This is our new kitten, I’ve called her Inara after a character in Firefly, Inara Serra. We got her yesterday, Lily has of course named her too – something plain and unfitting such a pretty kitten, she’s called her “Missy”. Fortunatley, Inara answers to what I called her. Muhahahaha. 
Also, I did it. This is my 31st post in 31 days. Whoo! Now to our normal but slightly slower posting rate.
I love my cats.
is you’ve got to be a horse person to truly appreciate them. They are more than the embodiment of grace, then an expense, so much more than a good run at the track.
Even more than a little girl’s greatest fantasy.
They’re hard work. And love. And trust. And that musty smell that despite being distinctly animal I could roll around in all day. They are the creature for which I will happily clean up after. They understand when you need someone to hold onto and just cry because your world feels like it’s crumbling beneath and the other humans don’t understand. Your horse does. Because it understands you on some level that I’ve never understood and it knows if it lets you hold it, sink your face into that warm, dusty scent of horse that in a little while you’ll be brave enough to face the world.
They’re the thing that can try to kill you on a regular basis and have you wanting to come back for more, because it’s fun. Because its nice. Because the horse makes a hell of a lot more sense than walking, despite the fact that he’s thrown you into the bindi patch before (true story). Because in true country fashion your horse allows you to spend time with other people on winding, treacherous stock routes full of sharp bends and wombat holes. Where you might just make some friends while getting your bruises.
Or the dinner plate size bruise on your calf suddenly becomes okay because you got to ride bareback and whisper insults to the pony who did it too you while you were mounting up when your teacher can’t hear you.
There is always the time you get to show your friend your horse for the first time, and she’s terrified because he’s tall and big and strong, but she loves horses and after a while you can coax her into the saddle and show her how wonderful that feeling is. How alive and free, even if you are walking her around on the lead.
Because Shetland ponies make thoroughbreds look like pansies in the scary department (I kid you not. I never kid about the awesomeness/scariness of TB’s, since my horse was one.)
How they make unattractive photos of you look just that much better merely because they are present in the photos.
Basically?
I love horses. I miss mine.
Okay, so I may have found some old photos and it’s made me depressed. Hush! I still love my equine friends. Someone with horses, adopt me? I’ll help muck out the stalls/paddocks!
:sad:
it bloody well POURS. If you’ll allow me to use an amazingly abused cliché.
It’s a well known fact to anyone who reads this blog that the past month hasn’t been so rosey. Perhaps even the past few years. I like to try to look on the bright side when I can, because being gloomy doesn’t seem to help much at all.
But sometimes, it’s harder than others.
Mums been having some kinda serious health issues, which make everything in general more complicated. When she saw the specialist they found blood clots in her brain, part of what has been giving her speech and motor skills issues – I guess. She had to stay in Orange Base Hospital for a night or so when she went to the specialist because of the results.
Nan told me, she had what I like to call “the face of doom”. It wasn’t terribly comforting waiting for her to tell me, but though it was bad… it was better than I expected with that face.
Clearly someone thought I hadn’t had enough trauma, because only a little while after I found this out, I went outside to feed the dogs… and found my Labrador dead by the dog house. She must have been there for hours. She was only four years old, I don’t think she died of natural causes.
Mums been back to the local hospital a few times since, nothing as serious as the clots – meds problems, mostly. I still worry, though. She’s afraid she might die.
I’m not terribly sure I blame her, despite the doctors reassurences. But I don’t think she’s going to die, not yet… something the universe seems determined to teach me is that we all do die, eventually, though. In the interim my knee seems to have taken a vacation on me, it sort of collapsed under me again while I was helping my aunt make my bed at Eugowra.
I also need a new sewing box.
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