Doranna Durgin's Blog, page 114

Continuing Coolness

It's another week of fun stuff, which seems just about right for this time of year.  Not only do I have a new cover to share, but I am all about the glee because I have…

Drumrollllllllllllllll

A book trailer! For Storm of Reckoning!

1. Cover!  Cover!  Cover!  So excited! (Does it show?)

What do I like best, you ask? Garrie is perfect!  And doesn't the river look spooky?  And look!  There's Sklayne!

Wait, you mean I have to choose ONE best?

Nah.  Not gonna happen.

Deep River Reckoning is a novella set in my Reckoners world.  Stand-alone, and in a timeline that…well, call it wishful thinking.  It's Garrie and Trevarr and Sklayne, and it's the journey of a post-living woman [Garrie's words, those] striking close to home while living and dead clash over the mysteriously damaged spirits of the Rio Grande.

($1.49 ~Kindle ~Smashwords)

2. BOOK TRAILER! Storm of Reckoning!

Storm of Reckoning is the second book in the Reckoners series (the first aptly being titled Reckoners).

Lisa "Garrie" McGarrity is young woman once mentored by a ghost who now leads a ghostbuster team–all of whom are recently entangled with Trevarr, a fiercely driven demon-hunter from a different dimension.  After tumultuous adventures in San Jose, the team finds themselves much changed and struggling to adjust, while Trevarr returns to this world–and to Garrie–a battered exile.

But Garrie and her team don't head for home; Quinn Rossiter has a lady friend in Sedona who needs their help.  There, in that area of power convergence, Garrie is astonished to find the ethereal breezes quiet, the earth's activity so diminished as to be nonexistent…if you don't count those oddball surges that don't taste like our world at all.  Soon enough, Quinn's skeptical friend soon goes missing…soon enough, their efforts to contain the situation go amazingly awry.

With Trevarr wary and alert, his opinionated not-cat bond partner dropping dire hints of trouble on their trail, Sedona ghosts rising to act out against Garrie wherever she goes, and one living Keharian ethereal breeze detector gone completely amuck and on the loose, she has only just so much time to figure out what's going on before the power plays are too much even for this one-of-a-kind reckoner and her otherworldly partner.

You see?  CONTINUING COOLNESS!

PS The default place where the book trailer "hovers" between plays?  It's not my fault!

Size Matters

Well, INCHES matter.

One inch, said the weather critters of the impending snow. Three if over 7500′ altitude (we're just below 7000′).

Fifteen inches later…

Snow means a waterpack on the mountains, and good slow water soaking into the sucked-bone dry ground.

But so much snow all at once? On our gravel driveway and hilly dirt road, that equals "snowbound."

I dug out the barn. I worked on the driveway.  I took ibuprofen!  I dug some more and helped a kid who got stuck at the corner in the family van.

I stared at the remaining snow blocking my car and said, "No."

But!  I still got the mail from the rural community box.  I might not have 4WD, but the mailman does.  And I have four HOOF drive.

Duncan was somewhat excessively proud of himself and his patience while I leaned, jostled, and made aurgh noises, trying to manage the awkward angle of that flat, tray-type mail niche.

DuncanHorse: ONE of us is dignified.

But hey–we trundled right on past those those stuck cars we passed along the way.

Dart Beagle hasn't seen snow–just the massive hailstorm from October (still undergoing repairs…).  So this All at Once deluge was of some surprise to him.

I took lots more pictures, but the camera ate everything but this. Boo!

Dart Beagle: I MUST EAT ALL THE SNOW!

Dart Beagle: I MUST PEE ON ALL THE SNOW!

Which is a pretty convenient sequence when you think about it.

Connery Beagle: I love my dogloo.  You fool.  BAWH!

[Connery's just being dramatic.  He spent most of the time inside.]

The camera ate the pics before the entrances were tromped open. Boo!

So it's a good thing I went out and took piccies of the wild Christmas trees two days before all this snow fell.

What, you don't have wild Christmas trees? Around here we apparently grow them on the National Forest land.

Yes, the sky was that blue.

PS And Sunday, because of the immediate warming trend and the strength of the mountain sun, we had…wait for it…THE MELT.  *splooge*  Like butter in a microwave.  Turns out there's an awful lot of water in all that snow…

A Testament to T's Testicles

By Patty Wilber 

 WHAT? 

 Yep! It is done!  

 T's Dad says:  

There once was a stud named T.

The vet said I'll change THAT for a fee.

So a quick cut.

South of the gut.

And T was no longer a he.

On Tuesday, three vets from Meddleton Equine, a veterinary assistant, T's Dad (working on the barn roof) and me were all here for the work on Tabooli (tooth work and castration), Buckshot (tooth work and chiropractic) and Show Boy (chiropractic).   

Normally, Tabooli is a cinch to catch while Buckshot tends to flinch and  move off as I approach (working on that).  

Tuesday, though, they both were wild-men, running about, tails arched up over their backs.  They rushed to one corner (it is a 1/3 acre pen) then turned to snort at me.  As I'd get near, they'd charge off, tossing their heads and looking at me over their shoulders!  

Maybe they were just being silly, maybe they were excited by the metal going up on the hay barn (which is not that close to their pen), or maybe Buckshot was telling Tabooli about the castrations he'd witnessed at home, Whispering Spirit Ranch. (If you click the link, Buckshot's real name is  "A Para Dox", and if you click the "Winners" tab, you can see me–whoo hoo–"kick ass horse trainer"…which might need to be the topic of a pyschology related blog…but ANYWAY…)  

Tabooli tired of the game first.  I tied him up.  Buckshot snuck in to be near his buddy and I sweet talked him.  Show Boy was, of course, perfectly happy to be haltered and led to the tie-rack.   

Then they waited.   

Tabooli, waiting.

Well, as long as we have to wait, might as well work on Buckshot's scardy-cat thing--looking pretty confident here!

Show Boy and The Supervisor (Risa). Penny is also supervising, but she is just not in the photo.

 T had his teeth worked on first (more on that next week  in "A Testament to Teeth").  And then, the castration.    

 Warning:  The pictures show the real deal, so if you don't want to see them, stop now!  

 Since Tabooli is four, the vet elected to lay him down rather than do the "procedure" standing.   

Drugged!

Supervising!

Down and getting cleaned. The ropes are to keep the vet (Dr. Jessica Marsh) safe and give her room to work

Making The Incision

Extracting the first testicle.

Risa says "HOLY COW! What on Earth are they doing? Don't look, Penny!"

Extracting #2! Note the metal instrument, called a "cremaster". It is clamped on to the severed artery and tubes, which were also wrapped with suture material to prevent bleeding. It stays put for about 3 minutes.

Both testicles, along with the epididymis (which you can't see) are shown.

Tabooli was still out of it for about ten more minutes.

    The epididymis is a series of coiled tubes that lie next to the testes.  They collect  and allow further development of the sperm, which is produced in the seminiferous tubules in the testes.  The seminiferous tubules can be 400-500 feet long! The normal ejaculate of a horse contains 6 BILLION sperm. And it only takes one…  

  

I am bringing up the epididymis because it if is left in, this is called "proud cut".  Often when a gelding displays stallion-like behavior, people will ask if he is "proud-cut".  Turns out, according to Colorado State Univeristy, the epididymes does not produce testosterone, so leaving them in should not result in a horse retaining stallion-like behavior due to hormones.  The testosterone comes mainly from the  testes.  

Complete sperm development takes 21 days, but sterility after gelding should be complete in as little as three days since once the sperm enter the epididymis, they typically don't live more than 72 hours.  Stallion-like behavior, according to Dr. Meddleton, should be pretty much gone in 60 days, but opinions do vary.  

Horses gelded after sexual maturity, like T, may retain some stallion-like behavior that was learned rather than hormone driven.  Since he was always pretty low key, I fully expect he will end up a pretty typical, ho hum, gelding.  

Post castration care: Lunge 2x per day for 15-30 minutes and hose his nether parts.  Both of these should reduce swelling and chance of infection.

We had fun with that on Thursday because it was snowing! Lucky it was so warm on Tuesday!

Ok Ok Ok. Yow! Do I HAVE to do this?

Ok--crappy pic because it was just me and the snow, but see how quiet he is? The hose is laying on his leg and making a big puddle!

He should be ok for riding in a week, although full recovery will be a few more weeks. 
 
Next week I will finish up the vet visit–I have some fun pictures of Buckshot on drugs getting his teeth done!

Colliding Coolness

I hardly even know where to start! We overflow with coolness today!

One totally cool thing: As of today, Hidden Steel has a new cover to match the style of the other two.

(It's not up at Amazon/B&N yet, but never mind that!  It's HERE!)

And look!  Here it is! Done by Pat Ryan, as were the first two, and very much in the vein of the first…just totally neatified.  If you clickie on the cover, there's more info (on my yes-I'm-still-excited new web site!).

Meanwhile, the coolness rolls on! Because hey–we're talking free Kindle here!   And I'm helping to give it away!

Here are the basics–and yes, you betcha, you'll end up on newsletter mailing lists with your entry.  Me, I mail about four to five newsletters a year…don't hold myself to any schedule, and try to make them full of total usefulness.  Of course, you can always opt-out.  But I kinda hope they'll have their own coolness factor,  and maybe worth checking out.

*big blinkie eyes of hope*

Where were we…oh, the rules! And another CLICKIE to take you to the entry page!

Entries will be accepted until December 31, 2010 (CST)
Open to U.S. residents only; void where prohibited by law.
One entry per household; IPs will be checked and duplicate entries voided.
Only entries received through this website will be considered eligible.
Mailing address must be included for entry to be complete and will be used only to send prize.
Except as required by law, entrant information will not be shared with any third parties.
Prize sponsors shall not be held responsible for technical failures in entry transmission.
Entrants agree to be added to the mailing lists for the Kindle giveaway sponsors:

SPONSORS!

Alison Kent

Backlist Ebooks

Doranna Durgin

Julie Ortolon

Judith Arnold

Kathryn Shay

Lorna Barrett

Pamela Burford

Patricia Rice

Patricia Ryan

The Necessity of Joy

Dog joy, that is.

One of the things about training a performance dog is how deeply it drives this point home.  One of the things about training a performance Beagle is how it shoves this right in your face.

Did you see the photo of Connery last Monday? Oh, look, I'll put the important part up again.

Connery: I am BAWHSOME!

Connery: I am TOTALLY BAWHSOME!

And he was, too! That was the fastest run he's ever clocked.   A week later, there's still a lingering high.

But it wouldn't have happened without the JOY.

Thanks to Connery's attack history (we're not talking dog interaction gone bad, we're talking targeted giant breed charge-and-attack) and his subsequent worries about the world, it's my job to reassure him and instill the JOY.

I do this in agility and rally by instilling anticipation via routine, by liberal use of cookies, and by the timely appearance of the vaunted treat bottle.

This is what, you ask?

Take one Ensure bottle
Hold nose, drink liquid
Wash thoroughly, remove label.
Add a pinch of kibble
Gorilla Glue the lid closed.
Seriously.  GLUE THE LID CLOSED.

It shakes.  It rattles.  It rolls.

IT PLAYS BEAGLE FETCH.

I trained him to the bottle from puppyhood, associating with treats.

Connery: BAWH!  BAWH!  THROW IT!  THROW IT NOW!  GIVE IT!  LET ME TOUCH IT!  I KNOW I CAN OPEN IT!

The necessity of joy is why in the obedience ring, we raised eyebrows because we cavorted between exercises instead of behaving with quiet dignity.    (It's also why Connery's novice obedience legs ran second, first, first, first.  That last being an insurance leg, as it only takes three.)

You want a Beagle?  Give up on the dignity. If you don't, they will wring it out of you anyway.

Every once in a while, I get a reminder of the necessity of joy.  This fall, for instance.

Connery loves tracking.

LOVES it.

But.

This late fall he's struggled with an illness that I haven't, frankly, figured out yet.  I think it's been one of his stealth sinus infections, presenting oddly and then lingering extensively.

He is, after all, a dog of underlying brittleness: all full of exuberance one day, felled by some inexplicable ailment the next.  (That there are subtle autoimmune issues in play here is of no doubt.  That he's lucky to be alive many times over, ditto.)

Anyway, it started to get to him.

Connery: Don't feel so good.  Well, I can fake it!  Look, the bottle!

Connery: Don't feel so good.  Well, I can fake it.  Look the bottle.

Connery: Look the bottle.

It doesn't do to stop training during this time, because paradoxically, it's one of the things that keeps him going.  But seeing him like that makes my heart sink in a way that completely justifies the existence of cliche.

Now here's the tricky part. Connery starts to feel better, but his MOM is all wrapped up in, "Oh crap, am I going to be able to fix it this time, and what if I can't, and–and–!"

Connery: Where's my joy?  Don't wave that bottle at me.  I DON'T BELIEVE YOU.  I suddenly don't believe I know how to track anymore.  AT ALL.

So my past two weeks have been spent recapturing the joy, And seeing the difference it makes to this new tracking discipline of ours, and slapping myself upside the head and going D'OH.

Reality check.

So suddenly, there's a dog in the harness again.

Connery: BAWH YES WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

Sorry.  He really does do that all-caps thing.

BAWH!

What the Cows Say

By Patty Wilber

The cows are out where the eastern plains of New Mexico flatten off the Manzano Mountains and stretch themselves into Texas.  It usually seems to be windy.  Makes me thankful I live in arms of the mountains.

The cows have 1200 grassy acres and a big water tank, but this is what they say:  "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."

Excuse me? It is practically the middle of December.  I don't think there is any green grass left in the entire county.

"Well, WE  might find some," they say, as they sashay through any barbed wire fencing that is not tight enough to twang when plucked.

I had no idea that cows were such wanderers. Fortunately, they are easily bribed with alfalfa hay.  After just a few days of the "honk and feed 'em" program, you can drive in, honk, and they hustle happily to the feeding spot, even from across the road!

Unfortunately, Bert (the bull) and some of the neighboring bulls, too, have a slightly different agenda:  "The heifers are always prettier on the other side of the fence."  Like those cute ones down there by the Mormon church.  Bert's last visit resulted in him taking a little unexpected trip with the Mormon Heifer's dad, to a pen far, far away.

Ronnie says: "Once a bull starts a wandering, you might as well sell 'im cuz he's never gonna stay home".

But Ol' Otis says: "Pen 'im up a while, then put 'im back with the cows and 'e might stay put."

So, the wires are being tightened for the cows and Bert is at Tabooli's house in Tabooli's pen, and Tabooli is here.

Tabooli is four, and he is very good for a stallion, however, he likes to get in the middle of things and he is very vocal.  He talks to me in the morning for breakfast, he talks to the cows, he talks to himself, he talks to the girls; he even talks to the trailer! (Which does not talk back.)

I also have Buckshot, a three-year old colt.  He doesn't strut, he doesn't fight, and he rarely talks.  He just wants to get along.

Then there is Cometa. He is a gelding, but he is the Boss of the Universe.

The two girls, Penny and Risa, must be kept from the studs, and the show gelding just doesn't need to get involved in "who likes who" with the other boys.

Penny and Risa have one  big pen, Show Boy has one…what to do with three bad boys and two pens?

Stallions must be kept by themselves, right? Nope.

In the wild, stallions run in herds, so like all horses, they do like company, and can get along with others.

In 2009 , I went to Nebraska to spend a week riding at the Jirkovski's.  They had the best behaved stallions I have ever seen, and they typically turned them ALL out together at night, even the show stallions.

So, I called them before I started my little boy band experiment, and they said to just be careful that the stallions don't pick on the gelding.  (They haven't met Cometa).

I started with Tabooli and Cometa together because I was pretty sure Buckshot was going to go with the flow, and I didn't want T. and Cometa messing with each other over the gate.

Tabooli arrived and Jim put him in the round pen. Cometa ran right over and they started sparring over the fence.  I didn't like that.  Seemed like a panel might get damaged, so Jim let T. out.

They approached each other, nose to nose, necks arched, tails up, manes wild. They sniffed, squealed dual challenges, and rose up in the air, striking with their hooves!  Wild horse drama!

Funny thing is, they didn't touch. It was ritualized fighting,  repeated a few times.  They never even got to the point of turning butt to butt and going for the kick boxing.

Buckshot, true to form, stayed well away from the fence line: Not Getting Involved.

Over the next few days, Cometa and T. periodically challenged each other (noisy boys!) but no one  got the upper hand or the shaft. They even ate together, sometimes.

At this point I decided to switch Cometa and Buckshot because Cometa has a super thrifty metabolism, so to keep him from becoming obese, he really has to have a limited diet.  Tabooli is young and studly, (at least until next week, when he will become a gelding…)  He needs more food.

So, I turned Buckshot out  and put Cometa in. Buckshot strolled over to Tabooli.  The two stallions gave each other a quick sniff and went to get a bite to eat. That's all!  No posturing, no talking.  A big non-event!

The two stallions Buckshot (buckskin) and Tabooli (palomino). Ho hum.

Then Tabooli strutted to the gate to taunt Cometa, "The cows say the grass is greener on my side of the fence."

Cometa whacked the gate. Boing!

I think I might load Cometa up and send him to a pen far, far away!

Graphically Speaking

What, you thought you were going to get [deleted deleting deletized]?

Nah.  Not graphic language.  Just graphics. That within which I've been immersed, one way or another, since kicking off the Backlist eBooks adventure–both individually and the actual Backlist eBooks project with my author/artist partner-in-crime, Patricia Ryan.

I started my backlist work with an idea for a standardized presentation–a branding–and my alpha responders were all very positive about it.  However, the more one learns about the whole biz, the more one wants to stretch a little bit.

Sometimes, when you want to stretch, it's a good thing to look through someone else's eyes and skills.  So, sez I, all wheedly-like to above friend Pat:  "Heeeeey, Paaat….whatcha doin'?"

Which she was smart enough to interpret as, "Hey, Pat, did you say you were getting into cover art?  Because I have me an interest."

I'll fiddle with the short story covers myself (one of these days in my copious spare time), but right now the books are slowly enjoying a do-over.  First we did A Feral Darkness, and as of this week–ta-da!–Making the Rules has new clothes, too!

I, of course–OF COURSE–have to show it off. Because that's really part of the whole writer thing–sharing the experience of what's been written.

Or didn't you know?

PS GO, PAT, GO!

========

Backlist eBook/Original: September 2010

ISBN: 978-1-4524-2556-6

cover by Pat Ryan Graphics

$2.99 eformats

Smashwords

Kindle

Nook

An orphaned Silhouette Bombshell original: Hunter Agency operatives Kimmer Reed and Rio Carlsen, overseas and cut off from the agency on their first assignment together, face an old enemy who wants it all: political terrorism, theft–and revenge. Not only that, she knows just how to get it–by turning their greatest strength into their greatest weakness: their love for one another.

To Pee or Not to Pee, That is the Question

The innocent face of Dart Beagle

Or so sayeth Dart Beagle.

When you get a young dog after the optimal housebreaking age, you expect certain issues.  When said young dog has lived an outdoor-oriented life, you expect something of a challenge with those issues.

Let us say, expectations have been fulfilled.

Actually, Dart appeared to catch onto the bathroom break system pretty quickly.  In fact, we had a decent little rhythm going, and he was gaining additional house privileges along the way.

But then something changed.

It's called "cold weather."

D'Artagnan Beagle was appalled to discover "cold." And he does not approve AT ALL.

How much he doesn't approve wasn't evident until the night before the mid-November agility trial.

Me: Oh woe, I have worked late and I have to get up at 4am tomorrow for the trial.  Oh woe, I am tired.  Thank goodness I can go to bed now.

puts dogs to bed, feeds horse, flops into bed

LEVITATES OUT OF BED

Me: OH WOE MY PILLOW IS SOAKING WET!

Me: WT Everlasting F!

quiet voice from the kitchen:

Dart: Oh, didn't I tell you?  I had to pee.  Don't worry, I took care of it.

And so there was a change of sheet, a pillow thrown out, nightshirt changed, and still the alarm went off at 4am.

But after the trial, the black light came out–and woe, the extensive nature of such moments became known.  The cleaning solution came out, too.  (As did the keep-track-of-me bells now adorning his collar.)

D'Artagnan Beagle also acquired a belly band. This little ingenuity doesn't prevent or even discourage him from relieving himself, but it does protect the carpet (the corners of my hanging bedspread, the bed itself, the wood pellet stove, the–well, you get the picture) and it does make it crystal clear when he's gone, allowing me to discern the pattern of such things.

In short order, this is what I learned:

Dart Beagle: It should not be cold out.

Dart Beagle: If I must spend time out in my wonderful large backyard with my packmates, I will deign to pee when I get out there, but then I will adore my Dogloo.

Dart Beagle: It doesn't matter how much I have to pee, I will adore my Dogloo very hard until I come inside, and then I will PEE IN COMFORT.

Dart Beagle: Also, for the record, I will PEE PRODIGIOUSLY and FREQUENTLY.

Frequently and prodigiously enough so I also recently provided the vet with a sample to make sure there wasn't a urinary tract infection involved.

This, of course, meant catching the pee of a weasel-quick little athlete who's never considered that a human would want to do any such thing.

Me: La la la,  let's just go out back with this leash and this discreet little collection container.

Dart Beagle: Okay, I gotta pee!

Me: Here's your favorite tree.

Dart Beagle: Okay, I gotta pee!

Dart Beagle commences to–

Dart Beagle: OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING

sucks himself and all his parts out of the vicinity with such appalled alacrity that several inches of pee stream disappear back inside his body

Me: Oh, seriously.  Just pee.

Dart Beagle: Okay, I gotta pee!

Dart Beagle commences to–

Dart Beagle: OMG YOU DID IT AGAIN

Me: Get over it.  Just pee.

Dart Beagle: No.  I don't have to anymore.  I'm going to sit here and look miserable.

does this

So Dart went back into his crate and I wracked my smoking brains (I had a deadline for this particular sample, for various reasons), and decided to put hospital hand basins in place at his favorite pee spots.  (What, YOU don't keep those things for a decade or so?)  And then out we went.

Dart Beagle: Oh, good, because I really gotta–WHAT!  WHAT ARE THOSE!  You can't fool me, this is an evil trick.  *makes warding sign*  I'm going to sit here and look miserable.

does this

Me: Well, let's go inside for a bit, then, while my brains steam and try to come up with something even more clever.  Ha ha.

Dart Beagle: Please.  Oh good, yes, we're heading back to the–

Dart Beagle: Oh!

Dart Beagle: I WILL PEE RIGHT HERE SQUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

Me: Aieeeee! *swoop*

And so in spite of the fact that I was completely unprepared, poorly positioned, and had to play a game of doggy twister that was ever so much more invasive than a simple slide-beneath maneuver, the pee was caught.

Lots and lots of it.

(Dart, by the way, does not have a UTI.)

So the next step is trying him on a different food to see if that makes things less…urgent…for him.  In the meantime, he has definitely learned the routine of running outside every two hours, instantly peeing, and then coming back inside to the warmth.  This came in handy at the hotel this weekend.

So sad that we were on the second floor.

And all is not lost; he's definitely getting the idea.  His tripping point is that he hasn't figured out how to ask to go out, but we're working on that, too–a doggy doorbell.

Dart Beagle: This is a great game!  But it has nothing whatsoever to do with anything else in my life, so why are you giving me that look?

We persevere.

With diaper.

PS Here is a little bonus agility activity…

Connery exiting a tunnel at warp speed

The Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Training Day

By Patty Wilber

Tabooli is coming back (YAY!) on Dec. 15th, so I thought I'd post a story about one of his first days here.

Tabooli working the gate in June.

4/26/2010.

Ok, so all is not sweetness and light in horse training….

Tabooli, a stud (4), came Saturday.  He apparently likes red heads (he only nickers at May) and this seems to make her nervous. She is pacing in her pen.

First Mistake. Tied May to the tie rack. Tabooli's pen is right there, so he rushed the fence,  rumbling and strutting.  May did not appreciate the gesture–> pawing, wiggling, head tossing.

Before Tabooli came through or May completely lost it, I moved her and tied Tabooli to a tree in his pen.  Then HE began pawing, pacing (as best he was able while tied) and complaining (loudly).

Second Problem: Brought May back to the tie rack.  She just could not relax, so I hobbled her. She was hobbled yesterday at the trailer at a horse show and did great.  Not this time.  She sank back, reared, rammed the tie rack, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Nothing to  do but hold my breath, use my voice to soothe her and wait. I hate the wait! I was hoping some of the hardware would break-the rope, the halter, something!

 Nope.  

I stood with her until her breathing relaxed.  We chatted.  I decided to leave the hobbles on for a bit longer, but untied her just in case, so she could move if need be.  Not necessary.  Whew. Sigh.

I bit later I took May to the round pen for her 10th ride.  She  was subdued but attentive.  After a bit of warm up  we rode around the property– her first ride "out".

She wanted to sneak up on the world.  One.  Step.  At.  A.  Time. So, that's what we did for ten mostly sweet minutes.  (Tightness popped in and out.)

Third Error: We approached the gate and stood very quietly. Opened and walked through smoothly, and then….backing ….(i cant close it!).  This backing kind of got my goat. It took a while to get her to return and close it (probably because she felt my annoyance).

I should have just stopped there, but NO! I thought she should be a bit better at the closing by now (three?  tries and 10 rides total…um who is a dope?), so I pushed her, upset her and then had to go back and fix it by opening, going through, coming back to close it and accepting that.

Fourth Event. We don't need our teeth. Got Tabooli, tied him to a telephone pole that holds up the barn roof.  It is bolted with angle iron to the barn.  It is sturdy. Really sturdy it turns out.

I walked 10 feet to the tack room to get a drink of water and Tabooli wrapped himself around the pole (he had about one foot of rope to work with,–go figure), got himself snubbed, panicked, pulled back, and kept on.  The pole shook!  The barn creaked!  The roof shimmied!  I started talking calmly, waiting to be killed as the barn collapsed….

The rope halter stretched and got into his mouth, and either he just gave it up or my calm (ha! inside I was saying lots of bad words) helped him.  And the barn is still standing! He let me help him with the halter and oh look there is a loose tooth…Nope not loose.  Out.  Oh great!

Well, it was a baby tooth….but it wasn't quite ready to come out.  Broke out (I still have it BTW).  There is a fun call to make to his owner, who took the news calmly, while I blabbered on.  Clue I am not comfortable:  fast blabbering.

We did a little ground work in the round pen and I think he is going to be a horse I really like, if I can keep his teeth in his head…..

Last Little Drama. Brought Tabooli back and let him go.  D##n!  May (standing nice right now) and Risa (I brought her out to keep May company) are tied at the rack and a tree.  Tabooli headed right to the fence, with just a little too much interest, if you know what I mean.  Oh (read with heavy sarcasm) big suprise.

I ran over there and got him off the fence with my lunge whip. He tried to go around me 3 times and then stood and faced me, waiting most politely for me to come get him.  Nice!

Tied him up so I could move the girls. He started talking.  I tossed a plum sized dirt clod at him (underhanded, with arc, lest you think I am a true brute) and it bonked him on the side.  He shut up immediately and never said another word until much later when I got everyone put away, untied him and let him go!

So, despite my Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad  Training Day (thank-you Judith Viorst who wrote the kid's book from which I stole the phrase), the only casualties:  my pride and a tooth.

May is coming 12/4  for a lesson with her mom and Tabooli (who did turn out to be a horse I like very much) will be back  soon.  I am looking forward to both!

The Many Faces of Me

We all have faces on the web–some of us perhaps more than others.  Social networking, blogs, mailing lists, forums…and oh yeah.  The web site.

One of the things I've always struggled with is my web site author face.

Not the mechanics of it–I've had fun with that since I put my first site up in the mid-90s, and almost immediately started building sites for other authors and dog folks.  It's just the…how do I make it ME?

And should it be the smart-ass me, the dreamer me, the matter-of-fact me, or the "Look!  My books are really COOL!" me?

(Although really, I haven't ever figured out how to be one of the Cool Kids.)

Then there's the content–trying to figure out the best way to show readers what they want, and what they find interesting.  I know, I know–I'm a reader myself.  It shouldn't be that hard, right?  But it can be hard to be two people at once, looking at both what you have to say and what you'd want said if you were coming at it from the other direction.

And finally, there's a cobbler's children effect: the clients come first.  My site is always up to date, but that doesn't mean it doesn't need to be updated.  Get new clothes.  Put on a spiffy new 'do.  Try out some new techniques.

So it's been a couple of years, and I've seen this coming for a while, and this fall I decided to go for it.  Kind of Dreamer Me crossed with Matter-of-Fact Me.

Do I have any idea whether I've struck all the right notes (or even any of the right notes), put things in the right places, offered up the right tidbits and insights?

Not a clue.

It's not for me to say, anyway.

But hey, come on in, look around…I hope I haven't left any of the dog toys out or hidden any of the important cookies or forgotten to turn the heat on anywhere.

And I hope you like it!

PS It's RIGHT HERE