Riding: If We Can’t Feel It, We Can’t Fix It.
After the last blog, a friend/trainer thought legs should have been mentioned. Or as she put it, "'The...
Riding: Feeling Every Stride, From Our Inside
This is the recurring nightmare. You're on a twisted version of Dancing with the Stars. There are glaring lights and...
Photo & Poem: At a Writing Workshop
At a Writing Workshop A dog stalks the sofa, gazing with one eye and then crossing his nose to...
The Middle Path: Negotiating Care With Busy Professionals
My advice: Find someone who gets along with donkeys. A question from two readers: "We...
Self-Awareness Without Apology
We aren't kids anymore. That's the complaint. Riding seems easier in memory. When we were younger, riding was rose-colored and...
Light Leading: The Invisible Rope
She was born on a full moon so I named my Iberian filly Claro De Luna. She was so...
See It Through His Eyes
It's a perfect day. No wind, not hot. The kind of day that you spend most of the months of...
Photo & Poem: A Smoky Memory
A dusky pink summer dawn, stepping out the porch door, halt. Dread at the smell of unnatural heat. How...
A Natural Instinct to Dominate
I find it fascinating to watch children talking to animals. It's almost like studying mustangs. Kids are who we are,...
Bringing Horses Home
We don't ask much from horses. It starts simply. On the day that we are thrilled to get the horse...
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