Sep. 5, 2008 - Writing Challenge #1 ~ Seasonal Poems

I would love to introduce you to The Young Writers Lounge. A great place for young writers to improve there skills and meet other young writers.

I have to say that as soon as I saw this challenge, I groaned. Poetry has never been my cup of tea, but it was a challenge so I took it!

My Seasonal Poem With No Name

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall
Why pick one
I like them all!

Winter starts with snow flakes falling
Then comes coats, snowmen, sledding,
Hot cups of cider, and children calling.

Moving onto Spring we see
Kittens, sunshine, flowers,
Jubilant bird songs, and bumble bees.

Summer  works it's hot days in
Along with swimming, hiking, camping,
amazing sunsets, and baseball games you know you'll win!

Then comes the crisp cold of Fall
Harvest parties, football, Carmel apples,
Huge Thanksgiving feasts, and tons of leaves to haul.

God gave all four
for us to enjoy
I wouldn't ask for anymore.

Thank you Kylie and Ashley for starting this wonderful blog!

• 3 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Sep. 3, 2008 - It All Started With A Bet

I have a folder that has a placed shoved in the back drawer of my school desk.

This folder is my book of secrets, no one can touch, or read anything in it unless I say other wise.

You have had a peek at some of the things in the folder before. Letting Go and Thinking came from it.

Please remember my writing reflects what mood I was in at the time. I must have been feeling pretty goofy when this came to life.

Without further ado, I give you!

It All Started With A Bet

Ring, ring. As the phone rang my younger brother threw back his head and laughed.

"Okay, so you where right. Just get the phone for me will you?"

I glowered at him, I had my hands elbow deep in paper mache. I was was not happy. I had never liked paper mache and I had just lost a bet for five dollars. The five dollars was no biggie, but the paper mache was getting to me.

Austin had come to stay a weekend with me in my apartment. Sometime during that weekend he had said something about the phone always ringing while in the middle of a paper mache project. I told him no way and we made the bet.

Now Austin picked up the phone still chuckling.

"Hello... he's a little busy at the moment could he call you back in a few minutes? Okay, bye."

He put the phone down and smiled at me, I glowered back.

"That was your boss."

"What!"

"You heard the rest of the conversation. You had better start washing up."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, what did he say?"

In a deep voice Austin tried to imitate Mr. Sims.

"May I speak to James please?"

"Well I know he said that, what else did he say?"

"I told him you were busy and asked if you could call back and he said." (once again in a deep tone)
"Alright, tell him it was his boss."

As I washed the glue off my arms I asked,

"That's all, he didn't tell you what he called for?"

"No, why would he, he had no idea who I was."

I reached for the hand towel and dried.

"Hand me the phone please."

Austin did. I dilled the number and asked for Mr. Sims. A few minutes later I heard a deep,

"Hello."

"Mr. Sims,  this is James."

"Ah James, I need you to cover a story for me. It's about paper mache. Can you?"

I just stood there and stared at Austin. Then Mr. Sims said,

"James, are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll write the story. Who am I interviewing, where do I go?"

I got all the information I needed then said good bye and hung up, and made a face at Austin.

"That wasn't very mature. What's the deal?"

"Your never going to believe this, but my first job as a member of the press is to write  an article on paper mache."

The next day I twisted threw the streets of New York. I finally parked in front of an old apartment building that looked like it was about to fall over.

I climbed the stairs and knocked on apartment number 13. Good, my lucky number.

I knocked again louder this time. Still no answer. I waited a second, knocked a few more times then turned to go.

Funny, Mr. Sims said he had made an appointment for me to talk to this lady.

I had just reached the end of the hall way when the door to apartment 13 flew open. I didn't even have time to see who was at the door before a voice shouted,

"No solicitors!"

Then once again the door slammed shut. I stared at the closed door. What kind of a greeting was that? Maybe I had the wrong address, but no, sure enough. This was it.

I once again slowly approached the door, and raised my fist to knock, but before I could, the door swung open.

A rather short lady with bobbed hair stood there. She had very large gaudy earrings it looked like they were little paper mache earths with a red sewing pen sticking out where New York would be. She smiled at me.

"Oh hello, you must be from the newspaper. Please come in."

The house was small and cluttered. The little woman led me to her kitchen completely silent. On the table she had things ready to do paper mache, and on the counter where some of her already finished projects. I had no idea what they were.

She waved me into a chair.

"My name is Lassie Longwart nice to meet you, what's yours?"

She said everything so fast I had to take a minute before I understood what she had said. Her outstretched hand helped.

"James, or Jim, whatever you prefer." I shook her hand.

"What a nice name, although you'll have to keep reminding me, I'm horrible with names. Now why are you here?"

"I'm here from The Butterfly News." She looked at me blankly.
"The newspaper." I reminded her.

"Oh, the newspaper. I already get it so don't try to sell me one."

"No, I came to interview you on your paper mache."

"Oh, my paper mache."

I nodded my head and took out my notebook to get ready to write.

"How long have you been doing paper mache Miss," I paused, "Miss Longwart?"

She stared dreamily at the ceiling,

"I don't remember, why do you ask?"

"It's just nice to know for the article and all, what got you started on paper mache?"

"I don't remember."

Uh huh, I started to wonder if this was some kind of test. If it was, I wasn't going to flunk.

"Alright, um, let's see. What are some of the things you made?"

She leaned over and squinted at my tie.

"Is that Daffie Mouse on you tie?"

The interview went on for hours. I was determined not to give up. I needed this job.

By the time I got home I could just imagine what the article would read like.

Paper Mache is a messy thing to do. However that does not bother Lassie Longwart who has been doing it.
She does not remember how she got started, but she has been doing it ever since.
She never can remember what she makes, but as she's making it she has the time of her life.
When asked what kind of things could be made using paper mache she answered, "I don't remember."
She does remember the joy she has in doing it and recommends it for everybody!

• 4 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Jun. 20, 2008 - Enter to win a signed copy!

That will be the name of my post if I ever get my book published. I've got the first chapter done. Yeah, it will be a year, or two.

I did have it written down in a notebook and I was pretty far, the story was coming along wonderfully, but I was running into to much trouble, I had a lot of the things happening all in one chapter that were supposed to be spaced out in the book. I had said one thing in this chapter, but said the opposite in this one. Yeah it was starting to go down the drain, and I would have lost the whole thing completely had I not found the snake to pull it out with.

I've started to rewrite the whole thing, it's bigger, it's better, and I'm hoping to get it published.

Don't ask me what it's called because I have no idea. I have no idea what my chapters are called until after I write them, and I guess it will be the same with the book. I just can't think of THE name yet. All the ones I've come up with so far just don't fit. The Rising Queen, to sappy, A Queen to Fight For, to cheesy, Jewel of Queens, that just doesn't sound right.

As you may have guessed by now the book is about a Queen. It would be called fantasy at the library, but only because she is the Queen of a imagined country.

It is kind of a romance, but I'm not a big romance writer so it won't be getting to steamy.

My biggest goal in this book, is to create emotions in people. When the main character is about to die, I want them to be on the edge of there seats. When something tragic happens I want there eyes to be at least moist.

I want my book to be the kind that you throw at the wall because your so upset, but you pick it up again because you just have to know what's going to happen.

I don't expect for it to become famous, or anything like that, I don't expect it to some day make it to theaters, I just want a modest bunch of people to enjoy reading it, and to say to other people, "Hey, have you read the book by Bluejane? I've heard it's pretty good."

By the way, don't think you'll learn my name by the name of the author when it comes out, because I've been trying to think of a pen name for some time now.

Well I hope this was not to boring for everyone, I just thought I would share about my biggest project right now. What do you think?

The trying to be Author,

• 3 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

May. 6, 2008 - I am not a poet!

I know I said just two days ago that it was not spring where we live, but I think it might be now.

The days have just been so beautiful, and you just want to get out a DO something!

Yesterday for school, I had to write a poem. I do not read poetry most the time, and I do not write poetry.

Anyway I thought it was better then any of the other poems I have written (don't laugh after you have read it! It IS my best!)

A Court of Birds

The King of birds is swift and proud
The Eagle is his name
His talons are sharp, his cry is loud
And all he wants is fame

The Owl is a wise old hoot
Birds look to him for help
But in the end the silly coot
Cares only for himself

As fool of fools the Bluejay rules
His rightful name should be jester
The Eagle calls him to the duels
But all he does is pester

The Robin like a peasant is
The red on his chest shines bright
And though he calls nothing his
He sings with all his might

Pretty silly, but it really is my best.

While going through this poetry unit I have had to write countless poetry such as  a cinquain,

Horse
fast, beautiful
walks, trots, canters
races on the track
Horse

A diamante

Boy
Dirty, Silly
Running, Jumping, Tossing
Dog, Ball, Doll, Cat
Singing, Dancing, Sewing
Sweet, Gentle
Girl

A limerick

There was a little terrier
Who stayed only in his carrier
He only came out
When someone would shout
Let's all play with the terrier

A haiku

A bug flies about
A big bullfrog hops about
The bug is dead

Another thing I had to write was an unrhyming poem. For those who don't know my family, we do not really care for unrhyming poetry, calls us unartistic if you like, but we would really rather not read it. The one poem that we like that does not rhyme is The Man From Snowy River, and we just love that one!

Because it would cause me undying embarrassment I will not post the whole unrhyming poem I wrote, I am just going to post the verse that I got carried away with and, well, it rhymes.

The witch cackles
as she holds up the apple
"Eat my child eat"
The girl obeys
The room sways
and soon she lies asleep

My family told me I should take it and write a rhyming poem about it, and told them "you do it."

Laugh if you must.

• 1 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Mar. 3, 2008 - The First Chapter Posted

Well I posted the first chapter on The Adventures of Henry Pickle.

I was hoping to make it an online book, in that fact that the chapters are a lot shorter then normal books, but it looks like I wrote the first chapter a little long. I hope you have time to read it!

Let me know what you think,

• 2 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Mar. 1, 2008 - The Adventures of Henry Pickle

You may have noticed after going to my profile that I started a new blog.

Don't worry I will still be posting on this one. The other one is a story blog, were I will be posting chapters of one of the many books I am writing at the moment. However this one was written for my readers.
That's right I started a book just for you!

So, please check it out HERE.

• 2 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Feb. 26, 2008 - Tulips Corner Story Contest

Tulips Corner is having a short story contest, that I'm afraid is ending at the end of this month. I just managed to get a story written for it, but here we go. I found that as I was writing it was more about the scarf lady then the sunglasses man. Sorry Tulip!

"I want that pair, there. Those are the ones."
The man standing behind the booth picked the pretty pink sunglasses up, and handed them to the girl.
"Those are five dollars, are you sure you have that much money?"
He smiled as he said it, and the little girl smiled back.
"My Mommy gave me ten dollars."
She handed the bill to the man, he took it and found some cash for the little girl. He handed her the money, and she smiled again.
"Thank you mister sunglasses man."
Then she turned and skipped away, blonde curls bouncing wildly.
"Did you sell another pair sunglasses man?"
The man smiled and nodded at his wife.
"Probably the last pair today, we had better start packing up. We've got a little bit of a drive to our next fair."
He reached over all the sunglasses he had displayed on a table, and picked up a little sign that said,

SUNGLASSES

It had a happy looking costomer next to the large lettering.

The man and his wife began to pack up there sunglasses booth. They were not the only ones. All around them other people at the fair were packing up there booths and getting ready to either go home, or move on to another place to sell their goods.

As the man packed away another box of sunglasses, his next door neighbor for that past week approached, and he sighed.
She sold knitted scarfs that the man would not be cought dead in, especially in the 100 degree weather. The woman had three scarfs on, two around her neck, and one tied around her waist. She was also holding two, and the man had a sinking fealing.

"Oh Tom, it is so hard for me to say goodbye to all the other peddlers at the end of a nice fair! After we have had so many happy times together."
A drop of somthing rolled down her cheek, weather it was a tear, or a drop of sweat Tom did not know.

The lady had already, bought ten of his sunglasses, she had said it was because she was always missplacing the pair she was wearing, but he had a fealing she had bought so many just to make him obligated to buy some of her scarves. It hadn't worked. He has surprised himself by keeping clear of a fuzzy scarf that had to wiegh at least five pounds. It seemed like every one that walked up to her, walked away with at least one scarf and their pocket book a little lighter then before.

Now she wrapped a red and green striped one around his neck.
"I'm having a sale today, all my scarfs are half off."
Tom pulled the scarf off wiping the swet off his neck as he did so.
"That's okay Pricilla, I really couldn't do it. You should save those and sell them for full price at the next place you go."
"How can you refuse this offer? You can't be serious, who would not want a man sized Virgina Woods Scarf for only ten dollers!"
Toms wife stepped out of there large truck they used as a house during the summer months.
"Whats going on?"
The man sealed the last box of sunglasses.
"Lets get this in the truck and get going."
He could not shake Pricilla off that easily though. She moved forward and wrapped a pink and yellow scarf around Millie, then pulled on both ends causing her to stumble forward.
"I'm having a sale today, all of my scarfs are half off. I think this one goes wonderfully with your eyes Millie."
Tom stepped forward.
"No, no, thank you anyway, but we have already spent far to much money as it is. You should sell those for full prices anyway. I think they could go for more then most of your others. They're so interesting!"
Pricilla winked at Millie.
" I get the picture. You can't afford them! Well I'll cut the price in half still yet. How about ten dollars for both scarfs?"
"Really, couldn't you keep them? I know how badly you need the money." He bent to lift a large box, and a man pacing by stopped to help. Pricilla stood with her lips pooched until the box was in the back of the truck, then she stepped forward,
"This is an opportunity you can't resist!"
Millie giggled
"Apparently Tom can resist."
Tom glanced at his wife then smiled and pushed the gentleman who had helped him towards Pricilla.
"How would you like a very nice Virgina Woods, man sized scarf."
The man looked at him as if he'd gone nuts.
"It's 100 degrees in the shade."
Millie smiled,
"do you have a scarf for winter though? Even if you do it can't be better then a Vigina Woods."
Pricilla stepped forward, in her prime.
"I bet your wife needs a Feathery Rose Scarf for a new outfit your thinking about getting her."
"I'm single."
"Well then here's one for you!"

She threw the Virgina Woods scarf at him.
"tweenty dollars please."
He protested,
"Your scarfs are really lovely, but..."
"Well I am having a sale today, I'll give that one to you for only fifteen bucks."
Tom and Millie began to back away to the truck, they jumped in, and after safely starting the engine watched as the poor man who had been thrown completely into the power of Pricilla, pulled out his wallet, and handed over some cash."
Then Tom rolled down the window and shouted,
"Goodbye Pricilla, good luck with your scarfs."
Then quckly drove away, chuckling."
Millie started to laugh then stopped.
"Tom that was horrible, that poor man had no clue what he was getting himself into when he came over to help you."
"Hey at least he got something out of the deal! I bet he'll be the talk of the town when they see him wearing that scarf."
Mille laughed.
"You are probably the only one who will not be wearing a Virgina Woods scarf this winter."

Three days later as they layed out a few more sunglasses on their reassembled booth, a purple van pulled up in the empty space next to them.
To their horror out jumped Pricilla, this time wearing five scarfs, draped aroung her body somehow. She imediately walked over to them.

"Oh this is going to be so much fun! They were going to put me clear past the food court until I asked if I could move to this empty space next to you. This is just perfect because, you know, I was just thinking about it and you never bought a scarf from me."

Thank you Tulip for having this contest!

• 8 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Nov. 12, 2007 - Matthew 18:3

I had a request to post the short story that I was working on getting published.

Yes I say was. After doing some research we decided I needed to work up there, and that I needed to get something’s published in a few magazines before I go right to publishing a book.

So I am searching for a magazine to get it published in. If you have any ideas let me know.

Because some publisher will not except previously published work, and because some publishers consider putting it on the internet previously published, I am not going to post the short story for you, but I will post another one that I wrote.

Matthew 18:3

A young boy of about six years old sat atop a large stone. His light brown hair curled around is ears, as he pushed it back out of his face. He whipped his head around as he heard pounding footsteps approach him from behind.

"What tool you so long?" He asked as a boy that was panting, pulled himself onto the rock next to him.

"Ahhh, nothing I just left later then I thought I should have."

The first boy smiled, "well now that you're here what are we going to do?"

"We could race." The other boy suggested.

"Or we could see if we could catch a ride with Peter," said the first boy.

"I don't know replied the late comer, "He doesn't do a lot of fishing anymore. Not since that man Jesus came around."

"Let's just go see if he's down by the boats. It's not that far from here."

The other boy wrinkled his brow trying to decide, then said, "alright let's go." Both boys jumped down from the rock, and started walking at a slow pace. Talking boy talk as they went, "after this let's go see if..." Both boys stopped walking. A large group of men stood near the side of the road.

"Wow I wonder what's going on!" Said the second boy. "Look at that man they're crowded around, there's something about him, I don't know what." He continued to stair at the man as he moved towards them. When he reached the edge of the crowd he beckoned to the boy, and said "Come child."

The boy started to walking towards the man when his friend pulled on his sleeve. "What are you doing? You don't even know him!"

"It's fine, He told me to come." His friend let go of him and the boy started walking towards the man again.

When he reached Him the man took his hand and led him into the center of the crowd, then began to speak. "Assuredly, I say unto you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of Heaven.
Whoever receives one little child like this in my name receives Me."

The Man continued to speak and the boy stood and listened. He didn't notice when hid friends Mother came and scolding all the way, took his friend home. He kept listening to the Mans voice, and he didn't notice when Peter, there fishing acquaintance walked up and joined the crowd.

When the Man was done talking he placed His hand on the boy's head "Remember your Father in Heaven young man." he said and then walked away. All the man followed Him except Peter, who knelt down beside the boy.

"What are you doing here? You should be home with your Mother."

"Who was He?" The boy asked.

"Jesus. Now come, I'll take you home."

Bluejane

• 4 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Sep. 26, 2007 - Inspiration

I love to write. I can spend hours just writing.

I have finished the first draft of one of my books, and it title is The Dishwasher Champ.

It's about a girl who loves to wash the dishes, and winds up going to the dishwashing championship, and winning.

I have had one, or two people ask me how on earth I came up with that story line.

Eyebright and I where rather spoiled with our dishwasher, but when we moved, and there wasn't one we had to wash dishes the old fashioned way. One night as I was scrubbing and she was drying we wondered if anyone liked washing the dishies, and the story just went on from there. We finished the dishes and just went on with things without thinking about it.
Well later that week I thought that would make a great book, and I started writing.

There was another time right after I had finished writing The Dishwasher Champ, Eyebright and I were laying in bed, trying to get to sleep in the dead of the night and she told me I should start writing agin. (I had not been writing very much after I finished Dishwasher Champ)
It was not five minutes later when I got out of bed and started grabbed a note book and started scribbing.

"I didn't mean this minute!"
I explained to Eyebright that I had thought of a great story beginning, and I had to write it down. However the story beginning was all I had and the book was never finished.

I have started a lot of books, and then the next day have decided that the story plot was weak, the charcters where mushy, and I was not going to finish the book, and much to Eyebrights despair I have ripped up the startings of the story.

Ever since I have writien The Dishwasher Champ though, all I write is fantesy. Not dark magic, or anything like that (in fact, my characters hardly use anything you could call magic) just in a world I made up all on my own that I can do what ever I want with. Instead of having to stick to the facts about World War II, or trying to get everything right. I just have a lot more fun writing fantesy, I just let my pencil go and I'm never sure what winds up on the page.
Literally.

When I do start a story I tell my self "okay I want this person to say this, and then have this person react in this way," but most the time it never gets down on paper, just because by the time I get to the part where I wanted it added I forget about it! There have been times when I wanted A certain character in my story and then had to smush it in later sometime because I forgot about it.

Well I could go on forever about my writing, but since I have a few things to get done I should probably stop here.

Bluejane

• 8 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

Jun. 2, 2007 - Thinking

Here is another one of my short stories. If you read the last one, and thought it was just to sad for you, this one will be diffrent. I don't usally write such tragic short stories, most of them are funny, but I just must have been feeling sad that day. However I do conseder it one of my best stories!

Okay, back to the point here. This is one of the weekly writing assinments I had to do for school, every week, my Mom will give us a subject, and we have to write something about that subject. It can be anything, and that weeks was thinking. So with out ferther to do,

Thinking

Max, a boy about 9 years old, ran into his livingroom. His Mother sat in a big recliner chair, her eyes where closed, and they did not open when Max entered the room. He ran up to her, and put his hand on her arm. "Mom, it's lunch time." 

"Ssssh," was to only reply he got.

Max looked around the room. Nobody else was there. "Why," he wispered?

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

She cracked open an eye, and slyly glanced at him, then the eye snapped shut, and she went back to thinking. Max got impatient, why did his Mom have to be so weird! "About what," he repeated?

"Oh, things."

Max rolled his eyes, at least she didn't talk in riddles. He thought about going to make lunch for himself, but he was too curious now. "What kind of things," he asked exasperated?

"Just things."

His stomach rumbled. "Well can you think about things while you make lunch, I'm starving?" No answer. "Mother?" 

"Shhh."

He sighed this would just go around in circles. Why didn't he get a Mom like every one elses? I guess there is no way I can get her to make lunch, he thought. He started for the kitchen (his favorite room in the house) then stopped short. He looked over his shoulder at his Mom. "Didn't we get some chips at the store yesterday?" No answer. 

He walked into the kitchen, and shook the chip bag. Then he ran back, and looked at his Mom, nothing. Max ran back into the kitchen, and opened the frig door. He ran back to check on his Mom, nothing. He smiled an almost wicked smile, then he went into the kitchen, and very quietly opened the cookie jar, this time with out a sound he reached into the jar, and pulled out a cookie, then slowly turned around. His mother stood in front of him.

He chukled, works everytime, he thought. His Mom watched until he returned the cookie, then started making lunch. "So Mom, what where you thinking about?" He asked looking at her over his shoulder as he put the cookie jar back. She looked confused. "I wasn't thinking, I was taking a nap."

I was thinking of my Mom sagerats, and brother Kekoa when I wrote this. When ever he addresses her he first calls her Mom, if she's not listening he next says "Mother," and if there is still not response he will call her Mommy, and yes, my Mom does talk to us like that, as if she's half dreaming half awake. Kekoa often does wonder how he wound up in this family, but you can always tell he loves every one of us, and is very glad he is a part of our family, if only to straighten us out when he thinks things are going the wrong way.

Bluejane

• 2 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link

May. 3, 2007 - One of My Short Stories

Here is one of my short stories. I like this one because of what a great friend the horse is. It took me awhile to write because I kept soaking the paper with tears!

Letting Go

One lone tear ran down a woman's face. She knelt next to an old Arabian mare, the horse was stretched out on the ground, and was breathing its last.

At first the woman only thought about how horrible life would be with out her dear old friend. She thought about all the many times she had been mad, and had come down to the barn, and groomed the horse to get all her anger out.

Then she thought about all the tears she had cried into the chestnut coat. Like the time her Papa had died. She had spent hours down at the barn, crying and crying into her coat. The horse nuzzling her knowingly every once in awhile.  Now she turned to happier thoughts.

The first time she had seen this beautiful animal was as a filly. How the filly had called to her from across the field, and how she had known the filly would be her own. About how she had trained the filly to come when she whistled, to follow her body movements, and to trust her wholly, and completely.

The first time she had taken her now well-trained pal to a show,she had spent hours hours grooming the horse's coat so that when the sun glared off of it you where almost blind. How proud she had been when she had been handed their first champion ribbon! They worked so much like a team, she had been one with the horse, moving as the horse did and guiding it around the jumping course.

She thought about how the same horse had helped so many chidren by only doing what she liked to do best, give "pony" rides.  Then a laugh came though the tears as she rememberd the horse's favorite toy, a broom. How when the filly first came to her new home, the woman could not find her barn broom for days, and then found it buried under some dirt in the paddock. She thought about how the horse had carried her up the aisle to meet the groom who was also on a horse.

She thought of how she had put her trust in the now aging horse to hold her six-month-old daughter on it's back. How she had taught the now much older daughter to ride on the horse, and then later a son.

She thought about about the time she had come home from a three day cross country corse with a $5,000 check. She thought about how ten years ago, the vet had told her, if well cared for the horse could live for at least another five years.

Then about how not so long ago somebody had asked to by her horse, her special horse, and how she had told them "sorry I know she's great, but she's not for sale."

Now the woman buried her face in the horse's neck, and said "yes God, take her it's time for her to go." The horse breathed its very last breath.

• 2 Hoof Prints • Leave a Hoof Print! • Permanent Link