Last night when I fed the horses I noticed that Willow looked a little tender footed. This morning I put a rag and the horse pick in the buckets when I went to their run-in to feed . Better check. As she tucked into her bucket of grain,  I ran my hand down her right fore and asked her, "give". She shifted her weight and pulled up her hoof . I picked around looking for a rock or stone, cleaned out the frog, ran the pick around the front edge of her hoof. A few chips. Thought "good thing the farrier will be here on Thursday". Got the rag out and cleaned all over the bottom and pressed around with my fingers. There it was, a crack, and the tell tale 'give' to pressure. She probably is working on a bruise or the beginning of an abscess. This used to make me panic, but now I am just glad I know the signs and can catch it early. This is one of the pleasures of having your horses at your home, catching things in time and being right here.

When I was in second grade, we moved to a house that had a small stable and pasture. My parents somehow found a naughty brown and white pinto pony that needed a horse besotted girl to dote on. I adored that animal. He was like most ponies, food obsessed and wily. I spent hours chasing him to catch him, luring him with carrots and treats, earning his trust and ultimately getting his limited respect. I would ride him down the empty country roads and dream of being a cowgirl or a veterinarian working with fancy racehorses like Secretariat. My mom would strap her brown Timex on my wrist and say you need to come back when the big hand is on 6 and the little hand is on the 5. When I think back now, being a mother, I cannot believe she could have the confidence to do that, but I am so grateful she did . I learned to be brave and adventurous and have faith in my abilities and trust in myself.

We were only there for 2 years. In the Navy, you never stay in one place very long. My parents were Navy juniors and I learned from them; grow where you are planted, make the most of every place you have the privilege to call home, and when service calls , you move. So naturally I was excited to move to Florida, it sounded exotic and you could ride all year round even in the wintertime. As we prepared to leave and the packing began I asked over the dinner table where Crispy would be staying and how would we get him there. My parents both laughed and said he wouldn't be going to Jacksonville.

Right there my world, as I had known it, ended. For the first time in my young life, I felt truly heartbroken. My wonderful parents were horrible people, God was not great, God was not good, and I was not thankful for this food, I wanted to throw-up. I was stunned.

I don't even remember what happened to Crispy. I can't remember anything from the move. I think, to this day, I put the whole ordeal out of my memory and I am the one in our family who remembers everything! My first memory of Jacksonville was riding stick horses down the hill on Algonquin Ave. and begging my sister to just do it one more time. She was hot and the humidity was too much. That's when we met our first new friend, Marty Gaillard . She rode stick horses with me after that.

My parents were not horrible people. They loved me deeply and knew, as my grandmother would frequently say during troubled times, 'this too will pass'. They were wise also. I think children should not be shielded from hurt. You will be hurt in this life, hurt deeply. What is important is that you learn resiliency, and you do that when you hurt and there are people who care for you. They teach you to love through the hurt, to love the hurt away . That builds resiliency. Children are experts at resiliency. I learned to be resilient watching and living with my parents and siblings; for those who know the greatest sorrow know the greatest joy.