Goodnight, Elizabeth

National Velvet, 1944

Elizabeth Taylor, 1932-2011

And let us not forget her lifelong love of dogs, mostly Maltese.

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Zenyatta All The Way!!

What do you get when you nurture a racehorse and let her mature before you run her? You get a champion named Zenyatta. This is a stunning 1200# mare who is currently 19-0, with one last race to go: this Saturday's Breeders Cup, which she has already won before.

Interesting Facts:
Named after Zenyatta Mondatta, the third album by The Police
Began racing at age 3
Birthday: April 1, 2004
Birthplace: Lexington, KY
Current residence: Hollywood Park, Inglewood, Cal.
Size: 17.2 hands [4 inches taller but 200# lighter than Julian]
Auction history: $60,000 at the 2005 Keeneland Sept. Yearling Sale [Very cheap]
Favorite treats: Carrots
Hobbies: Running, dancing & posing for photographs
Nicknames: The Queen; Zennie
Favorite songs: "Roxanne", any jazz by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass

Honors:
Eclipse Award Champion Older Female Horse in 2008 and 2009
First female horse to win the Breeders' Cup Classic
All-time female earnings leader in North America
Won the 2008 Breeders' Cup Ladies' Classic
Named by Oprah to the 2010 "O Power List" [Love it--though not interviewed ;)]

Zenyatta #4 with Mike Smith, but #1 to the pole!

And they're OFF! Well, Friday about 5 CST on ESPN, they will be...

Trivia: Secretariat won 16 out of 21 races in his record-breaking career.

Zenyatta

And let her run safely... Swore off races since Barbaro at the Preakness, may he rest in peace. Read more!

Now THIS is bareback riding!

This video was recorded during a Show Jumping in Bourg-en-Bresse, France. The show was supposed to be costume but rider Dominique H. Ribot did not have one. He thus informed the jury, who told him (as a joke) that he should compete naked. Which he ultimately did... Quite impressive, enjoy!

Excellent, um, form! Read more!

Our Old Kentucky Home Trip--Abridged

Art by Andre Pater

The trip to the FEI World Equestrian Games in Lexington, KY that I recently won (sponsored by Neogen--thanks again!) was spectacular!! The final eventing jumping, then the start of the speed jumping were all beyond words (well, cold and wet comes to mind for the first day) and our hunt for all our childhood haunts went REALLY well. Can’t WAIT to sort through the pics. They’re almost all on Sarah's camera after my expensive one, once again, malfunctioned. None of the pictures in this post are from our cameras, FYI.


Cigar


Molly the Pony

So excited to meet 1995 Breeders' Cup Classic Cigar, who was getting a bath, and Molly the Pony, who let me kiss her muzzle as she waited for dinner. She was much smaller than I expected—but then I didn’t even know she was there—we just stumbled on her as we kept getting lost! The last time we were at the KY Horse Park was 1978, year of the first major eventing competition, now know as the Rolex. In 1978, American Bruce Davidson won. This time, we watched his son compete--though US came in 4th overall.


Lifesized Statue of Bruce Davidson, located right outside the main stadium now.

And the Kentucky Horse Park has gone from a handful of buildings to its own city. Even with maps posted everywhere, I had NO concept of direction once we got there, and we would frequently walk 20 minutes and then end up where we started. Quite the challenge!

Got some fun pics on some of the cross country jumps—gave me the heebie-jeebies just looking at them. I tried climbing/jumping one with middle sand trap and ate it—but didn’t get hurt. Sarah did the same later. You can’t resist climbing them!

For me one of the best parts was being in a totally international crowd. There was one rider representing Egypt and I jumped up and went nuts for him, yelling out Mabruk! (Congratulations!) when he did well. Many teams were staying at our hotel, including the United Arab Emirates, which I was too shy to approach because I was sure I wouldn't understand their dialect (very different from Egyptian), and team Canada. First two people we ran into upon our arrival said to us, "From Canada, I assume?" Um, no. So we decided to cheer for Canada at the eventing jumping, and they got the silver overall! Talked to a Canadian member later at the hotel and he said they didn't even think they'd finish in the medals, so we promised to keep cheering for them. David O'Connor was coaching them--famous American eventer; and his wife Karen competed for the US. Sadly, her jumping round went poorly and US dropped to 4th. Great Britain, Canada, New Zealand (another surprise) and then the US.


Karen and David O'Connor competing together a few years ago.

Tough course--VERY few clears. But really well-designed, as well as I could tell. Wasn't impossible, and many got out with 4 faults, but you had to be RIGHT on your game to conquer it completely. Only about 2 or 3 DQs in the speed jumping from refusals (or simply crashing through a fence) but no major injuries and no falls.

After we ran out of show tickets, we still had 24 hours to enjoy our own "Amazing Race" to find everything we wanted to find from our childhood. We rented a car and went non-stop on our quest. We did have the advantage of a Garmin--and of Dad scouting out the old homestead the day before, since we also ran into him there. THAT was hilarious. He lives a few miles from Sarah and we run into him passing through KY on his way home from a band event in GA... Anyway, it was often startling to find memories flooding back as we found certain places... memories we thought were gone forever. I'll let Sarah tell the story about the water pump station in Salvisa... She misbehaved but really enjoyed herself, so I guess it's okay. ;)


Fort Harrod--the first settlement in the KY region by James Harrod in 1774 (mostly reconstructed) was still there, though much smaller than we remembered.

And the tiny shack we lived in for a few years in the backwoods? Completely gone. I could not figure out where the foundation was (because there barely was one to start with, just rocks). About 20 years of forest growth all over the site. Sarah still managed to find an intact bird feeder dad had made some 34 years ago and brought it home—I found other smaller artifacts and brought those too, including small branches off the huge tree I climbed every day as a young girl to feel the wind and see the forest valley stretched out below… The tree's branches were way over my head now so couldn’t reach—really wanted to, but we did climb all over a tobacco barn that I remember thinking was dangerous as a KID—partially collapsed now, but great place for pictures.

Ragweed took its toll on me, though. Ragweed was always Sarah’s enemy as a kid with her terrible allergies and asthma so I wasn’t thinking about how she lost her allergies and I developed them as an adult. I was wading through weeds and burrs for hours looking for relics and perfect camera shots… Was up all night sneezing, etc. Still worth it.

Even found our most memorable school down there, an oppressive Catholic elementary school--is that redundant? It had been converted to a Baptist activity center but the second we drove by we KNEW that was it. Went in and confirmed it and got tour by daycare lady. She literally said the #1 KY saying as we left, “Ya’ll come back and see us again real soon, ya’ hear?” Felt like we'd slipped into a time warp.

Sarah’s a big fan of the Amazing Race (I’ve seen snippets) and the last 24 hours was just like it—only we had a Garmin, thank goodness. I still can’t believe we found everything—and more. Very positive emotional experience for both of us.

I know everyone says this, but it proved SO true: Everything we found looked like it had been left in the dryer too long. Buildings and distances were all SO much smaller and shorter than we remembered--to an almost ridiculous extent. I was almost surprised that the residents didn't resemble Lilliputians...


Building at Shaker Village. Dad used to do pen and ink drawings of these buildings all the time.


Craft shop at Shaker Village

We also spent a short time Wednesday morning at one of our family's favorite places, the Shaker Village. Known for its incredible architecture, crafts, and candy (hey, we were kids) I had a chance to pet some of the grey Percherons they use for the carriage drives (not on weekdays, sadly), some VERY pregnant goats, and to admire a big red bull resting in a field. We were taken hostage by the gift shops (two of them!) and incurred a great deal of financial damage from the encounter, but emerged otherwise unscathed. Looking for a restroom we wandered into the Dining Hall, where I was flooded by memories as I stood between the opposing male and female staircases, looking into the restaurant, right at the table where we used to sit and enjoy their delectable recipes. I was frozen in time, and Sarah had to drag me out. (We didn't have time to actually stop and eat, sadly.)


One of their many famous spiral staircases

Some things about the South never change. Now doubt we were back in the Bible Belt...


We saw this on billboards with a toll-free number. What, you have to make reservations for Judgment Day, now?

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Better Part of Sunday

A week ago was not a spa weekend. Glad he felt better this weekend.

I've written a lot about last Sunday. It was not a good night. But I need to remember that it was a very good afternoon.

I went out to see Julian, who had so many burrs I thought I'd be there de-burring all night. In fact, a little (or a lot) of Show Sheen, a sturdy horse comb, and a sturdy tree make it all go much faster--even with his long tail and forelock 10 feet out of my reach.

The lighter-colored horses were all afflicted too, of course, and having just seen all these pics of Eddie Fisher and Debby Reynolds on-line, these horses' forelocks all reminded me of Debbie Reynolds signature bangs. Joke was lost on the horses, of course.

After freeing my guy from his entanglements, I moved him to the adjacent field, which is more of a wide-open expanse with room to run. I've long grown tired of the fight to tack him, so I swung up bareback (with mounting block--I'm not Catwoman) with his Parelli halter and lead tied as reins. I brought along my "carrot stick," the light training rod everyone who doesn't believe in Parelli makes fun of, for direction, and that worked great until I reached the bottom of the field and, you guessed it, dropped it. Insert expletives here. Julian actually played with it for a moment and had I NOT needed to get it back, he would have lifted it up so I could reach it. That didn't happen, of course, so I slid off, got my stick, and proceeded to hike back up the hill to my mounting block.

Next time around I just laced the carrot stick string around my wrist as a make-shift crop and we started over.

We had a really good ride, though he wasn't as up for running as much as usual. So we trotted as much as I thought my discs could take, and cantered as much as he would take. Then we cooled off a bit and we entered Zen territory. You see, this time I brought my iPod. What a difference a little music makes. He found a good spot to graze in the sun, I scooted my seat back as far as possible and laid down on his back, resting my chin between his large shoulder blades (withers), interlacing my fingers in what's left of his mane. Then kept nodding off to Jimi Hendrix "Sky Cries Mary", some mesmerizing Minus the Bear, and this great one from the Indigo Girls, which I now see happened to be quite prophetic.

Secure Yourself by Indigo Girls

Words and Music: Amy Ray

Secure yourself to heaven hold on tight the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun

In the ink of the night I saw you bleed, through the thunder I could hear you
scream
Solid to the air I breathe, open-eyed and fast asleep
Falling softly as the rain, no footsteps ringing in your ear
Ragged down worn to the skin, warrior raging have no fear

Secure yourself to heaven hold on tight the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun

I'm kneeling down with broken prayers hearts and bones from days of youth
Restless with an angel's wing I dig a grave to bury you
No feet to fall you need no ground, allowed to glide right through the sun
Released from circles guarded tight, now we all are chosen ones

Secure yourself to heaven hold on tight the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun

Secure yourself to heaven hold on tight the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun

In the ink of the night I saw you bleed through the thunder I could hear you
scream
Solid to the air I breathe, open-eyed and fast asleep
Falling softly as the rain, no footsteps ringing in your ears
Ragged down worn to the skin, warrior raging have no fear

Secure yourself to heaven hold on tight the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun

So I just want to thank Julian for a wonderful spa treatment that was probably exactly what I needed before the dog shit hit the fan at home.

Didn't wear my helmet at the ranch--should have worn it to walk the dogs...

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Meet Jack's Distant Relative??

The innocent eyelashes that roped me in... 2005


Nancy, Wee Jordan, Sarah, and Jack the Quarab Pony in Spring of 2007, I think. Jordan must have been right about 1 year old, because she's standing in one of my photos.

In case anyone wondered why Jack the pony ended up as a "companion" pony and not a riding mount, here is a pony who must be a distant relative. Ed the pony, accd to owner, was completely checked by vet, saddler, trainer, etc. (as was Jack). On lead rope--almost always perfect (as was Jack). But let him off-lead and watch the sparks fly. Jack--and Ed--did NOT want to be ridden. The trainer found it so hard to believe that the mom finally made a clip of Ed Unleashed. Trainer was convinced.

Ed's little owner Ross, however, was madly in love with Ed, singing to him on the ground and telling him stories for hours. (Also like Jack--he was a puppy dog on the ground.) You'll notice mom had Ross in helmet AND full body armour (used for cross-country eventers). The only thing I noticed that Ed did NOT do that Jack would do is whip his head around and take a bite out of your calf. I always wore half-chaps working with Jack but he'd always find someplace uncovered to bite if I was aboard. The fun never ended with Jack.

As Ross outgrew Ed, Ed did finally go to a nice farm as a lawn ornament as well.



Felt bad laughing, but the lying down to get rid of your rider is SUCH a classic pony move: and the only one Jack didn't try.

Comparatively, Jack only threw me once--can't believe the tenacity of this little boy!

A little more of Jack after the jump...

Here's Jack being a complete gentleman on-lead without saddle or bridle for Sarah and little Jordan. Appearances can be deceiving--we just didn't make a video of Sarah or me riding, or of our barn owner, Dan, who is extremely good with scared/nervous horses. He had the same experiences.

Jordan is rarin' to go!!

His next move? The calf grab. Guess he didn't appreciate the forelock braid.


Jack touching base with Julian--a slightly safer ride for Jordan, or any human.

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Happy 15th Birthday, Babe.

All photos by Mary Ellen Stephens

I would not trade you for ANY two-legged creature. Nope, not even for "those guys."

You've broken my toes, but never my heart. And in that, you stand alone.

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After all, I am your horse

Let me teach you.
When you are tense, let me teach you to relax.
When you are short tempered, let me teach you to be patient.
When you are short sighted, let me teach you to see.
When you are quick to react, let me teach you to be thoughtful.
When you are angry, let me teach you to be serene.
When you feel superior, let me teach you to be respectful.
When you are self absorbed, let me teach you to think of greater things.
When you are arrogant, let me teach you humility.
When you are lonely, let me be your companion.
When you are tired, let me carry the load.
When you need to learn, let me teach you.

After all I am your horse.

-- Willis Lamm
(c) 1997, Reprinted with Permission

Photo by Paula Arnold

Photo by Nancy Dietrich

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New Season--New Story

From Mused--BellaOnline Literary Review:

Summer. Sprawl on the hammock and soak up the richness of Mused. A stroke-affected woman struggles to move on. A hospital patient finds strength to make a choice. Depression, loneliness, angst-filled remembrances - and also hope, longing, spell binding beauty.

Images nestle you in the hills of Sicily, walk with you along the Great Wall of China. Thunder with a horse in full gallop, rest with a pelican by the water, and share the tiny world of a ladybug. Feel peace with the mountains of the Grand Tetons. [Can't wait to read this one!! Not mine!]

Fiction stories send us back to a childhood of boiling crabs and avocado-green appliances. They muse about angels and peer into overflowing inboxes, full of curiosity.

Non-fiction shakes up our view of the world. Recovering from a breakup. Galloping full tilt across a Cairo desert. [That would be mine...]

Al-Abyaad - The White One

Nice break from oil, anyway.

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Angel and Sunny

If you want to get hooked on the cutest live cam ever, two 5-day old twin foals and their mom are on one at Helen Woodward Animal Center in San Diego, CA. (Live) Twins in horses are VERY rare, and these are on watch 24-7. And they are friggin' adorable.

Normal birth weight is 80-90 lbs., and these were 40 and 50 lbs at birth. There is one filly named Angel (with the full blaze), and one colt named Sunny, with a star on his forehead. Their blankets are HUGE on them. Did I mention ADORABLE??

Watch Angel and Sunny...

There are also some short videos from earlier posted just below the live feed. The first one, with Angel getting x-rayed, is really sweet, and the one with them playing and running around is great. If you can't see them tonight, they are behind a "wall" of hay bales where they have heat lamps set up. Angel has already jumped the "wall" once!

I TOLD you it was adorable.

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Where Egyptian Arabians Come From

I don't know how legible this is, but this is a 1993 advertisement for the El Zahraa stud farm in Cairo. I just love the photo they used. The facility is very large and has extremely high stone walls. Child beggars and trash filled the streets around it, while inside, grooms in spotless white uniforms cared for horses that typically sold only to rich Gulf Arabs. Not a speck of litter, and all palm trees trimmed and meticulously white-washed ten feet up from the ground.

Just inside the massive iron gates

Groom and his ward

Young boy and donkey a few hundred yards past Al Zahraa

Every country has its very rich and its very poor, but it is definitely a chasm between them in Egypt. Read more!

Finding a way

I have to go back. I don't know how, I don't know when, and I don't know for how long, but I have to go back.

I cannot tolerate domesticity--shallow, commercial, First-World culture--another second. But I will have to if I want to get out--even for a little while.

Most people are depressed because they think there's something more out there. I am depressed--flat-out steamrollered for two years now--because I know there is something more. I have seen it up close but then, as now, I just can't figure out how to be a part of it.

There has to be more than drugging tender racehorses for a living. There is more. People are helping working horses and donkeys--and their impoverished owners--every day all over the Third World. The Brooke, and others, too.

There has to be a way.



Because this, this life, is not the way. Not for me. Read more!

Have I mentioned lately...

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my horse (and my niece)?

Cuz I do.



Seven years together now and still going strong.

Labor Day, 2009. Photos by Mary Ellen Cordes (a.k.a. Mom) and Sarah Murray.
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Balance

The quickest way to learn balance on a horse is to act as if there is nothing about him that you can use to steady yourself. But the horse, being a slippery and agile creature, comes these days with no shortage of artificial anchors for his balance-impaired human. With blessed relief the first thing we do upon mounting is jam our boots into the stirrups. Thus we feel grounded, no longer suspended with nothing but air beneath our feet. Imagine, for a moment, riding in an airplane where your feet don’t rest on the floor, but rather dangle freely as you sit strapped in your chair. That illusion of having our “feet on the ground” is essential to fooling ourselves into believing we are not really 30,000 feet above the ground. Same with the horse, on a somewhat smaller scale.

You have a saddle sculpted, be it Western or English, to cradle your body in precisely the center of the horse. Sit here and don’t move! Try a relative’s wedding reception with no seating cards and feel the panic of where to position your ass. If you’re lucky, your saddle is also outfitted with a balance strap or horn directly in front of you. Ah—the sturdy pole at the center of the swaying subway car! And if you need that swinging strap for extra security, there’s a beautiful mane lying right at your fingertips.



But finally, it is the horse’s most delicate feature the novice rider relies upon most to stay one with his mount: his mouth. Just how many contraptions have we invented since the domestication of the horse that involve tempering our weight against the bridge of the horse’s mouth? What countless lips and tongues have borne the untold pounds of careening human flesh behind them? Still we wonder why some horses seem to delight in reuniting us with the earth from which we sprang. I wonder only why they don’t do it more often.


I am guilty of using all these tools in the thirty-odd years I have been riding. And among the hundred or so horses I’ve had occasion to ride in that time, there have been only a handful of truly hearty protesters—two over-worked Arabians on the outskirts of Cairo and one previously abused pony here at home that we know and love as Jack. All had paid their painful dues and none deserved to bear another rider. Though the Arabians continued to work until they could be pushed no further Jack, at least, has finally earned retirement.

Lately, I have taken to leveling the playing field between Julian and me. More from laziness than goodwill in the beginning (or from a need to share his warmth in the winter months), I have left Julian’s saddle in the tack room as I bring him in from the field. At first, I still fought to cram his enormous, powerful and reluctant head into his expensive, multi-layered dressage bridle. This would go over his halter, leaving more rope and rigging on his head than might be found on your standard 19th century frigate. Then I would impress myself (or not, depending upon how many times I slid off attempting to mount as he walked calmly away) by riding without any “props.”

With full head gear

I was slow to realize why he hesitated to work beyond a walk. How was I to practice my balance at this pace? Sure I bounced around a bit at the trot, but I always had… the bridle… to steady myself. No wonder he only wanted to walk. 170 pounds of lurching human can’t feel good even on a draft horse’s mouth.

So off with the bridle and on with the rope halter. The first few times I rode like that the only way I could have felt less secure would have been to butter Julian’s back. Bring out the suede seat breeches! Next best thing to Velcro and no adverse effect on the horse. But over time, I felt us moving together in a way I could never feel under saddle. Finally I could feel—and identify—the placement of each foot beneath me without looking. My hips swayed in rhythm with his back, my calves there to apply pressure as his barrel swung into them. Soon we were trotting, and then cantering. And I was surprised to learn that the less I clung to his mane (Oh! so tempting!) the more in tune I was with centering my body naturally.

Horses, regardless of size, are immensely strong creatures. And no less agile (okay, maybe a little) if they are descended from draft breeds. When Julian and I take our balancing act out of the arena and into the open fields, the stakes increase for this untethered rider. Yes, there’s the helmet, but these rarely prevent dislocated shoulders or broken femurs. But as the dangers increase, so too do the rewards for relying on trust and balance rather than stirrup and bit.

And if one day I can achieve true balance out here with my horse then maybe, just maybe, I can achieve it away from the barn with both feet on the ground. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

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Happy Birthday, Julian!

Julian turned 14 years old today, and I gave him extra apples and extra kisses. Then I ate a chocolate-covered Dove ice cream bar from the barn owners in his honor. (It wasn't big enough to share--really.)

We have been together now for six years, and I love him more with each passing day. Thank you, Julian, for always curing my headaches, and reminding me what is truly beautiful in life.

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Columbus Carriage Classic

Dr Chet and one of his trusty driving Fjords, CCC 2008

It's that time again--time to bring out the old-time carriages and the gorgeous horses and ponies (sorry--"very small equines" as they are referred to in the driving field) that pull them. Drivers, men and women alike, get to dress in their finest wool costumes in the heat of summer. What fun!

For pictures of last year's competition, visit my photos at Flickr.

Forgive me if I trade in my wool skirt for cotton shorts. Read more!

Where you can find me

More complaints of late that I have gone underground. I want to assure anyone following this that I am most certainly still above ground. For the last several days, at least, I can be found in one of four specific places:

1. Picking and eating copious amounts of strawberries from my backyard. If there is an overdose mark for eating fresh strawberries, I passed it days ago. Strawberries for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and still enough to give away. Apparently there is at least one plant I cannot kill.

2. Cleaning up my house after my neurotic new Chihuahua. As much as I would like to disprove the rumor that "Chihuahua's don't potty train" so far I have little to refute it. He's lucky he's so fucking cute--and easy to bathe.

3. At the barn. I am finally getting solid leads on new homes for Jack, whom I would love to keep but must re-home as a last-ditch bid to keep my true love, Julian. I have come so close to re-homing Julian that I am spending as much time as I can with him, savoring our time together in case I can't find a way to make it work. My paycheck isn't what it used to be--though I am grateful I still get one--and I can only stretch the numbers so far. When it's come to home or horse, you know you've reached the truly thin ice. And yes, I'm refinancing, but it's not the miracle cure they might have you believe.

4. Going green. I am spending a great deal of time reading Nico Pitney on The Huffington Post in order to more closely follow minute-by-minute updates on the Twitter Revolution in Iran. They didn't just have a rigged election, they had no election. President Ahmadinejad declared victory within hours of the polls closing, which is pretty remarkable given that the millions of votes cast were all handwritten. Apparently Ahmadinejad has some very fast ballot readers at his disposal.

Now the conflict has gone far beyond election fraud to blatant disregard for human rights, as peaceful protesters are arrested, detained, beaten or killed. Censorship from the government has left only one avenue open for news from the ground, and that is Twitter, believe it or not. You won't find adequate coverage on CNN, which is where you always expected it, but rather in blogs such as Nico Pitney's, or by The Atlantic's Andrew Sullivan, who have spent days without sleep compiling personal posts received from hundreds of Iranian citizens. I strongly urge you to check either of these sites for a most comprehensive view of the history unfolding before us.

Going green has taken on a completely new meaning.

Why aren't you reading The Huffington Post? already Read more!

Equine Ambassador Extraordinaire

Julian

As my dutiful neighbors mowed their manicured lawns today, I headed 17 miles SW to a big, black horse just waiting to get out for a good run. Summer is fast approaching, and the farmer next to the ranch is due to seed his cornfield--my racetrack--any day, and we weren't about to miss our chance.

As it turns out, he had seeded last Wednesday night--but let the ranch owners know that it was still safe to ride until the seedlings sprouted. So it was on.

Julian needed a good brushing, and I did it holding my breath, hoping to avoid another terrific allergy outbreak. Forgot a damp towel to catch the dust. I can't get away without that kind of tool anymore, and I won't forget again.

Saddling is easy when your horse is concentrating on what grass is left in the round pen--only muscle is needed to get that cinch tight after a winter of blanketing and too much grain. (My fault.) Took a few tries, but after getting it to the tightest notch possible for me, my arms went up like a prize fighter who just KO'd his opponent. I knew by the next day that lifting my arms that high would be nigh impossible, so I enjoyed it while I could.

We headed out through the long, dark row of white pines, me relaxing my back for any spooks due to birds and he tensing up as the herd grew further behind him. Once we reached the end of the drive, however, he had resigned himself to his fate of perhaps a thirty minute ride and settled in at a good pace.

The field was fast (a.k.a. dry) with good footing for some solid trot and canter work. He moved off my leg really well and I waited for him to leap into a run, but he didn't--he was right there with me. After a little work, we took advantage of the nearby neighborhood and did our own single-horse parade for the residents, also all obsessively manicuring their lawns. (Just one more good reason NOT to have a lawn.) We got a few startled looks and even a few carrots, while also leaving an unavoidable deposit near the Schroeders' mailbox. If anyone saw me drive back later and deposit that in the back of my Beetle in a large shovel, there will probably be men with white coats waiting for me next time around, but we at the Moodies' Rolling M Ranch like to put on tidy parades.

That is the second-most favorite thing about Julian: his adeptness as an equine ambassador. He turns heads wherever we go and reminds people of the beauty and power of the horse, as well as their gentle nature, which he shares with anyone that runs up with treats to offer or hands eager to pet him. As a child dreaming of horses I didn't even think there were horses anywhere near the "huge" city of Madison, and I like to make sure that the people near my ranch know that there are, and I'm willing to share.

Crossing back over the road from the neighborhood into the cornfield I was seized by an urge for my favorite reason for having a horse: a good healthy gallop. Julian was eager to oblige and lit out like we were riding the plains of Lonesome Dove after a wild herd of buffalo. Our rhythym was complete, with no need for me to hold anything but a loose collection of reins in my left hand, leaving my right hand free to circle in the air with my imaginary lasso. I vaguely remember cars passing by, but I couldn't bother to look over and miss my bison.

Luckily my "rope" fell on empty air, since I left my Bowie knife at home. Only thing harder than catching a bison is figuring out what the hell to do with it once you've caught him.

Once again, thank you, Julian, for helping me transcend our own reality. I don't know what you chase when we gallop, but I suspect you dream of it during the week as much as I do.

After the chase, chillin' with Mannie.

Not to forget Jack... I still haven't devoted much time to his training, as my health insurance is simply not that extensive, but I did brush and inspect him for his regular weekly nicks and cuts. As usual, he had a new one, this time right on his nose. He was kind enough to allow me to dress it with some Derma Gel, a great product that disinfects and helps the hair grow back in the same color it was--most important in a black horse, really. (Scars on horses grow back with white hair, generally speaking, so Derma Gel is my go-to product for Julian.)

As our fields fill with corn and our exploratory perimeters shrink for the summer, Jack will get more of the attention he so greatly deserves. And I'll keep trying to rope in more horse lovers, as the more hands I have out there, the more time I have for Jack, who only trusts a few two-legged folks so far.

Patience, Jack. We have not forgotten you.

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If only...

Jockey Calvin Borel atop Mine That Bird crosses the finish line to win the 135th running of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky. (AFP/Getty Images/Jamie Squire)

Something tells me that our man Calvin won't have any shortage of ride requests in the near future.

And if anyone was wondering how much you might have made had you succcessfully picked the Trifecta, chew on this. A friend of my brother-in-law bet $24 on the right trio, and took home a measly $50,000.

And what did YOU do this weekend?


And General Quarters? A respectable(?) tenth place.

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