#graymarerant

An Anniversary Promotion From a Dead Horse

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Today is a big anniversary for me. Here is the thing about anniversaries; they only matter to the ones having them. We might congratulate married couples if anyone outside remembers the date. We mark the anniversary of years at work, looking toward retirement. Birthdays are anniversaries. Some of us celebrate sobriety milestones. Or remember the … Read more

Cowboys and Liberals

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When people talk about the romance of farming, I think they’ve watched too much TV and read too little Steinbeck. I grew up in a dictatorship. It was a farm in Minnesota ruled by my father. People don’t get rich farming. Decisions were made for our survival, not the animals. We ate what we raised. … Read more

Finding Sanity While Worrying for the Future

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Wrung out and pooped from consecutive days of snow and 40 mph winds, interspersed with monster gusts that felt like open-hand slaps. The horses stayed under shelter until the storm broke and then dragged themselves out to open dirt and slept all afternoon. I was too tired. The difference between life and the weather is … Read more

How to Attend a Clinic

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Gray Mare memories: It was one of the first clinics I ever attended. The clinician was famous; I signed up for three fifty-minute lessons that came to more than I paid for my horse. It was a huge amount of money to me. The night before the clinic was to start, we all went to … Read more

A Lesson about Squeamishness and a Donkey.

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WM mucking attireLook, it’s a selfie of me mucking last week. I like to get an early start in the summer. Over six hundred blog posts about this horse/life, and no one ever asks me for fashion tips. I wonder why?

I wasn’t always this sophisticated. I remember when I was maybe fifteen; it was morning and I was standing out waiting for the school bus. I glanced to scrutinize my outfit. I didn’t dress a whole lot better back then, but I certainly worried about it a lot more. That was when I saw them–maybe ten or eleven dark brown hairs that I’d missed while shaving. They were on the inside of my ankle, like a furry cuff. Like a Friesian fetlock.

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