When a horse says good bye

A friend of mine has two grand old mares: a 25+ Hanoverian mare and a 23+ Thoroughbred mare. They are sweet mares who have had a wonderful, exciting life and a great retirement. They have been baby sitters for new riders, enjoyed fox hunting, and have been blessed with good Read more…

First day on meds

Isis’ medicine arrived today via shipment. (I love it how a “morning” shipment arrives at 11:30 AM.) The medicine is an apple-flavored powder that can be fed in Isis’ grain: one scoop, once per day for 10 days. That’s it. She ate her first dose in some beet pulp and Read more…

Women fighters in realistic armor

I’ve often complained about the inappropriate armor on female miniatures we use in gaming. Most of the time the figures are scantily clad (especially fighters). Thieves seem to be a little better. Gotta love well-endowed breastplates (aka “boobplate”). My Dungeon Master from the Saturday night gaming group emailed me a Read more…

Video comparisons of Isis

For most of the summer, I’ve watched Isis just not quite seem right. Whether it was the heat that bothered her or something else (EPM, most likely) that gave her more off days than good ones, one evening in early August she surprised me. My girl was back that evening. Read more…

Bella Ruse

A friend of mine is a DJ and has an amazing music collection. The latest song suggestion I was sent was by a group called Bella Ruse. Think nice female vocals, folky, and excellent lyrics. Here is a sample from one of their albums: Dark Horse by Bella Ruse Nice Read more…

The Arab’s Farewell to his Steed

One of my favorite poems.

The Arab’s Farewell to His Steed
Caroline Norton (1808-1877)

My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by.
With thy proudly-arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye!
Fret not to roam the desert now with all they winged speed:
I may not mount on thee again – thou’rt sold, my Arab steed!

Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind,
The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind,
The stranger hath thy bridle rein – thy master hath his gold;
Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell! – thou’rt sold, my seed, thou’rt sold.

Farewell! Those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam,
To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger’s home.
Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare;
The silky mane I braided once must be another’s care.