What day is it? Why, it's cover reveal day!

By Gayle Carline
Horse Woman, Mystery Author, and Part-time Ditz

Wait -- what day is this? Saturday? The 11th?

Dang, I got a blog post due!

My husband retired this past November. No, he's not old enough to be thought of as a retiree (only 57), but he put in his years, we've got enough (cross your fingers) savings, so there you are. The problem with his retirement is that I'm losing track of what day it is. I don't have anyone rousing in the morning to trudge to the office, so I wake each morning in a panic, thinking, "Is this Monday? Do I have to be somewhere?"

The biggest news I have to report is that I finally have a cover design for my latest mystery, Murder on the Hoof.

For anyone out there who thinks that self-publishing is a shortcut for people who don't want to spend the quality time seeking out representation, hoping to get a publisher, then sitting back and waiting two years to see their book on the shelves, let me tell you something:

If it is, I'm doing it wrong.

In September, I completed my manuscript. So far, I've edited it myself 5 times, sent it to beta readers and incorporated their comments, sent it to my freelance editor for additional, professional editing, and worked with my cover designer.

Believe it or not, the cover's been the hardest part of this particular book. For some reason, Joe (Felipe, my cover designer whom I adore) and I could not come up with a design that worked. We started the work in November, for Pete's sake, and just kept swapping this for that for the other thing. It was much like getting dressed to go someplace a little more upscale than you usually visit - you put on an outfit, then change the top, then the bottom, then the top again, and so on until you find that combination that works.

When I opened Joe's email this week, I nearly wept. It was soooo good.

Ladies and Gents, I give to you...

Isn't lovely? I still have to write the jacket blurb, but first I have to get my editor's comments folded in. Basically, Willie Adams goes to a horse show to buy her first horse, and finds romance - and danger - instead.

My author's heart is getting really excited. My publisher's heart is saying, "Calm down. We're a long way from a release party."

In the meantime, I hope you all have a great weekend!

Trail Ride Adventure

                                               by Laura Crum

            The other day my son and I found a new bit of trail across the road from our place—a trail that linked our favorite starting spot to a trail that we hadn’t used in a year or so—we call it the ridge trail. We used to have to access the ridge trail by basically sneaking through someone’s backyard, which didn’t ever feel very good, so we quit going that way. But now we had found some trail that led us to the ridge trail through the forest, skirting around the dubious backyard route—a new trail that was obviously created by riders from the local boarding stable. Yay!

            We decided to make a big loop—riding up the ridge trail to the Lookout and coming back by our usual trail. Our friend Wally went with us. We headed up the ridge trail in good spirits, eager to see its particular views again. We had sort of forgotten exactly what this trail was like.

            There are no photos—I never have photos of tough bits of trail because I’m just too busy riding. Maybe you endurance riders would scoff at me calling this tough—though in the endurance blogs I read, I have never seen any photos of trail that is more technical than this—except, of course, for things like Cougar Rock. Let me describe and see what you think.

            The ridge trail is quite steep and runs unrelentingly upward for maybe a quarter of a mile. It is narrow singletrack and follows the spine of a ridge, so there are impressive dropoffs (50-100 feet) on both sides. In some places the trail runs right on the edge—the sort of place where a misstep or a spook could be, uhmm, bad. The brush is dense, and between the dropoffs and the thick brush, there is no possible deviation from the trail. All of this, by itself, is a bit unnerving, but quite doable. The footing is good—sandy ground. The real problem is the step-ups.

            Because there are numerous (like maybe fifteen or twenty) places on this climb where tree roots and erosion have created big “step-ups.” When I was thinking about writing this blog post I asked my husband if I would be exaggerating to say that most of the step-ups were two and a half feet or so. He said they were more like three feet. Now this is really worth mentioning because my husband usually thinks that I exaggerate. So picture two and a half to three foot vertical step-ups all along this very steep trail. It’s daunting. It’s actually very hard to hike on foot (I’ve done this many times).

            Our horses are not trail horse athletes by any means, but they are steady and reliable and they have climbed the ridge trail maybe a hundred times—but not in the last year. The trick is to take the sections with the step-ups at a brisk trot so that the horses can use their momentum to leap up the big “steps.” It is, well, a bit exhilarating.

            Anyway, we headed up the ridge trail, and I will admit that I sort of sucked in my breath when faced with the first very steep section of step-ups. I’d just forgotten how hairy they were. My son said, “This looks pretty scary.” But we kicked our horses and up they scrambled like the good little trail horses they are.

            On and on, up and up, leaping up the step-ups. We stopped halfway to let them breathe and I stared at the next steep section with even bigger step-ups, thinking that this might have been a bad choice of trail. But I didn’t exactly want to go back down. Going down the ridge trail is pure torture. It hurts my back and the horses really don’t like doing it.

            Wally echoed my thoughts. “Have we ever ridden down this steep son of a bitch?” he asked me.

            “Yep. Lots of times. But we quit doing it because we hated it.”

            Wally shook his head. “I don’t ever want to ride down this trail again. Up is tolerable—barely.”

            So on we went. By the time we reached the top of the climb the horses needed another long breather. But we made it, unscathed. I’m not sure whether any of us are game to ride the ridge trail again any time soon, though. I dunno—does this sound like fun to you other trail riders? I have to say that any trail that daunts Wally is a pretty tough trail.

            The rest of the ridge trail beyond the big climb is gentle and uneventful, following the ridge along, until it meets up with the trail that we usually take (and then leads up to the spot at the very highest point of the ridge—what we call “the Lookout.”) Nice views from here.

            We take another trail on the way back, also gentle and pleasant, following a very old road bed, and then, to get home, must take a narrow little singletrack for half a mile, once again on the spine of a ridge, through some dense woods. This trail has no step-ups and is not steep overall (just in a couple of short bits). But the trees are quite tricky.

            The trail weaves in and out between various very solid tree trunks and branches that lean into and over the trail. Narrow and snaky, the singletrack must be adhered to—the slopes on each side are steep and dense with brush. Over and over again I have whacked my knee or shoulder on the oak trees that turn this trail into a pole bending course—with poles that won’t yield. I have learned the technique that works best—send the horse straight forward past the obstacle and then let him turn once your body is past—trying to bend the horse or sidepass away from the tree often backfires.

            Anyway, we make our careful way along this trail until we reached the “headbonker tree.” The headbonker tree (and all of these trails that I am describing) is featured in my 11^th and 12^th novels, “Going Gone” and “Barnstorming.” This is a very solid branch that hangs over the trail. One must go under; there is no workable way around.

            We have ridden under the headbonker tree literally hundreds of times, but every year it gets harder to do. It is amazing how much an oak grows in girth in just a few years. So after six straight years of riding this trail, this tree is far more challenging to duck under than it was when we started.

            Wally and I may have grown in girth, too, and my son has gotten taller. The horses haven’t shrunk. And so today, for the first time ever, we stopped and dismounted and led our horses under the headbonker tree. There was a mere four inches or so between the top of my saddle horn and this tree branch. And I do have a photo of the headbonker tree—I took it just before I dismounted.

            Ok, we got off, we went under, we got back on, and we descended the rest of the trail, which has one steep little 50 foot chute in loose dirt that the horses sort of slither and slide down, but is otherwise pretty easy. At the bottom of the trail we ride through a little meadow to wait by the side of the busy road that we must cross to get home.

            This is actually the most dangerous part of the ride. The road is very busy—cars zip along at 50 miles an hour or so, with few gaps in the traffic. We have to stand right on the shoulder in order to see. There are city busses and logging trucks, bicycles and motorcycles…you name it, whizzing by not three feet from the horses’ noses. A spook in the wrong direction would be literally fatal. A helmet is not going to be of any help in this situation.

            So we wait and wait by the side of the road, looking for a big gap in the traffic. The horses are flawless--patient, quiet as statues, waiting—even though they are perfectly aware that once across the road they are home again. It is as if they know the need for caution here as well as we do. I’m not sure this is the case, but I am sure that none of them have ever flinched or pranced, or balked in all the hundreds of times we have crossed this road. Either on the way out or the way back. But I still find it nerve-wracking.

            Eventually we cross the road and head back up the hill to my front gate. I pat Sunny on the shoulder and tell him what a good horse he is. My son says,” Well we had a good trail ride adventure today.” And I think he is right.

            So here’s my question to you more intrepid trail riders and endurance folk. Does this sound like a fun little ride to you? Or would you find the obstacles I’m describing to be a negative? I’m curious if maybe I’m just a total wimp.

            

Meghan Namaste and Training Harry

by Linda Benson

Today, please welcome Meghan Namaste, who recently published a novel called Training Harry, which she describes as a "new equestrian saga for adults."

Training Harry is available right now as an eBook on Amazon, with a print version in the works.

Erica Rimwork is an everygirl, fighting her way up the ranks as a hunter/jumper trainer. She isn’t gorgeous, or highly successful. Perpetually single, she’s focused on her goal - an Olympic show-jumping medal. Or moving out of her parents’ house would be good too.

When she agrees to help out her brother’s friend with a troubled horse, Erica is totally unprepared for what she finds. The friend is Lawrence Cavanaugh, a rogue polo player with intense eyes and tight-fitting jeans. Mind blown, Erica finds herself agreeing to help train his renegade polo pony, Harry. For free. She knows what she’s in for - Harry is a mess, rank, thorny, and maddening. But unlocking the mystery of Harry’s resistance is one thing. Getting the guy is a lot more complicated.

Meghan has provided us with an excerpt from Training Harry, so enjoy:

Lawrence’s place was pretty close by, but off the beaten track. The route veered gradually, taking me away from the prestige and uniformity of my neighborhood. The scenery shifted from white-fenced Thoroughbred palaces to hay fields and small family farms. Lexington’s natural beauty was more evident out here, and I gazed out the window as my truck wound its way through narrow two-lane roads and eventually made the turn onto an unmarked dirt road.

I knew the place where he was living, vaguely. It belonged to a family friend. She’d inherited it when her husband died and it had stood empty for a long while. I guessed Lou had helped hook him up with it.

I pulled in the drive and shut down my vehicle. Looking around, I could see the old stable was still in good shape, wearing the patina of age and slight neglect. There were several paddocks nearby, but no horses were turned out in them. The footing in the outdoor arena had been harrowed recently. But the farmhouse drew me in the most. It was small, just the right size for a person or two, with windows all around. That is a house I could live in.

I climbed out of my truck and slammed the door, piercing the quiet. I heard a horse call out and then the door of the house opened. Before I knew it, Lawrence Cavanaugh was standing in front of me, shaking my hand. "Hi there," he said warmly. "You must be Erica." I nodded like one of those absurd-looking bobbleheads. I couldn't speak. Hell, even breathing was difficult.

He stood no taller than I did, just under six feet. He was lean but not skinny, and he carried himself like a Thoroughbred in the post parade, all taut, controlled, dangerous energy. His hair was jet black and it fell haphazardly around his face, the longest of it ending below his jaw. His eyes were unbelievably dark and so intense that it both thrilled and terrified me to be so close. I tried to comprehend how I had missed him before, when he used to hang out with Lou. Was I blind?

Slowly, I became aware that I was staring at him. I knew I needed to stop, but it seemed an impossibility. Feeling embarrassed, I pulled at a stray thread on my shirt. Don't panic, I told myself. He's probably used to this. All the same, I hated my lack of self control. I could almost hear the seconds go by.

Fortunately, Lawrence threw me a lifeline. "Harry's in his stall. I left him in this morning so as not to waste any of your time. He doesn’t like to be caught."

I smiled gratefully. "That was good thinking. Well, I'll get started with him then."

Almost surprised by my newfound ability to form words, I followed Lawrence to the barn, noting that the back view was as righteous as the front had been. Well, that's not going to help you concentrate, is it?

We stepped through the barn door. My stomach was floating unnaturally with anticipation.

I saw Harry immediately. He was black with a bold white blaze on his face. That was all I could tell at first. He was straining against his stall door, weaving slightly. At the sound of our feet he turned his head and focused on me. The weight in his stare was shocking. There was more behind his eye than there should have been.

I stayed back, watching, as Lawrence clipped a lead to his halter and brought him out. “Meet Harry,” he said.

I could see the potential my brother had spoken of immediately. Harry was athletic and muscled, yet streamlined. His legs and feet were well built and clearly up to the rigors of polo. He stood up as if on tiptoe, poised. The whites of his eyes were prominent, like an Appaloosa. My heart was suddenly very loud in my ears.

We moved Harry to the cross ties so Lawrence could tack him up. Harry stood well for the process, but I could see his mind working overtime.

"So. What kind of problems have you been having with Harry?" I asked, like this was just a normal training gig with a normal owner and a normal horse.

Lawrence stopped what he was doing, a stirrup leather frozen in his hand. His eyes went even darker for a second. “He…” Lawrence seemed to be doing a lot of editing. “He has no work ethic,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?” I needed more information than that.

“Harry could easily go along with what I want. I’m not asking for much, at this stage. But he won’t. He works himself into a lather fighting against me. He’d rather fight himself ragged than walk in a straight line when I ask him to.” Lawrence stared dimly at Harry. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I walked around to Harry’s near side. “I assume he’s been vetted?”

Lawrence snorted. “Flexed, poked, prodded, x-rayed, scoped by the finest vets in Wellington. He’s had a bone scan, an MRI even. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

I didn’t bother asking about saddle fit. I could see the saddle was a match, and even if it wasn’t, horses are adept at tolerating a little pain. This issue went way deeper. Whatever it was.

Lawrence went to Harry’s head, fastening the noseband and throatlatch. I realized I would have to ride soon. Harry seemed to realize it too. His head came up, and his calm demeanor vanished. Staring at his twitching muscles, I felt my confidence retreating. Lou said he’s not a rogue, I reminded myself. Lou said he’s not a rogue.

Oh, hell, what does Lou know? My brain rebounded. Lou hasn’t even seen the horse!

Lawrence handed Harry's reins to me.

I looked into Harry’s quivering eyeball, then back at Lawrence. He was waiting, ready to take Harry’s reins back. He thought I was going to bail. I turned back to Harry with resolve. He wasn’t any different than the young, fractious ex-racehorses I started all the time. He was smaller, too. I hesitated for a brief moment, then fastened my helmet. "Come on, Harry," I said in my best fake self-assured horse calming voice, "Let's have some fun."

I led Harry to the arena, pulled down the stirrups and mounted up. He stood obediently. Encouraged, I gave him a long rein and brushed him with my leg.

When I got on a new horse, unless they were totally jazzed up and ready to buck, I always gave them a minute to just walk out, and I followed them with my seat and hands, asking nothing. It gave me a chance to get used to their rhythm, and I found it made them more agreeable in the end. Horses didn’t subscribe to the same social standards as people did, true, but it seemed to me that it was rude to jump on a new horse and immediately start demanding things.

Harry did hesitate. I let him have that moment of uncertainty, and then he picked himself up and walked on. His neck was upside-down, and his head floated above the contact I offered. But he walked dead straight.

I patted him, turned him in the other direction, and gave his sides a light squeeze. He burst into the trot, skittering around in a quick tempo. I controlled my posting, lingering in the air each time I rose, and Harry slowed his gait to match the rhythm I’d set for him. Encouraged, I picked up the contact, wrapping my inside leg against him and fluttering the reins, reaching down to touch his neck whenever he softened.

I changed direction a couple times, bending him different ways. Harry was melting, answering me, giving me the power to shape him. That was a big deal for a horse like Harry. But I could see, from the glimpses I caught of his eye as I rode him, that his mind was far from quiet.

             Gently, I brought Harry to a halt. I patted his neck, which wasn't even sweaty. And I looked up from the black curve of Harry’s neck, right into the equally dark and deeply-set eyes of his owner. He was smiling.

Thanks so much for stopping by, Meghan, and best of luck with your new novel. Once again, the Kindle edition of this book is right here: http://www.amazon.com/Training-Harry-Meghan-Namaste-ebook/dp/B00H3QAZK4/

Happy Reading, everyone, and hope you and your horses are staying snug in the bitter weather many of you are experiencing!

A Cautionary Tale

                                                by Laura Crum

            Several years ago my friend Wally bought a pretty black horse that belonged to a roper who needed to sell the horse quickly, due to losing his job and being unable to pay board. Wally knew this horse slightly and believed him to be gentle and a decent heel horse. The horse was said to be nine years old, he was quite sound (we jogged him in circles on the asphalt driveway), and he was priced to sell. So Wally bought him as a backup horse.

            The black horse (named Coal) turned out to have strengths and weaknesses—like all horses. He wasn’t a very good heel horse, and he obviously did not care for being a rope horse. He was, however, a lovely mover and very smooth gaited. He would willingly lope endless circles in a perfect, collected lope and he didn’t seem to mind this at all. He would pack beginners with good grace—in the arena. He wasn’t much of trail horse and acted sulky and reluctant outside and hated walking downhill. After a couple of years of messing around with him, Wally decided the horse didn’t fit him and asked our friend Mark (who is something of a horse trader) to sell the horse for him.

            Wally wanted to do right by Coal and we knew a rope horse home or a trail horse home wouldn’t suit the horse. So Wally asked Mark to try to find a Coal a good “forever” home as a walk/trot/lope arena horse. And truly, Coal was ideal for this.

            How many people out there would like a sound, gentle, eleven year old gelding—very pretty, solid black, very smooth gaited and very solid in the arena? Coal was not a particularly friendly horse—more stand-offish-- but reasonably well-mannered. He would pin his ears when cinched and sometimes made little “dolphin” bucks at the lope when he was fresh. But these were not vices that would bother even a beginner. And Coal would pack beginners patiently—I watched him do it many times.

            So Mark found what he thought was the perfect home for Coal. A middle-aged lady with a lovely horse property who owned five horses that were either too old or too lame to ride. She was keeping all of them for the rest of their lives. She just wanted a horse she could ride in the arena and do very low level dressage. She rode Coal and thought he was perfect. She seemed like the perfect home. Coal was sold and Wally made a nice profit. We all felt good about it. We thought we had done the horse a favor and placed him in a home where he would have a good life.

            The woman kept in touch with Mark and it became clear that she was very timid and even this quite-gentle gelding intimidated her with his ear pinning and occasional crowhop. Mark encouraged her to take lessons on him, which she did, and this seemed to work. She said she was very happy with him and sent photos of the horse at the small dressage shows she attended. Coal looked good. We thought all was well.

            Coal remained with this woman a year or two, but a month ago Mark got a call. The woman said that Coal had bit her and she was now afraid of him—and she wanted to sell him back. Mark agreed to take the horse back. Wally wanted no part of it. And, no matter how much I would like to help every good horse that crosses my path, I have no place to put another horse and no time to ride one. Sunny doesn’t get ridden as much as he should. I simply had to pass.

            So now Mark has Coal and is trying to find another home for him. But…and it’s a BIG but. Coal is not the same horse. He’s pushy and disrespectful and testing the boundaries at all points. Mark (or any other competent horseman) can fix this rather easily. But the horse won’t be truly suitable for a beginner to own…ever again. And this is a very sad thing for the horse’s future.

            This story is very similar to my Sunny horse. A flunked out heel horse (like Coal), gentle for beginners (like Coal), Sunny was sold (by Mark) to be a family horse and to do low level dressage and trail riding with beginners. Three years later the horse was for sale again and I bought him to be my trail horse. I soon found out why he was for sale.

            The previously polite and well-mannered Sunny now offered to kick and nip, balked at loading in the trailer, crow-hopped when annoyed, sulled up when he didn’t want to do something, was hard to catch…etc. He was, in short, very spoiled. I soon cured him of this, and at this point he’s pretty well-mannered again and a pleasant horse to ride and handle. But he hasn’t forgotten. If I do something stupid, Sunny is quick to show me that he will take advantage. He has learned his lesson. If the humans don’t know how to be in charge, the door is open for the horse to take charge. Sunny has not forgotten this. He would not be suitable for a beginner to own—though I could sure put a beginner on him for one ride. But over time it would not work out. Sunny has been effectively ruined for beginners—he is lucky that I came along for him (as I am lucky to own such a reliable trail horse).

            So people, take heed. This has been my single biggest problem placing horses over the years. I send a gentle, reliable horse to a home with well-intentioned people who are, quite frankly, dudes. But they mean well and have the money and the time and the desire to do right by the horse. I encourage them to get skilled help—and they usually try to do this. But the story so often ends like this. Several years later and they are afraid to ride or handle the horse—who now has learned to buffalo the person and is more or less a spoiled monster. Such once-well-broke horses (like my Sunny) are not that hard for a horseman to remind of their manners. But they won’t forget what they have learned from their non-horseman owners. And if they are owned/handled by beginners again, they will be quick to take advantage.

            It’s hard to say what the answer is. Never sell a good horse to dudes? That seems a little extreme. We were all beginners at one time. And beginners really need these solid horses. But this is a very frustrating and extremely common story. Well-intentioned non-horseman can almost be guaranteed to let a horse run over them more than they should allow, and most gentle, solid horses suitable for beginners are that way partly because they are level-headed and tough minded. Such a horse is quick to understand that the owner can’t make him obey, and said owner is constantly giving way to every whim that the horse displays. And soon the horse is a spoiled monster. Such a sad situation—not good for horse or person-- and so very common. Anyone have any thoughts on how to prevent this?

            

Favorite Moments on a Horse--2013

                                    by Laura Crum

            Happy New Year to all! Here’s hoping 2014 is a banner year for all of us—2013 was a difficult year for many people I know, including me. But there were happy moments, and many of them were on a horse.

            I didn’t ride as much this past year as I have in the previous five years, but I did ride quite a bit, even so. And today I am going to post my favorite riding photos from this year, in order. Right up front I have to say that these photos are largely of my son and his horse, Henry, or of my Sunny’s ears. Because virtually all the riding I did this year was with my son. And truthfully, that is what I really want to remember—the happy hours my boy and I spent together horseback, the year he turned thirteen and his horse turned twenty-five. It’s actually one of my really joyful memories about this year—we kept on riding together on our good horses and saw some lovely things. I’ve tried to pick some pictures that capture that magic (at least a little).

            So here is my son and Henry last January. I like this photo a lot—a boy and his horse in the wild world. I especially like the completely unmarked sand—we were the first people to ride/walk down the empty beach this winter’s day.

            This photo is from the same ride—looking out to sea. A storm was coming in.

            Another beach ride—we took a lot of them last winter/early spring.

            The view from Sunny’s back—I never tire of these lovely views through the ears.

            A favorite thing we did—long trot the horses side by side down the beach. Henry has a very fast, very smooth long trot—Sunny often had to lope to keep up. 

            We rode at home in our riding ring, too.

            Sunny likes to gallop up our driveway from the gate to the house. I usually wear a helmet but my husband wanted to take a picture with my hair blowing, so I took the helmet off for this photo.

           During the summer we gathered cattle at my uncle’s roping arena with friends—many, many times.

            And we rode out my uncle’s back gate into the redwood forest. This dirt road is perfect for long trotting or a good gallop.

            Riding along the ridge.

            I took quite a few solo rides in this magical wood when my son preferred to stay at the roping arena and work cattle.

            We didn’t ride a lot in the fall—due to much schoolwork and other interests (like bike riding). But we did ride, sometimes just exercising the horses here at home. 

            And in December we got out for a few more rides. Here in the redwood forest of Nisene Marks.

            

            We rode on our local trails up to the Lookout, about a mile from our front gate, where we can see the Monterey Bay (looking towards Santa Cruz).

            Looking towards Monterey.

            Many of our rides included our friend and boarder, Wally, with his horse Twister. Wally is eighty years young and still riding strong. This photo was taken just a few days ago, up on the ridge near our place.

            And finally, today is Sunny and my anniversary. I brought him home six years ago today and we have been a steady, happy trail riding partnership ever since. So glad I made the choice to buy this little yellow horse. We are good together. Happy New Year!

Practical and Happy New Year's Resolutions

 I know I need to wish for peace and prosperity and the end of racism, pollution and educational SOLs.  And I do, really, want the best for the world but more practical resolutions are also on my mind and since they are often the same ones I make every year, they may be as difficult to conquer as peace and good will.

Promotional Resolutions:  What happened to marketing in 2013? Nothing. I did zip. That has to change if I am going to retire on royalties (kind of the same myth as Santa Claus). My website has not been updated for a year so my new book isn't even featured. Shame on me! So resolution #1 is putting more effort into marketing.  

Writing Resolutions:  I do fine with deadlines and books under contract. But I have a great, finished novel that is sitting in my computer. Just sitting. Why? Because an editor liked it and gave me revision ideas. I was busy with another book and with antiquing and with life and couldn't muster the energy to revise. No more excuses. Remembering Kate is worthy of a shot, at least, at being published. So get with it, me.

Family Resolutions: Loving my animals and family MORE!  My horses have gotten the short end of the stick this year. They are still healthy and as my husband says "I doubt Relish cares if he gets ridden," but I love horses too much to stop riding forever. Ziggy and Fang get plenty of attention, but like all little dogs, they are bottomless pits of love.  My son, daughter and husband are the greatest so I resolve to tell all family members how much I appreciate them.

Home Resolutions: Clean up my office! This is the hardest resolution to keep, yet should be the easiest.

Ya'll Resolutions: This resolution is for co-workers, students, grocery store clerks, friends, customers, waitresses and everyone in the world I come in contact with every day. I promise to be patient and kind and say 'thank you' for doing a great job. And for all Equestrian Ink bloggers and followers thank you for your input, great ideas, reviews, photos, fun posts and comments.  Have a terrific, productive and healthy 2014!

The Smooth Jazz of Christmas Past

by Natalie Keller Reinert

I didn't celebrate Christmas growing up, and I'm at a point in my life where I really don't mind. 

It takes time to come to grips with things that set you on the far reaches of society (if not completely outside of them). There is jealousy, there is resentment, there is eager adoption, and then, if adoption doesn't work out -- as it hasn't really, in my case -- there is smiling amusement. You puppies are so cute. I'll be over here listening to smooth jazz, just like I did on Christmas morning growing up.

Okay, it's not quite that serious. I actually do have a deep and abiding love of Christmas, one which I discovered over several years of working in a Christmas shop at the Magic Kingdom. You can do one of two things while listening to Christmas carols and wishing people a Merry Christmas 365 days a year -- go utterly insane, or get into the groove of things. I opted for the latter. It was easier, and it was happier, and there's nothing wrong with easier or happier in my book. 

This guy. My once and future Christmas memory.

And I have at least one really special childhood Christmas memory. It just so happens that it took place two days after Christmas, when my mother and I drove down the flat stretches of I-95 to Ft. Pierce, Florida, on a chilly, gray afternoon, to a cattle ranch a few miles from the Tropicana juice factory, and I fell in love with a skinny Thoroughbred named Amarillo Elbert.

(Interestingly, my musical memory from that trip is Nights in White Satin. We listened to a cassette tape of The Moody Blues on the way. I could recite the weird poem at the end. I still can. Party trick!)

So Christmas and I don't have the strongest relationship, but we have some good times together, and a few traditions, too. Like the gorgeous trees that my husband and I have laughingly carried home from the Gowanus Home Depot, avoiding the jacked-up prices at Brooklyn's neighborhood tree lots (this year we had to bring it home on the subway. It was the nicest smelling subway car you've ever been on.) The endless supply of Mickey Mouse ornaments I have from my time in the Christmas shop. Polish chocolates from the neighborhood market in my son's Christmas stocking. 

This is a very, very small sampling of my Disney Christmas ornaments. I have a problem.

Little things, but good times.

And I suppose no one could be too surprised, after reading this, that Claiming Christmas was the first Christmas story I ever wrote. Or that, like Alex, I've always been too busy working to give Christmas too much extra thought.

But the season is there, and sooner or later, I guess, we all find ourselves with little holiday traditions. Even if we were so busy we didn't even notice they were happening. 

And smooth jazz... man, that's just always going to be a tradition for me. I spend a lot of time listening to music that's cooler than I am, but you can't escape your childhood, can you?

My Christmas story this year is Claiming Christmas. My favorite chocolate surprise at Christmas is a Happy Hippo. And, since you know you want to hear it, my favorite smooth jazz song is Behind the Waterfall.  

Which, by weird coincidence, is also played at Disney.

Merry Christmas boys and girls!