tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5345357975932530222024-03-04T23:07:28.842-08:00A Girl and Her Horsesagirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-72649807190248532352012-06-22T11:49:00.001-07:002012-06-22T11:51:30.978-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I'm realizing more and more how special the love for horses is. It's very unique, and doesn't touch everyone. Trying to explain it is like trying to describe color to someone who was born blind. It's intangible, ethereal, and resists definition. No matter how close I get to putting it into words, the other person never walks away with a true understanding or a newborn adoration for equines like I hope to instill. The love just is, or it isn't. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">This quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson touches upon the strength of it. Yet again, though, even through the words of a great poet, the only people who seem to truly understand the words are horse people themselves. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion. It seizes a person whole and once it has done so, he/she will have to accept that his life will be radically changed.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">As much as I try to teach my husband this desperate passion for the horse, I don't think he will ever truly grasp it. I suppose his soul was not sewn with the hair from a horse's mane like mine. It will remain a privilege, given by the gods, to those of us who do love horses. </span>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-28351382039861693092012-04-21T12:50:00.004-07:002012-04-21T12:50:54.148-07:00I think this picture is so beautiful!!! It just may be the inspiration for a new story, maybe a story dedicated to the baby? Double inspiration. I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend!!!<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/158822324329197073/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="880" src="http://media-cache2.pinterest.com/upload/16747829834497851_6H0vrCct_c.jpg" width="584" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://snapzlife.com/horse-photography/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">snapzlife.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/snmcfarlin/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Stephanie</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
</div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-20757350472631161422012-04-18T17:28:00.001-07:002012-07-10T17:13:19.450-07:00<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Whiskey Midnight </span></b></div>
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<i><a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Read Part 1 here</a>, <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_02.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Part 2 here</a>, <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_03.html">Part 3 here</a>, <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_06.html">Part 4 here</a>, and <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_16.html">Part 5 here</a>! Please feel free to leave comments with suggestions, title ideas, etc.!</i></div>
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As she cleaned his stall, her mind went back to the old
apartment and its terrifying lone inhabitant. Her heart wrenched at the thought
that someone could be so cruel to another human being, let alone to a person
they’d once loved. As she thought, tears began sliding down her face at the
heartbreak and fear she’d endured and was now free from. But she wasn’t free
from the heartbreak, yet. Sylvia knew that only time and the
growth of new love would heal the searing ache.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She stopped mucking to wipe her face on her sleeve, and
glanced up at her new four-legged companion. He had been watching her from the
side of his stall where he had placed himself, but now he lumbered over to her.
He lowered his large, gentle head and pressed it against her. His head was as
long as her torso. She hugged it appreciatively, and he lifted it back up to
look at her again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Slowly, a squishy oblong pink flap slid out of his mouth to
flop goofily out the side of his face. Sylvia laughed as he bobbed his head up
and down, jouncing his tongue here and there. He had such a twinkle in his eye
and was acting so silly that she couldn’t deny that he was trying to cheer her
up. He never stopped looking straight into her eyes the entire time, and she
played the tongue game with him until Jose popped his head over the door to
check on her. She quickly got back to work, but not without a grateful stroke
to the horse’s nose. Somehow he had felt her heartbreak and known what to do.
Horses are healers, they say.</div>
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This must be true, for as the days and weeks went on with
Sylvia gradually learning the ropes of being a groom, her pain dwindled. The
big bay, who she now called Whiskey because of his ability to put her to sleep
so quickly that first night, had become her best friend. Without speaking, she
had shared her secrets with him and he had provided the unconditional love she
needed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jensen, the kind trainer who had taken Sylvia in, had shown
her where the groom’s dwellings were and set her up with her i.d. so no more
dashing in through the exit would be necessary. With his permission, Sylvia spent more and
more time with Whiskey, choosing to be with him when her work was done rather than go anywhere else. On many an occasion, Sylvia would slip in to spend the night in his stall, just like that first evening. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She made friends with other characters around the training
barn, too, like the exercise riders, Shelley and Alejandro, the eight other
grooms, and the black and white mousing cat affectionately called The Punisher.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She later ran into Benfield, the trainer who had come in to
the bakery that monumental day. She smiled at him, wondering if he would
recognize her. He smiled politely back, but didn’t seem to remember. And
that was okay, she realized. She had known him as much as she’d needed to in
order to make it to Jensen’s barn. Anything else was extra.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the first time in years, Sylvia was happy. Maybe it was
the fact she’d made a brand new life for herself, completely on her own. Maybe
it was the kind people she worked with. Maybe it was that she was around horses
all day every day. Most likely, it was the deep, spiritual connection she’d
made with the big bay gelding. He had been her rescuer, her healer. Like so
many people before her, Sylvia owed her renewal to a horse, and to the
horse she would be forever grateful. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>The End</b></div>
</div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-68116330617161081172012-04-16T16:44:00.001-07:002012-04-16T16:44:47.386-07:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Whiskey Midnight </span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i><a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Read Part 1 here</a>, <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_02.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Part 2 here</a>, <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_03.html">Part 3 here</a>, and <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_06.html">Part 4 here</a>! Please feel free to leave comments with suggestions, title ideas, etc.!</i></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My name is Sylvia. I- I’m looking for work,” she stammered.
“I have experience with horses and am a really hard worker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there anything I can do for you? Really-
I’ll do anything you need here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. It was
the truth, and maybe he would take pity on her. The trainer was still looking
long and hard at her. She did look trustworthy, he thought, and he did need
another groom to replace that bastard he’d fired yesterday.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Have you worked at a track before?” he asked in a gravelly
voice, suspecting the answer before she gave it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, no I haven’t. I’m a fast learner though, and I'm very
capable. And, like I said, I know horses even if I don’t know races . . . yet.”
Sylvia replied. She had her fingers wrapped tightly around the cedar horse
ornament, praying he would give her a chance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nodded once. “Alright. Well, yesterday I fired a groom
for showing up hungover and worthless. You can see how it goes takin’ care of
the horses he had here. My name’s Jensen if you need anything major. Jose can
get you started.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He called Jose over, the man who Sylvia had spoken to
earlier. He explained the situation quickly in what was most-decidedly Spanglish,
and Jose got the picture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Sylvia squeezed the ornament in thanks to whatever higher being had had mercy
on her request.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jose grinned at Sylvia and waved at her to follow him to the
first stall on the right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Estos caballos for you,” he told her, gesturing toward the
first three stalls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia tripped over her “gracias” as she watched him
carefully to see what she would need to do. He rolled over the wheelbarrow,
patient and resigned to its less than desirable task of carrying soiled
shavings and horse shit, and squeaked open the latch to the first stall. Sylvia
watched his technique as he scooped the first pile for her, noting the subtle
flick of the wrist that ensured a clean swipe. Believe it or not, mucking
stalls cleanly and efficiently is an art form of its own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jose held out the pitchfork to her, pointed out where the
fresh shavings were located, and left her on her own. She understood without
being told that she was to come get him again when her three charges had clean
stalls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Realizing she still had her bag on her shoulder, she plopped
it down on the ground outside the stall. Hell, it’s dirty anyway, she thought.
It certainly wasn’t the most glamorous job at the track, but Sylvia didn’t see
it that way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, she was so happy
with her new lot that she might as well have been scooping up singing
marshmallows into a wheelbarrow pushed by leprechauns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This first stall contained a brilliant chestnut filly who
watched Sylvia curiously as she worked. Once the stall looked fresh and
luxurious enough for royalty, Sylvia rewarded her own hard work with a warm hug
to the filly. She stroked the gleaming hair for a few seconds before turning to clean the next stall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This stall contained the 17 hand dark bay who had shared his
quarters with her last night. He greeted her with a wet snuffle on her hand,
and Sylvia smiled. There was something about this giant that went straight to
her still wounded heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To be continued . . . </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-12628503301024574292012-04-06T05:10:00.002-07:002012-04-16T16:43:12.664-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Whiskey Midnight </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>(Trying a new title . . . what do you think?)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<i><a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Read Part 1 here</a>, <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_02.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Part 2 here</a>, and <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_03.html">Part 3 here</a>! Please feel free to leave comments with suggestions, title ideas, etc.!</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia spotted a sign saying Jensen Racing Stables; this was
the barn she had been looking for. She sank to the ground on the dark side of
the barn to wait. She was still so excited, so proud of herself, so alive with
the nearness of the horses, but so very, very tired. Her head slowly dropped to
her knees and she slept. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia was awakened by the sound of hooves, shouts, and the
clanking of stall doors. The horses were back. She lifted her head to watch
their muscles ripple magnificently under their sweaty hides. Their nostrils
still flared with excitement, and the eyes of some horses were still very wide.
She drank in every part of those beautiful horses she could see . . . those
long delicate legs that somehow propel 1000 pounds at 40 mph . . . the neatly cropped manes . . . the long swishing tails . . . it was like food for her
soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia watched until every last horse had been taken into
his respective barn. She listened carefully as the horses were cared for and
bedded down for the night, until she no longer heard any more sounds other than
the rustling of the animals. Eventually she felt it was safe to go inside the
barn she had been resting against. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was warm inside. Low, soft lights made the barn so cozy
and comfortable, just like grandma’s house at night with the small warm lights here
and there to guide you to the bathroom. Sylvia floated down the main hall,
peering into each stall to take in its occupant. Most of the horses were dozing
peacefully, some with hips cocked to the side to rest a hind leg, some laying
down in the deep shavings like perfect life-size figurines. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia walked down both of the barn’s main hallways, drinking
in the peace that horses bring that she so desperately needed. One dark bay
stuck his gigantic head over the stall door when she approached. Sylvia let him
smell her, stroking his neck and putting one hand under his muzzle. His black
whiskers tickled her hand and she couldn’t resist planting a kiss on his big
soft cheek. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The instant companionship felt so natural, so right, Sylvia
wondered why she had ever let herself fall away from horses. She knew it wasn’t
a good idea, that she could get in mounds of trouble, that she could go to
jail, that this giant could cause serious harm to her, on accident or on
purpose, but she found herself unhooking the latch to his stall. She slipped
inside, petting him and reassuring him all the while, and he pulled his head back to be
entirely in the stall with her. Sylvia hugged his big strong neck, feeling so
safe with this giant stranger that she felt she’d known all her life. After
a couple more strokes and kisses, Sylvia nestled into a corner where she
couldn’t be seen immediately by someone walking by. The shavings felt so
springy and fresh, and she felt so at peace that sleep came almost instantly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was the deepest sleep she’d had in a long, long time, and
it had been without the assistance of whiskey. The sound of morning feeding
finally awakened her, and Sylvia took a few seconds to remember where she was.
When it all came back to her, she panicked. They might find her in this
multi-thousand dollar racehorse’s stall, where she had absolutely no reason or
permission to be! She slowly peeked over the edge, spotting a wheelbarrow two
stalls down and someone feeding down the opposite side. She had to take her
chance, and slipped out just in time before the person feeding turned around
from the stall he was at. She tried to look like she had just walked down the
hall, although shavings still clung to her clothes. Her bag still hung off her
shoulder where it had been all night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man studied her suspiciously. She had to say something .
. . what? What should she tell him? Sylvia began wishing she’d solidified even some sort of story. Finally she managed to fumble out a barely coherent sentence that
included the words “trainer”, “work”, and “horses”. He seemed to understand,
despite the apparent language barrier and Sylvia’s jumbled communication. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nodded toward the training office at the end of the barn
and turned back to his feeding. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her
head the direction he’d pointed. She was so thin, haggard-looking almost, but
there had been a spark of something hopeful in her eyes. He hoped the trainer wouldn’t
dismiss her like he often did people looking for work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Excuse me,” Sylvia said, with a mixture of boldness and
hesitation. A wiry, gruff-looking man stared hard at her through the office
door without answer. He pushed back his chair, leaving it out from the desk,
and stepped out to the hallway with her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wasn’t sure what to say next. This man looked like he’d
said no many times and would have no problem saying it again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To be continued . . .</i></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-27878901844088761852012-04-03T16:37:00.002-07:002012-07-22T16:23:29.152-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Whiskey Midnight</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<i><a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x.html" style="color: #56249d; text-decoration: none;">Read Part 1 here </a>and <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x_02.html">Part 2 here</a>! Please feel free to leave comments with suggestions, title ideas, etc.!</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia couldn’t believe herself, couldn’t believe her own
bravery, couldn’t believe that she was finally, actually free! She hugged her
own bony shoulders as she stepped off the apartment property, a huge smile on
her face. She could be Sylvia again, proud of who she was and where she was
going. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The track was a few miles away and it would be a long chilly
walk, but Sylvia could see the bright lights beckoning her in the distance. All
she had to do was follow the light, like a bug toward a bug zapper, only
hopefully not so gruesome at the end. It was scary, walking at night like that.
Sylvia made quick jerks with her head in any direction she heard a noise, and
the walk felt like an eternity. Eventually she found herself approaching the
drive to the Walther Downs parking lot, but that would only take her straight
to the actual racetrack and stadium. She needed the training barns. Sylvia kept
walking until she came across a sign that said “Horse Barns” with an arrow. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her footsteps were falling slower and heavier now, but her
heart was lighter than ever. She was almost there! She could smell the sweet,
savory fragrance of horses filling the air. She felt invigorated, alive for the
first time in so long. As she neared the barns, she noticed a chain link fence
looming in the darkness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Damn!” she muttered, fear taking hold of her again. What if
the security guards caught her and sent her back home, called the apartment and
woke Jackson up, made her go back to him . . . ? Her thoughts began spiraling
out of control. She had to get a hold of them so she could think straight! She
stood, body trembling, by the fence, studying the guard station that monitored
vehicles entering and leaving the training barn area. She took deep breaths to
calm herself and soon was recovered enough to notice that the guard was watching
tv and probably just keeping an eye out for headlights. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, Sylvia did see headlights from inside the training
area, heading toward the exit where she stood! She remained still in the
shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to slip through just when the truck
drove out and carried the guard’s attention away with its loud diesel engine.
She dashed through just as the truck bed passed her. The guard remained riveted
to his tv, and Sylvia let out a long breath of air. She couldn’t see the grass
she stood on but she was certain it felt greener than the other side. She’d
made it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The barns were quiet, though the lights were still shining
brightly as they waited for the horses from the final race to return. As she
drew closer, she could hear the crunching of hay, the rustling of shavings, the
kicking of an impatient and wide-awake stallion. This was home to her, and she
had never even been here before. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia snuck past the entry to the first barn; not a soul in
sight, though she knew people were there to care for the racehorses who would
soon return. The smartest thing for her to do would be to hole up somewhere
until everyone had left the barns for the night, Sylvia realized. In the
morning she would beg and plead and promise her firstborn child for a job with
any trainer she found.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To be continued . . . </i></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-49662164473483038292012-04-02T04:14:00.000-07:002012-07-22T16:24:07.915-07:00<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Whiskey Midnight</b></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2012/04/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-ja-x.html">Read Part 1 here! </a> Please feel free to leave comments with suggestions!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia wiped everything down as slowly as she could, squeezing
every last second out of her workday before she had to head home. Her bony arms
stuck out awkwardly from her uniform as she cleaned. She couldn’t seem to make
herself eat these days; it just didn’t seem worthwhile. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sylvia trudged up the stairs, praying with each step that
when she opened the apartment door she would see him lying on the couch like a
beached manatee, snoring away. The nights when he passed out before she got
home were like Christmas to her, and she creeped open the door to see if Santa
had left her a gift tonight . . . yes! Manatee status confirmed. He was out until
about noon tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She tiptoed in out of habit even though there wasn’t much
concern he would awaken in this state. Slipping into the bathroom, Sylvia took
a long hard look at herself in the mirror. She looked way older than 26, she
realized as she stared. Her face had lines on it that only a grandmother
elephant should have. Her skin sagged dully over bones that used to be graced
with youthful muscle tone. If she saw her dear mare Susie Q in the equivalent
of her condition, Sylvia realized, she would be beyond livid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So why did she not feel that way about herself? It was
wrong, she knew. She’d had loving parents who had taught her to appreciate
herself for who she was. It was like she was that frog who got placed in the
pot of water, and then the water gradually heated up to boiling, before he
could realize and jump out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She began to undress so she could wash off the smell of
coffee and cleaning bleach when she felt something in her pocket. It was a pen
that she’d forgotten she had shoved in there when she found it on the counter
after the men had left. It said Benfield Racing Stables in purple, listed
Michael Benfield as the head trainer, and gave a phone number. She stared at it
like she’d never seen a pen before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wasn’t one to believe in signs, but she was one to answer
a call if the call was strong enough. To Sylvia, in that moment, the call was
stronger than that pull of whiskey she’d taken when she’d walked in the door to
help her sleep. It was a split decision, but an unwavering one. She was going
to Walther Downs. She didn’t know what she would do or say when she got there,
but that didn’t matter. She was going to be with horses again, and that meant
she was going to feel unconditional love again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sylvia trembled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation
at her plan. What if Jackson did wake up? Once he was awake he wasn’t so much
like a lumbering manatee anymore- more like a hairy ridiculous gorilla, but
still scary. What if he figured out where she’d gone and tracked her down? He
had known of her love of horses at one time, though if he remembered she didn’t
know. She pushed the what if’s aside; they would only act as stumbling blocks
to her now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Suddenly nothing seemed to matter anymore except getting to
that racetrack. It was a ray of hope, and the smell of coffee and bleach on her
skin seemed to dissolve as she thought of the things she should gather. She
grabbed fresh clothes, bathroom necessities, some granola bars, and shakily
shoved them in her old duffel bag. She felt like a hobo putting together a
little knapsack to carry over her shoulder, she felt like a small child running
away for the first time. She felt . . . liberated. Terrifyingly liberated and
she wasn’t even out of the apartment yet. Last she reached way down into her
pillowcase and pulled out the cedarwood Christmas tree ornament her parents had
given her, in the shape of a horse. She pressed it to her mouth in a kiss and
breathed in the still lingering cedar smell. It gave her that last little bit
of love for her past mixed with hope for the future that she needed to take the
dreaded steps toward the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jackson the Manatee was still snoring, one flipper now
flopped over the edge of the couch. Should she leave a note? Some sort of
acknowledgement of the long-ago days when they had been happy? No, of course
not, she realized sadly. He had burned all those bridges already. She slipped
out the door with no more qualms, clutching the ornament for strength. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>To be continued.</i></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-73389539439913289912012-04-01T14:59:00.000-07:002012-07-22T16:24:51.168-07:00<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Whiskey Midnight</b></span></div>
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<i>Everyone loves a good horse story! Here's one I wrote last summer and still just love, but am not sure what to do with. For now, enjoy!! Please comment with suggestions!</i></div>
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It was dark, finally. Too dark to see her bruises, once
again dark enough that she could pretend they weren’t there. She breathed as
quietly and motionlessly as she could, willing herself to be completely still
so as not to wake him. He didn’t like to be woken up, not at all, and she
didn’t think she could take another one of his rages tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sylvia was a black-haired twenty-something, slender and
feminine in every way. Her soft looks contrasted sharply with the harsh and ugly
struggles she endured. The man she had married five years ago in the throes of
young love had transformed into a monster, and had dragged her down into his
misery with him. She didn’t know a safe way out, and she was too afraid to tell,
too afraid to leave.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But she wasn’t entirely alone in her troubles. She always
had a place to retreat to in her mind, a beautiful place of dewy pastures and
floating manes. She would go to this place, built on the memories of her
childhood, anytime his words became too stinging, his blows too rough. Sylvia
loved horses, had owned them and played with them when she was a girl, and she
desperately longed for their understanding gaze now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They lived in a crummy cheap apartment, not far from the
local racetrack, Walther Downs. Sometimes, if the wind was just right, Sylvia
could hear the cheers from the crowd carry to their tiny lopsided balcony. Just
knowing there were horses only a few miles away was a comfort to her, though
her longing to be near them again remained ever unfulfilled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She worked at a local bakery that she could walk to from the
apartment. It was always a relief to escape the home that had become a prison
to her. At work at least she was safe from Jackson’s drunken stupor. The job
left much to be desired, though, paying just over minimum wage, with uncaring employers
who had enough troubles of their own. The inside of the bakery was stark, getting
just enough customers for coffee and pastries to keep its doors open. Sylvia
was too afraid to look for something better, too afraid that if she left she
might not be able to find something, and then he would get mad at her. He would
get mad and she would regret trying to make things better for herself. She
knew; she had tried enough times.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a gray afternoon and Sylvia was replacing croissants
in the display case when the gentlemen walked in. She looked up, greeted them, and
put her head back down to work. They were speaking emphatically about
something, and a few key words caught her attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That filly’s gotta do better than she’s been doin’, with
that sire she’s got. I’ve gotta get a different rider on her, see if we can’t
get somethin’ more out of her,” the first man said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Well, you never know in this business. Racing’s a fickle
lover,” the second, shorter man responded.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sylvia was watching them with interest now. People from the
track didn’t usually come in here; there were closer bakeries and even gas
stations that probably had better baked goods nearer the track. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“ . . . I just had to get away from it for awhile . . .
couldn’t stand to run into Smith out there this morning. He never misses a
chance to rub a win in my face.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The men ordered coffee- black- and a piece of pound cake
each. Sylvia rang them up with a smile, hoping they might ask her if she
followed racing, or some similar invitation to their conversation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They didn’t, of course, and instead sat down at one of the
flimsy two-seater tables along the wall. Sylvia’s mind wandered to the feeling
of galloping bareback through the pasture on her childhood mare, Susie Q. She
missed those days so much it ached. However did she end up here, living this
kind of life? <o:p></o:p></div>
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“ . . . Well, I’ll be up at ol’ Barn C tomorrow mornin’ to
check out that colt Jensen wanted me to look at. Glad to have him for a
neighbor ‘stead of Smith, that’s for sure. He’s a stand-up guy, that Jensen,”
the taller man said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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His friend agreed with him, and scraped his chair back to
stand. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you, ma’am,” he said to Sylvia. “Have a good day,
now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you; you too,” Sylvia replied with her soft smile.
Horse people were the next best thing to horses most of the time. They tend to
say what they mean and Sylvia could appreciate that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A few more long hours passed in that workday, and Sylvia
served a few more lone customers before it was time to close up once again. She
had been thinking about what those men had said. Who was that filly who they
seemed to think underperformed? They hadn’t mentioned a name. And Jensen, and
Smith, those other men they had talked about . . . now that she had characters
and faces to identify with Walther Downs, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking
about it . . . <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>To be continued</i></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-49190707095733713032012-03-10T15:23:00.002-08:002012-03-10T15:23:43.834-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Walking Buddy</span></b></div>
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It's the first day of spring break!! Man, do I love spring break! Especially when it means I get to spend the whole week with my incredible hubby, who is awesomely making tomatillo salsa in the kitchen as we speak. He rocks.<br />
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It also means I get to spend a lot of time at the rescue getting as many horsey kisses as I can before school starts back again! Since we found out we're pregnant (yay!yay!yay!!!! <a href="http://dearlittledarling.blogspot.com/">You can read the full story here</a>) last week, I've been doing lots of research on things that are recommended and not recommended for women who are "in foal" (did ya like that joke? I did! Haha!). One of those highly not recommended things is activities that involve bouncing, i.e. lots of up and down motion, i.e. anything other than a walk for a rider. Boo. But because I love this little blueberry inside me more than anything already, I am totally willing to make the walking-only sacrifice for it! I'm so excited to be able say my little darling will have ridden a horse before it ever even exits the womb. He or she will be horse-crazy if I have anything to do with it!<br />
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There is one horse in particular at the rescue who happens to be a huge fan of walking, and so will be perfect for the next 8 months. This would be <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/2011/10/yeah-me-do-yammi-yammis-been-getting.html">Yammi</a>, a sweet old flea-bitten gray ex-racehorse with a heart of gold. He's going to be my pregnant walking buddy. We'll be alike in others ways, too, like the largeness of our bellies as I get farther along. And the general fuzziness, as I get farther along. And the gas, as I get farther along.<br />
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Yammi and I spent some time snuggling this morning while I explained everything to him. (Yammi happens to be a very good listener, you see). His large fuzzy body also provided a pleasant shield from the increasingly harder-pouring rain. Yammi's good for lots of things, umbrella being one of them! Here's an old picture of the dear fellow. I'm thinking I may get some pregnancy portraits done with him, too. I can't wait!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmopB5X_1DSJIb4R8sguQ-keeF1B9-5kdNnndBRnyhlfWkaNC2nnW8gGLhK_1I80VmMETLULjP8IzPRIhH-D1eIYxa3SQskuZKgADvRyTaGfS7ipfTujRkH_cAuxiyZn-lbfdGIyvO5Q0/s1600/IMG_0532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmopB5X_1DSJIb4R8sguQ-keeF1B9-5kdNnndBRnyhlfWkaNC2nnW8gGLhK_1I80VmMETLULjP8IzPRIhH-D1eIYxa3SQskuZKgADvRyTaGfS7ipfTujRkH_cAuxiyZn-lbfdGIyvO5Q0/s320/IMG_0532.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-4888275173283461642012-03-04T16:44:00.001-08:002012-03-04T16:45:02.389-08:00<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Big News!</span></b></div>
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I have SUCH exciting news to share, but it's something I can't share with people who know me just yet . . . only people who don't know me (outside of the blogosphere, that is, even though it feels like y'all are good friends!). You how you can tell a stranger on a plane your deepest darkest secrets because you know that even if they tell someone else, it still won't be someone you know? That's kinda what this is like!</div>
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Anyway, if you know me in "real" life PLEASE keep my secret for me until we are ready to share!</div>
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Okay, here goes! WE'RE PREGNANT!!!! I am so unbelievably excited, and so so very happy!</div>
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We just found out this morning, and we've already told our immediate family and closest friends, but I still want to tell more people! This is my alternative until I'm a little farther along and it's safer to let everybody in our everyday lives know.</div>
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Also, I will be chronicling my pregnancy in the form of a blog, written as letters to my future little darling. Please share this journey with me, too! <a href="http://dearlittledarling.blogspot.com/2012/03/dear-little-darling-i-found-out-you.html">http://dearlittledarling.blogspot.com/2012/03/dear-little-darling-i-found-out-you.html</a></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-18146291997337367662012-02-26T07:39:00.001-08:002012-02-26T07:39:14.385-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Preparing for Goodbye</span></b></div>
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I'm sitting here in Starbucks listening to the melancholy music and thinking about sweet Beau and how I may have to say goodbye to him today. He has someone coming to look at him, and I was unable to find a place that we could afford to keep him. The faithful part of me says that it wasn't meant to be. The practical part of me is mad I couldn't make it happen regardless of fate's whimsies. The hormonal, baby-wanting part of me says we need to save for a little McFarlin, anyway. Conflicted I am, today. Like Yoda I speak today, too.<br />
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I rode him yesterday for what could be the last time, and he exemplified everything I love him for. Sweet, agreeable, sensitive, a little flighty, kind of unpredictable but somehow still completely trustworthy. Eager, fun, responsive, beautiful. I was reminded of how even when things startle him, I still feel completely safe on him. Like, he wants to get away from the scary thing but he also wants to get me away from the scary thing, too. He listens for my reaction and reassuring words and responds. He challenges me in just the perfect way, and for those learning experiences I am thankful.<br />
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We may not have had a lot of time together, but he is a horse I will never forget. I am grateful for the months he spent at Remember Me so I could learn from him, love him, and be loved back. I will miss him so much, but I pray with all my heart that he finds a good home today. He deserves a loving adoptive mother who can see him every single day and spend endless time and attention on him. I really hope he finds this today, as heavy as it makes my heart. And this, it seems to me, is the true definition of love. I will let him go because it is best for him. With my heart in my throat, I prepare to say good-bye. I love you, Beau. You will always have a 16.2hh place in my heart.<br />
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<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-84253951933503609292012-02-17T18:39:00.004-08:002012-02-17T18:43:22.594-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/p/fiction-stories.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">*Read previous chapters here if you like!</span></a></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Shooting Star Stables, Chapter 3, continued</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> . . . In no time at all, it was Holly’s turn again. She took deep
breaths as she cantered Aphrodite once around the ring to settle them both
before approaching the jump. She tried to clear her head and concentrate on
each of Aphrodite’s strides as they happened. Then they were at the jump,
Aphrodite was bravely leaping over, and they were landing. Far from perfect,
Holly knew, but it was much better than before. She breathed a sigh of relief
and saw Katie and Jennifer smiling in approval. She mustered a small smile
back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As the girls began their cooldown, Katie told them goodbye
and walked back to the barn to help a little girl get ready for her private
lesson. Since it was a school night, the girls wouldn’t be able to go on their
after-lesson trail ride. They took their horses back to the barn, both a little
quiet and each contemplating the things she had done right and wrong in the
lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Although the rest of the lesson had gone well, Holly was
still feeling down about her continual rushing-the-fence problem. That good
last jump was probably just a fluke, she thought. She stroked Aphrodite’s
beautiful mahogony neck for comfort. After untacking her sweet mare, Holly
brushed her down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Such a good girl,” she cooed. “Thank you for putting up
with me when I screw up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Aphrodite responded by nudging her, as if to say “It’s okay.
Now please take me back to my stall. I’m hungry!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Holly lovingly tucked Aphrodite into her stall for the
night, checking that all her feed was there and that she had clean water. The
stable hands always did a great job of caring for the horses, but Holly never
felt right about leaving unless she checked everything first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">She gave Aphrodite one last kiss, latched the
stall door, and headed toward Firefly’s side of the barn. Jennifer was still
giving him some last-minute kisses, too.
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Mom just texted. She's pulling in," Holly said.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Okay. Bye, Firefly. I love you," Jennifer took one last whiff of his sweet horsey smell. She turned to walk with Holly. "Holl, you did really good today. Don't beat yourself up. Everyone has lessons they're less than happy with, even periods of time in their riding they're less than happy with. Don't worry, k?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Holly sighed. "You're right. Thanks, Jen." She smiled, but she still felt uneasy. Maybe in the morning she'd feel better about everything. </span>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-79458611160536436392012-02-15T19:20:00.000-08:002012-02-15T19:20:46.885-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Sweet, Sweet Thoroughbred</span></b></div>
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So I'm cheating a little bit by sharing with you <a href="http://shannonfornari.blogspot.com/2012/02/happy-cheap-candy-day.html">someone else's blog post</a>, but it was just too sweet NOT to share!! And it's funny because <a href="http://shannonfornari.blogspot.com/2012/02/happy-cheap-candy-day.html">A Work in Progress</a> said they think they are "cheating" with their post because it's a re-post from last year. Yay for cheating, or shall we say, recycling!! :)<br />
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Anyway, read it! You will love it.agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-41482494244808507202012-02-04T14:42:00.000-08:002012-02-17T18:30:40.381-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<i>It's that time of year again when school gets even more busy than before, so I won't have much time to post! Boo. It's a good time to share some more stories from Shooting Star Stables, though, since they're pretty much all pre-written! </i><i>Enjoy and please let me know what you think!! </i></div>
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<i>If you feel the need, you can catch up by reading <a href="http://girlandherhorses.blogspot.com/p/fiction-stories.html">Chapters 1 and 2 here!</a></i></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Shooting Star Stables ~ Chapter 3</span></b></div>
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Within thirty minutes the girls were arriving at the barn.
Jennifer and Holly rode to the barn together on lesson days, which made those
days even more exciting than they already were.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Holly’s mom’s champagne-colored Lexus SUV rolled to a stop
in front of Shooting Star Stables.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Bye, Mom! I love you!” Holly called as she dove out the
door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Bye! I love you too! I’ll pick you up at 5:30,” her mom
answered.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The girls hurried into the barn to change into their riding
clothes. They had less than a half hour to get themselves and their horses
ready for their lesson at 4.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jennifer zipped up her riding boots and speed-walked to
Firefly’s stall. She knew better than to ever run in the schooling barn, what
with so many young students around whose horses might spook. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She called Firefly’s name a couple times as she neared, and
he popped his finely-shaped gray head over the stall door. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hey, buddy! I missed you today at school!” Jennifer told
him, pulling her long curly hair back into a low ponytail. “Let’s go get you
ready for your lesson.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She slipped inside his stall, slid the light purple halter
over his nose, and led him out to the cross-ties. This was going to have to be
a speed-brush if she was going to make it out to the arena with a few minutes
to spare like she wanted.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Luckily, Firefly was fairly clean and it didn’t take long to
brush him down. Soon Jennifer had him saddled up and ready to bridle. As
always, Firefly stood still and sweet while being readied, and he accepted the
bit easily. Jennifer knew it was because she was always careful not to clank
the metal bit on his teeth, and had it fitted just right to not cause
discomfort. Plus, Firefly was just a really good boy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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They walked out to the arena. The sun was still high in the
late summer sky, and Jennifer tried to appreciate it as much as possible,
knowing that in just a few months it would be setting during their lessons. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Holly was out a few minutes later, and they began trotting
around the ring like Katie liked for them to do to warm up. Soon their perky
instructor with chin-length dirty blond hair strode out of the barn. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Nice form, Jennifer! Ask Firefly for a longer trot now,
please; remind him he’s working today!” she called. “Holly, beautiful position!
Your hands are getting much steadier. I would tighten up your reins just a
little bit more and Aphrodite will tuck her head prettier.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Holly did as she was told, pleased with the compliment and
determined to do well this afternoon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Good! Now keep that tension the whole time, giving just
enough when you go over a jump,” Katie praised her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The girls did a warm-up fence a few times each, practicing
collected, even strides with their mounts and a slow, non-rushed landing. Holly
could feel herself rushing the jump in her head, which caused Aphrodite to do
the same in real life. This caused their landing to be hurried and rougher than
it should be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Holly, remember to breathe! Focus on feeling Aphrodite as
she approaches the fence; be in the moment. </div>
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Your body knows what to do on the
landing so let it do the work without overthinking,” Katie advised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Overthinking. It wasHolly’s major problem with just about
everything, including algebra and apparently horseback riding, too. She felt
discouragement creeping into her heart and head as she watched Jennifer’s
near-perfect jumping style. Thank God Blair wasn't out here to make her feel even more self-conscious. She tried to push the negative feelings aside as it
was her turn again, and remember what Katie had just said about being in the
moment.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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She counted down the strides in her head as Aphrodite rocked
toward the jump. I’m ready for the jump, she told herself. She leaned forward
preparing to meet Aphrodite’s bay neck mid-leap. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Whoa!” Holly exclaimed as Aphrodite took a giant leap from
way too far back. They made it over the fence, but it was a jolting, unbalanced
landing that led to several very quick cantering strides. Holly regained her
seat and began pulling Aphrodite back in to an acceptable speed. She was
humiliated. That should never happen to a good rider, she muttered to herself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“You all right, Holly?” Katie asked, looking at Holly’s face
in concern. Holly saw Jennifer looking worried across the arena. Great, now I
suck at jumping AND they feel sorry for me, Holly thought sadly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t believe I rushed that jump
right after we talked about it!” she said in frustration.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It happens to everyone,” Jennifer called reassuringly. “I
used to do the same thing all the time; I promise!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Katie suggested the girls each take one more jump and then
work on dressage. She wanted Holly to end on a good jump, even though she knew
taking another fence was probably the last thing Holly wanted to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She was right. Holly did not want to risk rushing poor
Aphrodite through another fence, but she knew Katie had her best interest in
mind. Holly watched Jennifer take the jump once more, observing how she and
Firefly seemed to be like one being. She longed to ride like that . . .<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-16321611019536966852012-01-28T17:15:00.000-08:002012-01-28T17:15:32.478-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What an OTTB and a Quarter-Life Crisis Have in Common</span></b></div>
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I took the hubby out to meet Beau today! It was so fun watching them interact. Beau snuggled right up to him and leaned in for some good scratches. The two things I love most in the world in one place, my husband and a horse! It doesn't GET any better than that!!!<br />
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I made him take some pics of me with Beau since I just can't get enough. I absolutely and completely love this horse. I really think I'm going to try to buy this one, although every few months I seem to fall head-over-horseshoes in love with another one of the rescues, and go back and forth with myself like this:<br />
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Self 1: "I'm gonna buy him!"<br />
Self 2: "I know, I want him too, but board is just too expensive."<br />
Self 1: "I don't care. I love him. We'll make it work!"<br />
Self 2: "You're right, let's get him!"<br />
Self 1: "We can't."<br />
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No joke! That's exactly how it goes. But this time, my 25th birthday is coming up and I really want to make sure it means something. I mean, it'll be a quarter of a century that I have been blessed with this beautiful life. I've met and married the person I love most in the world, have a steady job and am able to provide of the two of us while he goes through med school, and I adore my two precious furry doggy children.<br />
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However, when I think back to what I thought that my life would be like at 25, there was absolutely no imagined scenario in which I DIDN'T have a horse. I mean, really. No matter what I thought I'd be doing (and believe me, in none of these scenarios was I a teacher, either! ha!), I at least had one horse. Usually more than one. As a self-sufficient adult who is perfectly capable of making things happen for herself, why haven't I made this one entirely feasible dream come true for myself?<br />
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Yes, it will be expensive. But, we just paid off Jared's motorcycle, and now it's time for MY big exciting purchase! :) Funny that they're both rideable . . . lol! I just need to work out a few details. I really and truly can't devote $400 a month to board and other expenses. Like, I can't. That doesn't mean I have to give up, though. I just know that there is some blessed and heavenly soul around here who would let him stay for the cost of feed and a little more. I just know it. Horse people are like fairy godmothers to each other, coming in at just the right time to help dreams come true. It's just what we do for each other. It's a mutual understanding of a desperate love for these animals. I've done it for others, and will continue to assist this equine love until my last day.<br />
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So on that note, please please please let me know if you have any ideas or suggestions for me! And here is my darling Beau, all 16.2 furry-winter-coat hands of him!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPIP9ojxgVoGV28VTYlNnsdtyh7P9_Vt1hDEnftC1foLXNIPEMYkDorR2GGlwbkVvhtvKWuByyg1C0mvXMfRaf2UR5PElZkrVzUWf2YipjYy_LLWTIJJosfemSgoFGADKunqxWp3xNFXM/s1600/beau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPIP9ojxgVoGV28VTYlNnsdtyh7P9_Vt1hDEnftC1foLXNIPEMYkDorR2GGlwbkVvhtvKWuByyg1C0mvXMfRaf2UR5PElZkrVzUWf2YipjYy_LLWTIJJosfemSgoFGADKunqxWp3xNFXM/s320/beau.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-10172579399404648262012-01-21T10:59:00.000-08:002012-01-21T10:59:05.965-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Clearly Persuaded</b></span></div>
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She's back!! The beautiful Clearly Persuaded is back at Remember Me Rescue, and I couldn't be more excited. I was in love with this mare before she got adopted a few summers ago, and have never forgotten her sweet quiet nature. That country song that goes "she don't know she's beautiful . . . " comes to mind with her- so stunning and so humble at the same time!<br />
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Now that I have a second chance to own her, it's REALLY hard to talk myself out of a horse! I have to keep reminding myself "we can't afford board, we can't afford board, we can't afford board" . . . ha!<br />
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Here are some pics of her before she got adopted last time. I plan to take more tomorrow and will post them!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjteGsBdQehQbO0eUhWrZw4TJi7KW0DeSU8nrwZzbTQU2auCrrkuTe3xT4sqaqPwgkLIekzaerLLsa0MBn-3SVIdvQo-2KATxg3yL5XbYjTFFaWqxnRbj4rbdYI_hND6TKHYa-iNW2d3-Ep/s1600/clearly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjteGsBdQehQbO0eUhWrZw4TJi7KW0DeSU8nrwZzbTQU2auCrrkuTe3xT4sqaqPwgkLIekzaerLLsa0MBn-3SVIdvQo-2KATxg3yL5XbYjTFFaWqxnRbj4rbdYI_hND6TKHYa-iNW2d3-Ep/s320/clearly.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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She looks good in racing shape!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDiiO8f-igqtZ-qSli-Q1AJoPIq3KsQPzRzvjfBh_V-PqFoO9EpDE4ki9H3AYLQH8_oRCuY7O2EEvmV0va-ZkjUJU_2KayzxmkgvxnN-YAVdJZmArJfbeoUkCsk2ebsm1nCOBTvGzoCKY/s1600/cp1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDiiO8f-igqtZ-qSli-Q1AJoPIq3KsQPzRzvjfBh_V-PqFoO9EpDE4ki9H3AYLQH8_oRCuY7O2EEvmV0va-ZkjUJU_2KayzxmkgvxnN-YAVdJZmArJfbeoUkCsk2ebsm1nCOBTvGzoCKY/s1600/cp1.jpg" /></a></div>
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Beautiful head</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2u2JKDpDAH6VDjxiUITUSkwaG1cxZ0enr99q74tA-LzW05zuHcbofImAf7MlzED-1ssFhLZUi1FIMZW7FoKX_CChUPyrb5_qDnvBazzK2XzNdJ9r2sbTGWjwCz-_cyPPFirHt6hyVITJN/s1600/IMG_0253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2u2JKDpDAH6VDjxiUITUSkwaG1cxZ0enr99q74tA-LzW05zuHcbofImAf7MlzED-1ssFhLZUi1FIMZW7FoKX_CChUPyrb5_qDnvBazzK2XzNdJ9r2sbTGWjwCz-_cyPPFirHt6hyVITJN/s320/IMG_0253.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The classic "We're friends!" pose!</div>
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Sweet kisses.</div>
<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-48737194849897589472012-01-16T07:00:00.000-08:002012-01-16T07:00:12.460-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I Have a Dream . . . </span></b></div>
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Well, it's been awhile since my last post but that's a good thing because it means I've had enough time to make it out to the rescue where I work with OTTBs! It's a forty minute drive out there so sometimes I can only go once every two weeks or so . . . SAD! But one of my New Year's resolutions was to let myself devote at least one night a week to the horses, no matter what might be in the way, and so far I've done a pretty good job of sticking to it! It's hard sometimes with teaching school, but since horses are such a good stress reliever I think it's working out!<div>
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Anyway, that was a whole lot of words to apologize for not posting in awhile, and to say that I might have to reserve my Horse of the Week topic for summers when I have more time to do a good job researching.</div>
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In other news, I think Beau may have found a home! Remember this guy? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh122craI_vml5cHVE2ts3tG-tp-bJl8cbbr0F_mRZxARsDxK_qivuk4ZQcmlBSrfbkFQqt8FxHUPL39VKxj5of8ne1OsrhxqiuWA_9JMa7oUitWVf8-AZU2O-Cd_zdz89TKcantE8SAM5K/s1600/IMG_0672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh122craI_vml5cHVE2ts3tG-tp-bJl8cbbr0F_mRZxARsDxK_qivuk4ZQcmlBSrfbkFQqt8FxHUPL39VKxj5of8ne1OsrhxqiuWA_9JMa7oUitWVf8-AZU2O-Cd_zdz89TKcantE8SAM5K/s320/IMG_0672.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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So sweet and willing and fun! He has someone who fell in love with him just from his pictures and description, so hopefully he'll be heading home with a wonderful new owner in February! I'm going to miss him a lot, but I'm happy for him.<br />
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Here he is again, complying with my "we're-such-good-friends, let's-take-a-picture-together-while-I-hold-the-camera-awkwardly-out-in-front-of-us!" urge! Ha!</div>
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I've also been able to spend some time working with some of the horses who were rescued from the 60 horse seizure that occurred in Many, LA, recently. <a href="http://www.teamkeen.com/">Remember Me Rescue</a> was there to help round up, evaluate, treat, and find foster homes for the starving horses. Four of these sweet neglected creatures returned home to Remember Me for lots of TLC and rehabilitation until they are ready for new homes. I got to meet these 2 and 3 year olds, who had been so malnourished for so long that their growth was stunted, leaving them now just at the size of yearlings. Heartbreaking.</div>
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They are learning to trust, and are as sweet as can be. I feel privileged to be a part of such an amazing rescue that drove across the state and into another state to rescue these horses. It's going to be a huge expense, especially since some of the mares (who are in even worse shape than the colts and filly already at RMR) may be coming to the rescue soon, too, as soon as they are strong enough to travel. All horses have been removed from the property of the neglectful owner and are in the safe hands of Remember Me Rescue, the Louisiana Horse Rescue Association, the Sabine Humane Society, or other fosters. To read the full story, follow any of the following links (I will try to post a summary of events as well in the next few days):</div>
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**You can donate to this cause at the link directly below, as well. </div>
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<a href="http://www.teamkeen.com/manylahorseseizure.html">http://www.teamkeen.com/manylahorseseizure.html</a></div>
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<a href="http://pastthegrandstand.blogspot.com/2012/01/making-effort-to-keep-horses-safe-many.html">http://pastthegrandstand.blogspot.com/2012/01/making-effort-to-keep-horses-safe-many.html</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.horseracingnation.com/blogs/zatt/You_may_not_want_to_see_this_but_you_need_to_123">http://www.horseracingnation.com/blogs/zatt/You_may_not_want_to_see_this_but_you_need_to_123</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.paulickreport.com/index.php/news/bloodstock/louisiana-dozens-of-malnourished-racehorses-discovered-on-farm-massive-rescue-effort/">http://www.paulickreport.com/index.php/news/bloodstock/louisiana-dozens-of-malnourished-racehorses-discovered-on-farm-massive-rescue-effort/</a></div>
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<a href="http://catsphotography.com/2012/01/horse-seizure-in-many-la/">http://catsphotography.com/2012/01/horse-seizure-in-many-la/</a></div>
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Here's a video of one of the mares who was seized from the man's farm. This mare will hopefully be joining us at RMR as soon as she is able. </div>
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Have a wonderful Martin Luther King Day, and as we think about the abuse these horses suffered, remember that love and compassion WILL overcome! </div>
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"I have a dream . . . "</span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-6986631998172606562012-01-06T15:48:00.000-08:002012-01-07T04:55:06.423-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Mattress Mack</span></b></div>
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It's time to share with y'all another horse I have desperately loved. Mattress Mack was a stunning gray OTTB who I met at <a href="http://www.teamkeen.com/">Remember Me Rescue</a> last spring. Being an incorrigible sucker for grays, I instantly fell in love with his gorgeous features. After spending just a few minutes with him, I had fallen in love with his precious personality, too.<br />
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I remember the day I met Mack at the rescue. I spent nearly an hour brushing his shiny light grey coat and sharply contrasting charcoal gray mane and tail. His legs dappled alternately into a gorgeous rusty brown and deep black. He was pure magic in color.<br />
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I spent as much time as I could loving on Mack, riding him, helping with his re-training. I soon found myself discussing with the hubby my intent to buy Mack. It was such a crazy decision, but I couldn't think past the chance to own the horse of my dreams! He was gray (my favorite equine color), met my 16+ hh requirement, would be able to jump, was a complete snuggle-bug . . . everything fit!<br />
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And then reality set in. How would I board him? Sure I could afford is adoption fee, but could I afford the $300-500 monthly boarding costs of area barns? What about shoeing, possible vet bills, monthly horse insurance to offset the possible vet bills . . . ? It all turned out to be too much for my wimpy teaching salary, my wild dream too crazy for my pragmatic outlook. Someday, I assured myself for the thousandth time EVER, someday. It seems to be my mantra.<br />
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With such beautiful pictures of him plastered all over Facebook, it wasn't long before Mack was snatched up by an adopter. I'm so happy he's in a wonderful home, but I still miss him a lot. Before he was adopted I managed to get some professional photos taken of Mack and me together, one of which I used for my headshot when I tried out for DCC. He's a beautiful boy, isn't he??!<br />
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Photo by <a href="http://terricagephotography.com/">Terri Cage Photography</a></div>
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Photo by <a href="http://terricagephotography.com/">Terri Cage Photography</a></div>
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<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-22803857774286503622011-12-31T07:13:00.000-08:002011-12-31T07:14:17.492-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The Sport of Kings</b></span></div>
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This is such an insightful article on horse racing and the importance of fans to the sport. We can't let the sport of kings dwindle! <a href="http://pastthegrandstand.blogspot.com/">http://pastthegrandstand.blogspot.com/</a> Thanks for sharing, <a href="http://pastthegrandstand.blogspot.com/">Past the Grandstand</a>!!<br />
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<a href="http://www.lonestarpark.com/assets/0/79/91/291/b6a5d6d5-4135-45b7-aaad-020abbe9eade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="48" src="http://www.lonestarpark.com/assets/0/79/91/291/b6a5d6d5-4135-45b7-aaad-020abbe9eade.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: <a href="http://lonestarpark.com/">lonestarpark.com</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-80486729880574630352011-12-27T19:21:00.000-08:002011-12-28T05:19:02.317-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Wednesday Wish List</span></b></div>
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As always, topping the list is an OTTB! I don't think I'll ever stop wanting one of these- until I get one, that is, and then I'm sure I'll still just want more of them!<br />
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This adorable guy is named Heather's Prince, aka Beau, and he's a beautiful 4-year-old bay with the nature of a teddy bear. At 16.2 hands high, he meets my height requirement for sure!! I love his alert responsiveness and sweet, brave interest in the world around him. That adorable, awe-filled awareness of their surroundings is one of my favorite things about all young TBs! I'll need to alter my wish list slightly to request that Beau stay 4 years old forever. Haha!<br />
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He's truly a sweetie pie, and would be wonderful as anything from favorite trail buddy to dressage show horse, not to mention your best friend. I just love him!!<br />
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If you are interested in putting this beauty on <i>your</i> wish list, check out <a href="http://www.teamkeen.com/horsesavailable/heathersprince.html">Remember Me Rescue</a> for more info and to schedule a time to go see him! <a href="mailto:snmcfarlin@gmail.com">You can also email me for more info on him, too! </a><br />
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<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-78332361303276752132011-12-22T19:13:00.000-08:002011-12-27T10:20:07.973-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Champion of the Week</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There are so many incredible horses that have passed through this world that I want to feature one a week for admiration and discussion. I love reading up on human celebrities, so finding out more on equine celebrities will be even better! Suggestions on which equine champions to feature as we go along are very welcome!!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The very first celebrity to be honored is the worthy Hickstead. Hickstead's story begins fifteen years ago in the Netherlands on March 2 (<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/hicksteads-legacy-a-soaring-love-story/article2234303/">Globe</a>), where he was born to breeder <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">B. van Schindel & M. Kessel (<a href="http://www.gestuet-sprehe.de/en/stallions/hickstead/">Gestuet-sprehe</a>).</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; line-height: 19px;"> </span> Hickstead's "mere" 16 hands made him at first ineligible to be a registered Dutch Warmblood (<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/hicksteads-legacy-a-soaring-love-story/article2234303/">Globe</a>), but as the world soon witnessed, Hickstead's shorter height meant little when paired with his huge heart.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Hickstead waited for seven years as potential owner after potential owner passed him by, seeing a horse too small for his great excitability (<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/hicksteads-legacy-a-soaring-love-story/article2234303/">Globe</a>). Who knows how Hickstead felt that pivotal day when a new rider settled onto his back. After so many years of being passed over, Hickstead's time finally came when Canadian show jumper Eric Lamaze arrived with his horse dealer to Hickstead's farm to see the stallion a second time (<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/hicksteads-legacy-a-soaring-love-story/article2234303/">Globe</a>). Lamaze gave Hickstead a chance, climbed on, and something between the two clicked.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm sure it was like magic for the two of them, that spark you feel when a horse just <i>gets</i> you, and you</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">understand him. As one blogger eloquently states in regard to Hickstead, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Equestrian champions are [even rarer], as man and horse must find each other and see the same dream. " (<a href="http://neighflix.blogspot.com/">Neighflix</a>). Hickstead and Lamaze must have shared the same dream, as they surged to greatness together. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Thousands thrilled to watch the two in the ring. Hickstead's heart for jumps and commitment to his rider</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">were apparent even to those not accustomed to equine sports. Their successes together are incredible, in nearly every regard. Monetarily, the two won $3 million together (<a href="http://www.chronofhorse.com/article/hickstead-gone">Chronicle</a>), along with the astounding championships that provided that prize money. As anyone who has ever known a champion realizes, though, the intangible rewards had to be even greater for horse and rider</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">It was in the first round of the Rolex Grand Prix in Verona CSI-W that Hickstead's great heart floundered (<a href="http://www.chronofhorse.com/article/hickstead-gone">Chronicle</a>). It was believed to be a heart attack that brought the great Hickstead to an end (<a href="http://www.chronofhorse.com/article/hickstead-gone">Chronicle</a>), but his legacy will not be diminished. You can hear the ache in Lamaze's words when he says "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">It is the most tragic thing that has ever happened. We had him until he was 15, and we had a great time together. He was the best horse in the world" (<a href="http://www.chronofhorse.com/article/hickstead-gone">Chronicle</a>). Those of us who have ever loved and lost a horse understand. We find ourselves repeating Lamaze's exact words . . . We had her for 12 years . . . He was the best horse in the world . . . She was the most wonderful horse I've ever owned . . . He was everything to me . . . </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">And the death of a champion becomes so much more than a single tragedy. It becomes a despair felt across the world by horse lovers, uniting us in loss, for we know there will never be another Hickstead, another Blaze, another Rocket, another Glo . . .</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">So true do we know to be the proverb "F</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">or every horse there is one rider and for every rider there is one horse,” as delivered by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Akaash Maharaj, chief executive office of Equine Canada and the Canadian national equestrian team (<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/hicksteads-legacy-a-soaring-love-story/article2234303/">Globe</a>). And yet how true is it that still we continue to seek another horse to connect with, another champion to win our hearts. And so it will go on forever, as it should. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">Source: <a href="http://www.gestuet-sprehe.de/en/stallions/hickstead/">Gestut Sprehe</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A tribute to and moment of silence in honor of Hickstead</span></div>
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<br />agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-36478969607353243002011-12-22T10:40:00.000-08:002011-12-22T10:40:31.856-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I Must Share This!</span></div>
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I've felt that the glory of the thoroughbred beyond the racing spectrum is wildly under appreciated, and I know many OTTB-lovers feel the same. This blog post says it all, and expresses some very exciting ideas about the future of thoroughbreds in America! (Not to mention this is one of my favorite horse blogs of all time- you will love it, too!)<br />
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<a href="http://www.retiredracehorseblog.com/">http://www.retiredracehorseblog.com/</a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Gem Twist, a thoroughbred, of course!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Source: Retired Racehorse Blog</span></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-12300956272899061452011-12-21T18:33:00.000-08:002011-12-21T18:33:15.961-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Best Horse Gift That Wasn't Actually a Horse</span></b></div>
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The hubby and I just returned from one of the most wonderful Christmases ever. We went to Lubbock to visit my family and have an early Christmas with them, and it was absolutely delightful. The best part was undoubtedly getting to spend precious time with my dear mom, dad, and sister. I love them so much and am so very thankful for them. Gifts were thoughtful, meaningful, and heartfelt from all, and the love, joy, and sharing was tangible as we gave from our hearts.<div>
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I believe I may have received the most considerate gift of all this year, though. But first, some background information. My sweet family has always regarded my horse-craziness with kindness and respect, albeit some confusion. Many loving horse-themed gifts have been accrued over the years, including some real-live equines. This gift was extra-special though, because this time my husband, in all his lack of horse-craziness, was integrally involved.</div>
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You see, my mom had the idea to have a huge picture printed on canvas of one of the horses at <a href="http://teamkeen.com/">Remember Me Rescue</a>. My heart and soul are in the wonderful horses at this rescue, and each one seems more beautiful than the next. Truly one of the most beautiful horses to ever stay at that barn, though, I happened to have taken a picture of a few months ago. Sneaky sneaky Jared stole it from my computer and sent it to my mom to have printed for me, and now I have the most gorgeous piece of art I have ever owned. Beautiful because of the composition, yes, beautiful because of the contrast, yes, beautiful because of the movement, yes. But even more beautiful because of what it represents to me. More beautiful because it expresses my love for the thoroughbred. More beautiful because my family who doesn't share my love for horses loves me enough to get me this perfect incarnation of my life's passion. </div>
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It's beautiful up and down, sideways, forward and backward, anywayyoulookatit. I will treasure this gift forever! (I'll post a picture of the print hanging as soon as we get it up, but here's the photo it came from!)</div>
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<br /></div>agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-46386429809587240672011-12-11T10:42:00.001-08:002011-12-11T11:13:32.760-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">A Horse for Christmas</span></b></div>
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<i>To every little girl who has ever asked for a horse for Christmas . . . I understand.</i></div>
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Horses are the closest to things to magic you will ever experience on earth, but if you don't get a pony for Christmas, it's okay. Their magic will remain, waiting until you can grasp it.<br />
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A horse will be the best friend you've ever had, but if you don't get one for Christmas, it's okay. Practice being a good friend to the people around you, so you're ready to receive a horse's friendship when it's time.<br />
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There is nothing like the connection between a horse and rider who trust each other, but if you don't get a horse for Christmas, it's okay. Keep taking lessons, ask to help out at nearby barns, ride every chance you get, and you can still have that connection.<br />
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Horses are beautiful, graceful, intuitive, strong, and sensitive, but if you don't get one this holiday, it's okay. Model yourself after their characteristics and you, too, will become a beautiful being.<br />
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A horse is the best gift you may ever receive, but if you don't get a horse this Christmas, it's okay. Give <i>yourself</i> the gift of a horse when the time is right.<br />
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There is nothing like the feeling of helping a horse in need, and that is something you <i>can</i> get this Christmas. Lots of horses at rescues all over the country are waiting for a kind heart like yours to donate money for food or supplies. Helping these horses have better lives will be the next best thing to owning one of your own.<br />
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When you are older and much time has passed, don't forget your childhood dream. Chase that dream, and make it happen for yourself. Find a horse somewhere, somehow to love, and you will be happy. Because as a 25-year-old little girl who still asks for a horse for Christmas every year, I know that joy is found in horses whether I own them or not. It is still not the right time for me to have a horse for Christmas, but as long as I can connect my heart to theirs sometimes, it's okay.agirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534535797593253022.post-45340106115202929202011-12-04T12:15:00.001-08:002011-12-04T12:31:23.680-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What breed of horse would you be?</span></b></div>
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This is always fun for me to think about, maybe because I'm still ten years old at heart? I don't care, though! Ten-year-old horse crazy girls have the best time, for sure.<br />
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I don't know if it's because I love them so terribly much or just desperately wish I could be so beautiful, but I would want to be a Thoroughbred. Graceful, kind, whimsical, affectionate . . . seems to fit me pretty well (except the graceful part sometimes!).<br />
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I've even made my husband analyze what kind of horse he would be, much to his chagrin. I think we landed on a draft breed because he's so steady and strong.<br />
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There's a couple silly quizzes below that are supposed to tell you what breed you would be, but I really think a better one must exist somewhere. So tell me, what breed of horse would YOU be??<br />
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<a href="http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_breed_of_horse_are_you_1">http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_breed_of_horse_are_you_1</a><br />
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http://quiz.myyearbook.com/myspace/Animals/1636/Find_out_what_horse_breed_you_really_are_pics.htmlagirlandherhorseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00154200020468421602noreply@blogger.com1