile - - just kidding, mom's grown up to be a really cool old lady.

National Coffee Day affords the would be coffee drinker a chance to try out a free cup at Dunkin Donuts; they always get into the spirit. Starbucks on the other hand, plants a tree, or donates money from your cup of purchased coffee to the tree growers so they can plant the tree on your behalf. I wonder how many of us, or rather how many cups of coffee it takes to get a tree planted? It's just a question, but I assume there is an answer. What if I went into Starbucks and ordered say, a venti? It's a larger cup, so would they donate a larger amount? Is it determined by size or quantity of purchases? Who decides this? Who decides to plant a tree rather than say, feed a kid, or pay for low-income vaccinations for dogs? I think trees are important, sure they are, but are they any more important than the kids living in the countries where they decided to plant these trees? That's just me, that's me on my soap box. I think if you're going to have National Coffee Day -- give out coffee. Plant a tree on "National Plant a Tree Day".  Wait, is there a National Plant a Tree Day? Because if there is, I may go to the woods to get a free cup of coffee while I plant a pine!

I work in an office with six other people, one of them is only a temporary, an intern, but he's a real live guy so I include him when I count how many people are in the office at any one given time. Out of these people I am the only one, the ONLY ONE, who drinks coffee, and that somewhat disturbs me. The stats in the particular office are as follows: 1 out of 6 drinks coffee. 2 out of 6 drink iced tea, 1 out of 6 drinks Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper, and the others (wait, let me count now....1, 2, 3, 4, OK 4) the other two people drink regular soda in the morning. Best I can tell, there are three of us who have our minds in the right places by 9:00 a.m. and the others are on sugar highs. You were doing the math weren't you? LOL...caught you. You're like, "Wait, 1 drinks coffee, 2 drink tea, 1 drinks the Dr. Pepper, albeit diet Cherry, and 2 drink soda straight....that's 6. She said there were six others in the office, making a total of seven people, but only six are drinking before 9:00 a.m." Don't worry, you aren't using Common Core methods to figure out the equation - Shaun the intern comes in after 1:00 p.m.  Gotcha!

Well, happy National Coffee Day, I'm going back to the grind - - see that, little java joke there. Gotta get back to work.