Free Flow with Horses

     This is the beginning of a free-flow blog post, and I have no idea where it intends to take me.  I only know it will involve horses; because, of course, it will, and it will join the ever-lengthening continuum of equine tales that seem to multiply whether I ask them to or not.  Horses and ponies are forever producing new stories, like furry, four-legged printing presses.

    I have also entered a new era of writing: the AI Era.  Artificial Intelligence has trotted (pun intended) into my creative life, ears pricked (another pun), ready to help.  The last two blogs have had an AI touch, and I plan to continue.  I have always said I needed a critique group and an editor; well, now I have both who don't require snacks or scheduling.  However, don't worry, the ideas, the voice, the direction are still mine.  I am simply using a new tool, like switching from a pencil to a pen that occasionally winks at me.

    So then - free-flow with horses.

    This weekend we held a party to celebrate the fact that I am, quite miraculously, still alive.  A dear friend brought me a coffee mug with a horse on it.  I do not need any more mugs (my cupboard is already a precarious game of ceramic cups,) but since my shoulder rotator cuff was injured a month ago - a pony-induced incident; they were fighting, I didn't move fast enough, gravity won - I have been using my left hand.  That weak hand dropped a mug with sentimental value.  I wasn't even reaching for it.  My friend must have remembered the story, because she arrived with a replacement; a mug featuring the image of a horse I had not thought of in ages: Chester.  He was a bright chestnut Morab with a personality as warm as his coat.  He was a delightful gelding.

                         

    Which leads me to a mystery: why don't I have more geldings?  Statistically they should make up about half of the horse population, yet mares keep showing up like determined door-to-door saleswomen.  Of the seven horses currently on the property, only one is a gelding - Spice, holding the line for his entire gender.

    We have had some wonderfully steady geldings over the years: Chester, of course; Buddy the Arab; Mac, the Shire (who mistrusted most human males, but adored women with the devotion of a Victorian poet;) Shilo, who now lives with his trainer and tries his best, although he failed spectacularly with my husband.  Spice cannot be omitted, although he is less than steady in his temperament.  Also on the list are the Miniatures: Bosley, Shadow, Donny, William and Leonard.  They were all tiny geldings with big opinions.  Yet somehow, mares dominate the farm like a well-organized matriarchal council.

    Bosley, admittedly, was a donation.  So were Buddy and Chester.  In fact Chester was a double donation - first to a Christian horse camp, then to us when he could no longer manage overnight trail rides.  He proved to be a solid partner for my students in our arena.  Then he was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease.  We cared for him until he crossed the rainbow bridge.  He died surrounded by a handful of mourning fans.

    Back to my recent part.  The horses watched us from the lawn - mostly mares, with old Spice representing the geldings.  They looked mildly offended that they were not offered cake.  And I had oodles of cake left.  The confection was cherry flavored, just like my mother used to make.  Plus we had gooey cookies and a few donuts.  I don't need the extra pounds.  I would have happily shared the sugar with the horses if equine nutrition weren't a thing.

    I guess I take better care of my equine's diet than my own.  The goodies remained in my kitchen, not in their tummies.

    It was a lovely party.  Sorry you missed it.  The mares and Spice would have enjoyed seeing you...though mostly, I suspect, in hopes you would drop a cookie.