February 27, there was a posting on Craigslist for a little buckskin miniature stallion. The pictures were absolutely gorgeous and he is fine boned and resembles an Arab horse instead of the pony looking miniatures that own me. I read the ad and it bothered me that the listing said this horse was not a year old yet but that for some reason, his back legs had gone crooked. But my Dad's saying came popping up in my head, "you can't save them all". I must have visited Craigslist 2 or 3 times a day. The picture of this beautiful horse kept bothering me. Finally, I showed Ed the picture and he wouldn't even look at it. I tried to get him to look at the picture for 3 weeks and he would have no part of it. "We do not need another horse." "Why are you looking at more horses?" I told him that this horse was calling me. I know that sounds strange but for anyone who truly knows me, it isn't. I couldn't get this little guy out of my head. I would wake out of my naps(haven't truly slept in years) thinking about this horse. Finally on March 9th, I told Ed that I had contacted the woman and I was going out to see this horse. My Mom was going with me and he was more than welcome to join me. I got the hairy eyeball but he begrudgingly decided to join me. This way, he could say no to someone else! Yeah, right. So we drive out to the little village of Dundee and I passed the place because I said they couldn't possibly have horses in the village like this but guess what? There was a place with a whole bunch of fuzz balls right in the village. Looked like it was about an acre lot with only half of it fenced off for horses. 16 horses. Yes, miniatures but still not enough room for them. At all. I get out of the car and was talking to the owner of the property and Ed took off to look at the horses. He came running back like a little kid in a toy store and told me that I had to come look at this little guy. He loved the color and he's so cute and if he had a choice he would want that one....on and on he went. The woman walked over with a halter and leadrope and fetched the horse that I had come to see. The exact horse that Ed had just picked out because he wanted to take him home. Remember that Ed wouldn't look at his pictures so it's not like he knew which one to pick out. And considering this little guy no longer LOOKS like his pictures, this is another one of those God winks that happens to me all the time. I go in the paddock to see him and start asking a few questions because it doesn't really matter to me what she tells me about this horse, he needs to come home with me. No if's and's or but's. She had 5 stallions on the property. 16 horses with 5 stallions. 2 young stallions. Ranger was one of them. She had Ranger, this little guy that resembled a marshmallow and a very pregnant mare in a paddock that was 11 X 14 with an 8 X 8 run in shed in the middle of it. I couldn't find a salt block anywhere. She told me that she had put a brown block in there but they ate it in 3 or 4 days and they cost $3.00. Then she told me that she can't afford that for all of them. This was after she had the vet out to see why Ranger's legs had gone crooked. She said the vet told her that it was due to malnutrition after he was weened. Well, of course it was. He was weened in October when he was put on a horse trailer to make the trip from Texas to Dundee. Yes, he's a Texan. He whinnies with an accent. And when he got to her place, she gave him hay. In a small paddock. With 2 other horses. The vet told her what to feed him and so she had started giving him some grain and vitamins but he had gone from October to March with minimal nutrition for a growing boy. His hocks were touching, his front legs turn out so that when I walk up next to him to love him up, I step on his hooves. He was walking on his back ankles. I bought him and we told her that we were going to pick him up the next day and we would be using my pickup truck. We went back the next day, picked him up(literally), put him in the back of my truck and Ed rode all the way home with him. 2 days later, he was no longer walking on his ankles. 3 weeks later, he's running, his legs are straightening and when my most awesomest hoof groom gets over here to trim his feets, hopefully, he will be moving like a gorgeous horse again. He has about 4 inches of fur that is going to be taken off this week because I know what I'm feeling underneath all that hair but I need to see it. I feel a backbone, hips, shoulders and ribs. He's so little, I couldn't find a blanket that would fit him so I found a dog blanket that fits just fine. He removes his buckets from the wall. Including his water bucket. He's itching for some companionship but he needs to be gelded first. Another eye roller for the woman I bought him from. She asked. I told. We do not need any more horses on this planet. We do not need to send any more of our beautiful horses overseas to be consumed for the wealthy. And I do not need to have him jumping fences to get my mares or vice versa. So as soon as the nuggets show up, OFF!! And then he can go out with my motley crew and become a horse. So this is Night Ranger. When he got out of my truck and we walked him into the barn and put him in a 9.5 X 9.5 stall, he let out the biggest sigh I have ever heard from a horse. Put his head into his bucket, finished the 6 kernels of grain I had put in there for him and looked at me with gratefulness in his eyes. I'll do the best I can for you big guy!!

I feel that after everything that has happened to me over the last six months, I need a vacation. Okay, so being on a whirlwind, rollercoaster ride of a time buying my very own horse farm in March and putting it back together has been a wonderful diversion from my mundane life to date, but I still need a vacation. I think I would like to go to a dude ranch. I really would like to check out some different dudes. And I have always wondered if they actually sell "dudes" at these ranches. And if they do, is the product any good? Because I have to tell you, the dude that is currently occupying space in my beautiful new horse farm has some idiosynchrosies that I could do without. Or maybe they are what I need in life? I'm not actually sure. But I'd like to check out some new dudes to compare anyways. It's been 6 1/2 years. Almost time for that 7 year itch. And while I'm waiting for my ultimate "dude" (John Cusack), I think that I should be effectively comparing dudes to the dude that I currently co-habitat with. I have all these questions like "do the dudes on a dude ranch listen to the Head Mare in charge"? Or do they go ahead and do whatever they like causing chaos and extra work for said Head Mare? So that you have a better understanding of what I'm talking about, let me explain. In the middle of another terrible thunder storm complete with sideways rain, my dude, a.k.a Ed, heads out to try to bring horses into the barn. Head Mare, a.k.a. Me, tells him that this is not a good idea. We need to wait until the storm lets up. The horses are crammed in their lean-to's and are fine. I try to go out to help bring in the mini's and the fuppies will not let me out of the barn. They keep running in front of me biting my feet. I can take a hint. I'm not a dumb Head Mare. So I stay in the barn and wait. Ed heads out. He gets Dancer and Bill runs Ed over at the gate. Bill heads into the barn and is confused because he is going into a new stall that Ed built. And I will say that he did a beautiful job on the stalls. But the glory of a job well done is lost when he let a horse get out. I get Bill in his new stall and life is good. You'd think. We head out for the big horses. The rain let up a bit and I bring Taylor in and Ed get's Lacy. I go back out for the little witch in my life, or as I like to call her "love muffin". Carly is a one person horse and Head Mare is it. She starts to give me a hard time, I tell her to knock it off and she walks in like a little princess. I almost have her in her stall and I hear Ed yelling for Allicks to Whoa. Actually, he was yelling "Allicks stop"! Not a command that Allicks knows. Then I hear all this metal crunching and turn to see Takoda the freak crashing into and trying to jump over the metal gate. He succeeded and came running into the barn and butted up next to Allicks. Then Ed was tell Allicks to "stay". Also, a command that he does not know. All Ed had to do was close Allicks door and then turn around, tell Takoda to back up and point to his stall and he would have been in and done. But alas, that was not to be. Ed put the rope on Koda's neck and then tries to turn him around in small aisleway where the new stalls are, crashing the horses butt into the new stall doors. Princess Carolina was not happy with this as it was her stall that was being crashed into. So, she reaches out to bite Koda in the ars. Which makes him eek his way farther into the short aisleway instead of getting him out of there. When all was said and done, the horses were in safe. I looked like I had taken a shower fully dressed and Ed wanted to know what kind of gate we could put up so that his horse couldn't do that again. I told him a nice lightweight cement block gate should do the trick. If my current dude had listened to what Head Mare has told him about a zillion times, none of this would have happened. I never take Allicks in before Takoda. Allicks is more stable in the head than Takoda and can take being alone for the 2 minutes it takes to get Takoda in his stall. And I know that you should be able to take any horse that shows up at the gate and I can. But not everyone else can. So, if you just follow my suggestions, no one gets hurt. So tonight, we brought the horses in my way. It was raining, cold and windy. They walked in like the wonderful ladies and gents that I know. I looked at my dude and he said, "I want you to train me to be a horse trainer". Hell, I'd be happy just to have him be trained to be alive. So don't mine me if I'm babbling like a lunatic, I am a lunatic. The fact that I would even look for another Dude shows how insane I really am. I think I'll go to a Dude Ranch and see if they rent dudes by the hour instead. And that's not even for what you think it's for. I want him to saddle my horse, bring him to me, ride with me, untack my horse and then cook me dinner. All without trying to get killed or getting me killed. That would be a vacation!

Okay, so here's a video that wouldn't let me upload on facebook because it's 17 seconds longer than they want. These guys are complete morons but I loved watching it.

I lost a very good friend/co-worker on November 1st. Charlie Eames was a humorous man who had a brain that soaked up just about every piece of useless trivia there is. He also liked to play tricks on people...a.k.a. victims. When I used to smoke, we would go out to the loading dock and I'd try to get in my cigarette pack, only to find out that he had taped it shut when I wasn't looking. I'd go to put my coat on and he had rubber banded the sleeves shut. We'd be sitting in our chairs minding our own business and next thing you know, we'd be almost sitting on the floor as he had reached out with his long legs and hit the lever on the chair to make it go down. We'd be sitting with our chins on the desk top and he'd be giggling. And don't even bother to retaliate. It just made things worse. Things are very quiet around here without him and he'll never be able to be replaced. He sent this to me and it is still my very favorite e-mail ever. So I thought that I would share it with you in memory of Charlie. RIP my friend.

Notes From An Inexperienced Chili Taster Named FRANK, who was visiting Texas from the East Coast:"Recently I was honored to be selected as an outstanding famous celebrity in Texas, to be a judge at a chili cook-off, because no one else wanted to do it. Also the original person called in sick at the last moment, and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking directions to the beer wagon when the call came. I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy, and besides they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted. Here are the scorecards from the event:
Chili # 1: Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili
JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.
JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
FRANK: Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway with it.Took me two beers to put the flames out. Hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy.
Chili # 2: Arthur's Afterburner Chili
JUDGE ONE: Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.
JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
FRANK: Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to walkie-talkie in 3 extra beers when they saw the look on my face.
Chili # 3: Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili
JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans.
JUDGE TWO: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of red peppers.
FRANK: Call the EPA, I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting shit-faced.
Chili # 4: Bubba's Black Magic
JUDGE ONE: Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Sally, the bar maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills; that 300 lb. bitch is starting to look HOT, just like this nuclear-waste I'm eating.
Chili # 5: Linda's Legal Lip Remover
JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive
JUDGE TWO: Chili using shredded beef; could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
FRANK: My ears are ringing, and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Fuck those rednecks!
Chili # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety
JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spice and peppers.
JUDGE TWO: The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.
FRANK: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that slut Sally. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone!
Chili # 7: Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili
JUDGE ONE: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
JUDGE TWO: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about Judge Number 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
FRANK: You could put a fucking grenade in my mouth, pull the fucking pin, and I wouldn't feel a damn thing. I've lost the sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili which slid unnoticed out of my fucking mouth. My pants are full of lava-like shit to match my goddamn shirt. At least during the autopsy they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too painful. Fuck it, I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the fucking 4 inch hole in my stomach.
Chili # 8: Helen's Mount Saint Chili
JUDGE ONE: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili, safe for all, not too bold but spicy enough todeclare its existence.
JUDGE TWO: This final entry is a good, balanced chili, neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed out, fell and pulled the chili pot on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor Yank.
FRANK: -------------- (editor's note: Judge #3 was unable to report)

So I got attacked last week on Facebook and wanted to gripe about it. I put up a picture that my aunt had sent me of a cougar/mountain lion/really really big cat, that was dragging a 4 point buck across the ground. This picture was taken just east of Batavia on Sept 19 around 4 in the morning. I explained the picture and put on my post that I need a bigger gun. One of my Facebook friends posted the picture on her wall and one of her "friends" attacked me. Wanting to know why I was too ignorant to do my research on the wildlife subject and why I needed to go hunt the thing down and blah, blah, blah. So I responded as I so eloquently do and told her that I am a HORSE owner and that it is my concern for them that made my fingers put the comment that I needed a bigger gun on my post. It's my wall, I'll put what I want on it. That's one of my rights as a US citizen/Facebook user. So after I put up my rebuttal, the woman decided to keep going with one of the stupidest statements that I have ever heard. She wanted to know why I couldn't figure out a way for us horse owners to co-exist with the wildlife that is moving into our area. Okay, are you really that ignorant? When I go out to bring the horses in at night, should I tuck the little kitty in the stall next to my horse? Or when the bear is chewing on his newfound horsie friend am I supposed to just watch? Hello???? These are predators we are talking about. My horses are prey. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Catch the difference? Okay. I'm going to explain the difference for the simple minded. Predators are big animals that eat prey animals. Prey animals are the docile beings with their eyes on the sides of their heads so that they can see the predators coming from behind them and hopefully, above them. Prey animals do not eat predators. So it would probably not be a good idea to sit them all down at the kitchen table and try to get them to co-exist. Unless you're planning on having a prey animal dinner. These things only happen in animated cartoons and really bad movies. Now I would like to explain the difference between hunting and protecting. When I said that I needed a bigger gun, it was not because I was going to go out in my orange clothing and HUNT the animal. I said I needed a bigger gun because if a very large predator happens to not follow the co-exist rules, I will do whatever I have to do to PROTECT my family (furry or non-furry). I have a .22 rifle. I can shoot a gun. I can shoot a bow. Quite well as a matter of fact. But I have never killed an animal in my life. And I hope that I never have to but if the need ever arises and I cannot reason with a predator, I will defend myself. That is what weapons are for. Unfortunately, the weapons that I have may be a little ineffective for the size of the predators that are moving into our area. My .22 may actually make big kitty mad. It would sort of be like someone pegging you with rubberbands. Not too painful but irritating. Just like being attacked on Facebook!!

Okay, I have a turtle story to tell. When the farrier was out the other day, I walked out back and found a baby snapping turtle. He was all dried up and didn't look too good so I picked him up and showed him to Sherri, my farrier. She told me to squish him, they are nothing but trouble. I told her that I couldn't squish him, he was still cute (see what I'm talking about?). So I took him over to the neighbors pond and dropped him off. I didn't know if he was going to make it or not but I did what I could. The next day I was out working on fencing AGAIN and I went into the barn to get something and saw some movement on the floor. There was a moist little snapping turtle on the floor looking up at me. I said "hi again, what are you doing back here?" He didn't really answer so I got my tools and went back to pick him up and he had already moved. Someone lied when they said that turtles are slow. He was pretty quick so I named him "Speedy". I picked him up again and put him on my lawn tractor and drove him over to his pond. I set him back down and he actually turned around and just kept looking up at me. I almost felt bad leaving him there but I don't really have a use for a snapping turtle in the barn. We have enough snapping go on with all the naughty horses biting each other. I didn't see Speedy for a couple of days and saw him Monday night. Squished. Mike apparently ran him over with his tractor. Thinking back on it, I was probably putting him in the wrong pond anyways. He kept trying to head west, probably towards our creek. I kept bringing him east. He probably wasn't trying to come visit me, he was probably trying to get home. Probably saying to himself, "dumb broad. Doesn't know how to co-exist with us wildlife". RIP Speedy

I called my mom this morning because I had a question that she may or may not have the answer to. She didn't. But I asked anyways. I have been on dog doodie with my mom and dad for the last 10 days. Not an easy feat with these dogs and I'll explain more later. But the other night, I bought myself a pizza from my favorite shop to eat over 2 days. It's 4 pieces of crunchy crust and melty cheese and it only costs a little over seven dollars. So I can feed myself for 2 days at $3.50 a night. Not a bad budget wise decision, in my book. I put the last two pieces on the bottom shelf of my sister's refrigerator and seeing as no one is around, I thought it was safe. I should have known better. My dad has been going over to my sister's to let her dogs out during the afternoon and I had noticed that there was a beer stash in the fridge that was dwindling. I only opened the fridge to make sure that there was no sumthin, sumthin, stankin up the joint. So I noticed the beer stash. That's what women/mom's do. Notice stuff. I think it's in our genetic makeup. Just like opening up said fridge and eating one of the slices of pizza out of the box that "magically" appeared, is in a man/dad's genetic makeup. Imagine my surprise when I latched onto that pizza box, already drooling and waiting to shove it in the oven (do not re-heat this pizza in the microwave-you will be appalled!!) and seeing only one little tiny itty bitty piece left in the box. I even think there was some pepperoni missing off it!! So, I gave my heavy sigh because this is not the first time that this has happened to me and went home to reheat my PIECE of PIZZA. I did the adult thing and called my mommy the next day. I squealed on my daddy. I told her what he did!! He ATE my pizza!!! And my mom did what she is supposed to do. She yelled at Francis. All of our lives, we thought that my mother came with a swivel on head. When she would get mad at our father, her head would spin on her shoulders. We thought that she was absolutely the most horrible woman on the planet. We always looked at our innocent father as "Saint Francis". We couldn't understand why my mother was always calling him "Jesus, Francis!" I understand now. While it may appear that my father is "Saint Francis", the words "Jesus, Francis" fit just fine too. And for a reference point, when the words Jesus, Francis come out, that's when the head spinning happens. I've seen it. It happened to me when I looked into the almost empty coccoon of a pizza box that Saint Francis/Jesus Francis desecrated. And Mom? Sorry. I get it now. It took a while but, I get it.

So my sister and I had a conversation once about skipping. I told her that I was watching a movie and the kids were skipping and they looked so happy. So, I figured that the key to happinness is skipping. Now when kids skip, it looks fun. When adults skip, not so much. If you have any kind of weight on you, the noise alone should stop you in your tracks from this fun loving sport of children. Things slap, crackle & pop like no one's business. And I didn't use the word "snap" on purpose. It's not a snap noise, it's a slap noise. I've heard it. It's not pretty. We decided that skipping was NOT the answer to our happiness. We'll leave it to the kids. Oh, by the way, teenagers don't do well with skipping either. I saw a teenager in front of the Greece Olympia High School that was skipping down the sidewalk and I felt bad for him. At first I thought he was a special needs student and then realized that he was just frolicky. Poor thing is never going to find a girlfriend. Not if he keeps skipping like that. Drats, I was so hoping to find a new exercise!

So then I was in the Walmart parking lot sitting in my truck with the air conditioner on because I have poison ivy or poison oak or some other creepy crawlie fungus that is invading my body and I didn't want to get out of my truck. I watched a man with his young son come out of Walmart. The kid had to be around 3 or 4 and was wearing a cape over his shorts and t-shirt. A bright red cape that resembled the one from the movie "The Incredibles". Now, this kid was not just wearing this cape, he was "sporting" this cape. He was all that with a bag of chips. He kept flinging it over his shoulder and he had his dad by the hand and kept jumping up to try to fly. His dad did not help him with this feat and I was going to get out of my truck and skip over to help him fly but didn't want to scare them. Now I'm wondering if happiness is in the wearing of capes? Think of the wonderful super heroes we could be. Of course, half the time, I'd be called a "Stupor hero". But I could have fun. Anyone care to join me? I could wear a cape, shove my wine glass in between my lips and skip down my sister's sidewalk in her neighborhood and actually fit right in!!

Okay, on to the poison ivy. I owe my son a huge apology for all the years that this child has endured poison ivy. I always tried to help him with it but couldn't understand the agony that he went through because I have never had poison ivy before. I have always just figured that I was not allergic to it. I've spent enough time outdoors that I should have been exposed before but nothing ever happened. So I was mowing the lawn at the barn and I use a huge Ransome lawn tractor that was purchased from Spencerport Schools. I have to mow under a bunch of trees and just ram the front end of the tractor under the branches. I saw the vines. I looked at the vines. I wondered what those vines were doing in that tree. Maybe the wine glass in between my lips has caused brain damage. I drove into it anyways and never thought twice about it. And then I went home and took a nap on top of my bed. Later that night, my scalp itched so bad I thought someone had dumped itching powder on my head. And then---I got in the shower. I think this also helped in running that wonderful oil all over my body. I am covered from head to toe. I have been itching in places that you shouldn't scratch yourself. Whether you're a kid or a grownup. I finally went to the doctor and got put on steroids with a side of cortizone shot. So, now I'm a maniac with so much energy that I think I could probably take up skipping and not even care about the noise!! In my cape!! With a wineglass stuck between my lips! Are we getting the picture here? So my apologies to my kid for telling him for years not to scratch himself and suck up and deal with it. Apparently, I am not winning the parent of the year award once again. But if I did ever win it, I would wear a cape. And skip. And shove a wine glass in between my lips. And I think I would add a tierra. But only if my son was there so I could horrify him. It's what I live for.