Life without . . . .

This morning I received a note from a new friend and member of our extended family of "outlaws." I call 'em outlaws cuz they're related to the in-laws so they're swaying in the breeze way out there on the branch tips of the family tree.

Maybe I can coin this as a new meaning for the word and make a splash in one of the upcoming Merriam-Webster annual announcements. So, thus starts the campaign. Spread the "outlaw" word. Start calling those distantly related folks your "outlaws," and when skeptical eyebrows rise, explain the connections, and do give me credit for my coinage.

Enough of that muttering.

The new outlaw friend started telling me about herself and mentioned the fact that she had always longed to have a horse. Reading that made me once more think about what life must be like without a horse. For a person like me and a lot of like-minded equine addicts, that would be like taking away a chunk of identity.

I'm sitting here with the laptop in the living room, typing and watching horse tails, including Lily's little stub, swishing flies in the field where Bill (with a little help) just built a new board fence. Last night, hours after Lily came home to be a pasture horse for the rest of 2008, I saddled her up and took off down the lane for a pleasant summer-evening ride.

We went to fields where Lily had not gone before, except maybe on her two outings last year where she scaled goat fences and ended up over on Selle Road to visit with Anderson's horses. On one of those visits, she just about ended up being road kill when a dump truck driver had to slam on his brakes to avoide hitting her. The skid marks stayed in the road for several weeks, and gates stayed closed at the Lovestead afterward.

The night she broke out of her stall in the barn, dressed in black blanket and squeezie for a horse show, almost turned ominous, but we found her at her favorite rendezvous spot once the darkness turned to light.

Anyway, last night's ride offered no escapes for Lily as we rounded the God Tree pasture, rode past Rambo and Casey's graves and as she spooked at her shadow which mysteriously kept moving through the tall grass as we walked forward. We also successfully passed between trees off the brush-hogged path in the woods and managed to stay on focus without whinnying too many times as Lefty raced around the barnyard and "screamed" longingly for his Lily.

I appreciated the opportunity to reach the point where this big bay leopard beauty from Oklahoma was finally ready for this ol' farm gal to climb on and enjoy. I've begun a new era with my horses, and if it's anything like the past experiences, good times lie ahead.

I cannot imagine my life without these critters, which require so much of my time (and money) cleaning up after them, feeding, grooming---all while giving me so much enjoyment. Last year, when I lost Rambo and Casey so close together, it was the same as losing two family members.

We, who are fortunate to live a lifetime with horses around us, invest deep emotions and much of our day toward their welfare as well as toward our own well being because of their mere presence. They're our friends, our kids and our at-home guidance counselors.

I can recall many times in life, when other dimensions were not going so well, taking those trips to the barn to shovel manure or to just talk to someone who'd listen in return for a pat or two. A few minutes later, the problem may have remained, but it didn't seem nearly so bad. A horse's nonjudgmental presence and welcoming attitude (of course, they're going to welcome anyone who'll give them a hand-out of grain or love) can work wonders for a troubled mind.

Last night's ride on Lily, though a bit tentative because of the distractions for an inexperienced 3-year-old, gave me a positive jolt for the rest of the evening, much like my lattes do each morning.

So, to my new outlaw friend in Wisconsin, thanks for reminding me once again that we sometimes take for granted those constants in our lives until we contemplate life without them. I think I'll go out and hug my horses, and I'll tell 'em you said hello.