This blog is devoted to my love of horses & wild birds. It chronicles my journey through grief, healing, personal growth, and moving forward with the adventures of life. Birds, Boots, and Brews is the original work of Eloquent Editing, LLC.
You have probably noticed a tremendous silence on this blog
during the summer months. I like to think that summer is a crazy, busy time for
everyone. It always is for me. In addition to the usual activities summer
brings, it is also a time of sadness and reflection for me. June 8 marked the
three-year anniversary of my husband’s passing. It hit me very hard this year,
and although I am blessed to have an amazing family, wonderful friends, and am
surrounded by some very therapeutic dogs, horses, and 3 new kittens, I still
find myself grieving the loss of my husband and wondering about what might have
I started to write a poem about it back in June but could never
finish it. Most likely it’s because I have never been accused of being a great
poet. In fact, poetry was the one aspect of my writing that my many English
teachers used to frown upon over the years. I have no sense of timing, rhyming,
or rhythm, which probably explains why I wasn’t great at reading sheet music
either. I am simply hoping for a passing
grade with this effort! It feels good to finally finish it.
For my husband, Kent. You are loved and missed every day.
Deadlines. We all have them, and for one reason or another, we have all missed at least one. Life happens. It can get in the way with overwhelming obligations and expectations placed upon us by other people. This week has been no exception for me. I try to have a new blog post every Tuesday, but for whatever reason, life got in the way this week.
This is a very hard week for me, and the weekend ahead will be
challenging too. More snow and frigid temperatures are scheduled to hit my home
state of Colorado, and I am dreading that. I have a mare that could give birth
at any time, and as any horse owner will tell you, things like a full moon or
bad weather will bring about the blessed event with the force of a freight
train that has lost its brakes going downhill. But I digress. While the weather
may create challenges for my weekend, something else is weighing heavily on my
mind. Friday, March 1, is my late husband’s 51st birthday.
As my husband’s best friend has said numerous times, “We are the
ones serving a life sentence because we have to live without him.” Those words
ring true in my heart and my mind as I write this. I find myself bursting into
tears at random times, and I keep hearing some of his favorite songs in my
head. This is the third birthday of his I have had to celebrate – and I use
that term loosely – without him, and it is not getting easier. If anything,
this birthday is bothering me worse than the others, and I am not sure why. I
cannot get him off my mind, and I cannot help but wonder what we would be doing
to celebrate his birthday if he was still here. Not that we always had
extravagant birthday celebrations, but we did try to do something special for
As I was watching one of our horses buck and play in his
paddock this morning, a horse that my husband was particularly fond of,
Ichabod, I was reminded of one of the last trips we were able to take together
on his birthday several years ago. We only had the weekend for a getaway, so we
were pressed for time, which ruled out going anywhere extravagant or warm, like
Hawaii, and we had a limited budget. We did agree that we wanted to get out of
Colorado if it was possible, so we started looking online. After a quick search,
we found affordable tickets to fly to Kentucky and boarded a plane shortly after
work on a Thursday night.
You are probably asking yourself, “why in the world would
anyone choose Kentucky the first of March?!” We chose it because it was an
opportunity to take in live horse racing at Turfway Park in Florence, Kentucky,
a track we had never been to before. We had made a pact a few months before to
try to visit as many tracks in North America as we could, and this was as good
of a place as any to start.
While Florence, Kentucky, may not be everyone’s idea of a
dream weekend getaway, it was for us. The hospitality at our modest hotel exceeded
our expectations. The kind people at the hotel had their shuttle take us to and
from the track so we didn’t have to worry about driving, and the hotel manager
was kind enough to help me surprise my husband with a bottle of champagne and
some birthday carrot cake cupcakes in our room when we returned from the races.
We were able to take in one evening of races – something that
was foreign to us since none of the tracks we go to offer racing at night – and
2 days of afternoon racing. Thanks to a wonderful family friend, we had a nice
table in the horse owners’ section with seats near the finish line. It turned
out to be an incredible experience. My husband was amazing at handicapping
races, and this trip was no exception. His long shots were coming in, and we
basically ended up eating and drinking at the races all weekend on his
winnings. We shared so many laughs that my sides hurt, and I couldn’t stop
smiling. It was one of the best trips we ever had, and quite frankly, it was
one of the simplest and most relaxing.
We returned to Colorado after our weekend feeling rejuvenated
and refreshed. Our only regret was that we couldn’t stay in Kentucky longer,
but as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. We were both back
at work on Tuesday morning and normal life resumed.
I never dreamed I would be celebrating his birthday by myself.
I wish I could go back in time to that particular birthday in Kentucky, as well
as a few others, and enjoy our adventures again a second time. I would hold my
husband tighter and laugh even more during our escapades. Those are the moments
I miss the most.
Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way. There is no going
back in time. Instead of enjoying life and celebrating, I find myself overwhelmed
with grief and sadness, longing to hear his laugh again. Words cannot describe
how much I miss him.
As I was walking from the barn to the house this morning, my
heart was heavy and I had tears in my eyes as I thought of my husband. I caught
movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see a bald eagle, sitting in
the field in the snow, its sharp eyes surveying its surroundings. I stopped and
watched the magnificent bird for several minutes until it flew away, tears
streaming down my cheeks. Hello, my husband! I immediately thought about how he
used to tease me about my struggles to photograph bald eagles, and I found
myself laughing through my tears.
I believe my husband is still with me. Like an eagle, he is
watching from above.
Happy Birthday, My Love.
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Fresh air and a change of scenery was calling out to us. I was
longing to look to the sky and see a hawk or an eagle overhead, while my dad
just wanted to be outside. There had been far too much “together” time in the
confined spaces of my house, and although it was rather blustery outside and
the cold air felt like it might snow, me and my dad loaded up in his truck – a
loud, white dodge diesel pick-up that he has named “Bob” – and headed down the
road. Dad turned right as we left the neighborhood, so I knew we were not going
to town. He was heading out to the countryside to enjoy the sight of farmland
and small, rolling hills. We had no destination in mind. For several minutes,
there was nothing but the sound of Bob’s loud engine as we drove away from the
house. Eventually, we found ourselves bouncing along on a dirt road.
As we rambled down the dirt road, the scenery was changing,
and I loved it. I felt myself relaxing as we drove along, something that was
much needed. I had just survived the holiday season, something that has been
challenging since the passing of my husband. Although it was winter, you could
tell we were driving through farmland. We were surrounded by fields planted for
winter wheat and a few fields with the remnants of sunflowers. Although they
were dark, slumped over, and starting to crumble, a far cry from their bright yellow
glory months before, they still held an allure that kept me looking at them. I really liked the area. Something about it
felt like home to me. I had spotted a few Harris Hawks overhead, flying free,
their sharp, watchful eyes on the lookout for prey below.
I finally broke the silence with my dad. “You know, there are
a few nice-looking horse properties for sale out this way.” I had casually started
looking on the internet at new places to live and had been doing so for a few
weeks. With my husband gone, I simply couldn’t afford the house we were living
in, and it was too large and difficult for me to maintain by myself. I also
wanted something with more acreage for the horses and far fewer neighbors. And
the house was filled with my husband. Endless memories of him, our marriage,
and everything we had shared. It was also a painful reminder of everything I
had lost. Not that memories shouldn’t be present in a home, but having a memory
around every corner and in every room was proving difficult to handle
emotionally and it wasn’t helping me move forward. There were also some very traumatizing
memories related to his passing and his funeral service in the house that I
wanted – and needed – to stop reliving.
Dad responded to my comment with, “Get some addresses and
we’ll do a drive by on a few.” I took out my phone and did as he instructed. A
few minutes later, we were driving by a place that had potential, but something
about it didn’t feel right. We drove on to another place a few miles away. A
nice place, but the barn area looked run-down and the fencing was dreadful. I
could envision my horses running through the fencing and being loose on the
prairie there. Nothing like trying to run after a champion thoroughbred
sprinter in a wide-open space. No! Running along behind has never been my
thing. Not my future home. Moments later, we were driving on to the next one.
It was a new build. The house looked wonderful from the outside, but there were
neighbors close by and no fencing. The place across the street had pigeons
sitting on the fence posts and the yard looked like it should be on an episode
of the tv show “Hoarders.” Dad vetoed it immediately.
We continued down the road. As we were driving along, a large
bird with a wide, dark brown wing span swooped directly in front of the truck then
veered off to the right. Another bird swooped in behind it, and the pair flew
together, just ahead of the truck. “Dad, look at the eagles!” I exclaimed. It
was a pair of big, beautiful bald eagles, and they looked magnificent. They
flew alongside the road, gliding through the air in front of us as if they were
guiding us to our destination. We watched them in awe as we drove along,
marveling at their size and beauty. The pair eventually flew upward and landed
on a power pole. Below the power pole was a real estate sign for a property
that was for sale.
Eagles have tremendous significance for me. If you read one of
my first blog posts, you know that the Bald Eagle was my unicorn, the elusive
creature that cannot be captured. For the longest time, it was the one bird that
was too elusive for me to photograph. I could never take a decent picture, and
it was a source of amusement for me and my late husband. He teased me endlessly
about my quest to take a good photograph of a Bald Eagle. I took out my cell
phone and snapped a picture. Although it was starting to snow lightly, the picture
turned out perfectly. I couldn’t believe it. I finally captured a Bald Eagle –
and it was with my cell phone! I looked to the sky and told my husband thank
you. I cannot explain what I felt at that moment, but I knew my husband was
My thoughts were interrupted by my dad. “Let’s check out this
place for sale.” He turned the truck onto a small dirt road directly in front
of the power pole the eagles had landed on, and we headed towards the place for
sale. We had to drive about a quarter of a mile to get to the house. I couldn’t
stop thinking about the eagles and how they had guided us. I knew in that
moment my husband was with us, and I couldn’t help but feel he was behind the
steering wheel of this journey, especially when the eagles followed us to the
house and circled overhead as we drove around.
As we pulled up to the house, my heart sped up. It was
perfect! It was a quaint, lovely ranch house with columns on the porch and a
beautiful wood front door. It fit the picture I had always had in my mind of a
perfect “ranch” house. The place was lovely. It even had a wheat field! There
was plenty of space for the horses. I would have to build the appropriate
fencing, but I could see me and my herd living there. I loved it, and I had not
even seen the inside of the house yet.
We called the numbers of the real estate agent on the sign and
left messages. Since we couldn’t get a hold of the agent to see the house, we
decided to go grab a much-needed late lunch. We had been driving for hours at
this point, and we were both ready to eat. We weren’t far from the town of
Hudson and one of our favorite restaurants, so we headed that direction. The
eagles were still there as we drove away, circling overhead as if to guard and
watch over the property. We also noticed a herd of mule deer in one of the
nearby wheat fields. This area was definitely feeling like home!
Not long after we ordered lunch, I received a call. It was
from a real estate agent who works for the agent that had the house listed. The
listing agent was out of town, so this agent was filling in for her. We made
plans to meet the agent and see the house in 2 hours. Another showing was
scheduled right before ours, so we had to wait. I was nervous because a snow
storm was moving in and I hate being out and about on snowy roads, but my
desire to see the house far outweighed my desire to be off the roads and out of
the snow. The eagles were calling me.
After our late lunch, we slowly headed towards the property. As
we drove there, we observed the herd of deer not far from where we had left them.
The Bald Eagles greeted us again near the power pole, flying next to the truck,
almost as though they were welcoming us and guiding us back in. We stopped at
the corner near the power pole and waited a few minutes, as we could see the
other people still had not finished their showing. The eagles swooped and flew
around, surveying one of the wheat fields for prey. I was struck by their raw
power and incredible beauty as they flew in the lightly falling snow. Darkness
was setting in.
At last, we saw a vehicle leaving the property and my phone
rang. It was the real estate agent telling us we could head to the house for
the showing. As we pulled in the driveway of the house, I could hardly contain
my excitement. The house was even better than I had remembered.
Walking up to the beautiful front door, I couldn’t help but
think I was home. As the door opened and I walked in, I knew instantly I was in
my future home. It was perfect! The
living room, dining area, and kitchen had a warm, inviting, open feel and it
suited me. Everything about the house was exactly what I wanted. I couldn’t
have designed it better myself. I made an offer that night and the rest is
history. It is my home.
In addition to the beautiful home, I was struck by the women I
met there that night. The owner of the property was present, and as it turned
out, she was also at a crossroads in her life where she had to make changes and
move forward somehow. Selling the place was part of moving on for her, although
it was very hard for her to do. Hopefully she has been able to move forward in
a positive light and find the happiness she deserves.
The real estate agent, Tabatha, became one of my very best
friends. In conversation that night, I poured out my heart to her about the
tragic crash that had taken my husband’s life and my need to move forward in a
different environment and start anew. Tabatha told me about the passing of her
sister years before, also at the hands of an impaired driver. We had an
immediate bond, and to this day, I am blessed to call her a best friend and
confidant. It is amazing how alike we are and how much we have in common. I am
so grateful I have her and her family in my life now. I cannot help but think
that my husband and the eagles guided me to a friendship I know I will have for
the rest of my life.
When I stop to think about that day, I find it amazing that a
simple drive changed my life. It led me to new friends, a new version of home,
and a new path in life. When I see eagles now, I think of my husband and wonder
what he is trying to show me or where he is trying to guide me. I often see the
Bald Eagles in my yard or flying overhead, and I am thankful to them for
showing me that I am, indeed, being watched over from above. And as with most
eagles, they have proven challenging to photograph, although I have gotten
lucky a few times.
Most of all, I am grateful to my late husband and the Bald Eagles for showing me the way home.
Generally, I love birds and find them fascinating. While it is true that I can spend hours searching for and watching hawks or eagles, there is one bird I am not so fond of. The Pigeon. In fact, most horse owners will tell you they hate these birds. Believe me when I tell you that there is nothing worse than having Pigeons try to set up shop in your barn or outbuildings.
Why do I hate Pigeons? Because Pigeons fly in, shit every where, make a huge mess while trying to nest in your space, and are extremely complicated to eradicate. Once they are in, they are nearly impossible to get rid of and cause a type of frustration that is beyond measure. Pigeons, like some people, can be a real bitch. And just as with people, it is against the law in most states to kill them.
Unfortunately, we all have “Pigeons” in our lives. They come to us in many forms daily: the annoying co-worker, the “contribute nothing, complain about everything” in-laws, the guy that has the rest of his life to be in front of you on a two-lane road that you can never get around, and the uninspired restaurant employee that makes dining out miserable instead of a pleasure. This list could go on for days. We all know who these people are. “Pigeons” show up daily in many forms because like the birds themselves, they tend to multiply with ease and rapid speed.
A few weeks before my husband passed away, several pigeons had started to nest in the barn. This was a direct result of the absence of our barn cat, Sheldon. Don’t worry, this is not a tale of how tragedy struck our barn cat. It is actually a tale of how “local barn cat makes good” and becomes a house cat. In other words, Sheldon wandered off one day, charmed a neighbor lady, and moved in with her. He upgraded his status from barn cat to house cat, and good for him. He was able to live out his final years living the dream life he always wanted. His departure, on the other hand, created a problem for my barn because his absence allowed a small flock of Pigeons to move in, and move in they did, lock, stock, and barrel, as the old saying goes.
One morning, less than a month after my husband passed away, I was trying to clean the barn through my tears. The funeral was long over and only a handful of people were still around. I was suffering from a form of PTSD and my grief was at an all time high that day. I was also being hassled by “Pigeons” disguised as my husband’s loved ones, and I had reached a breaking point. I was spending time in the barn to clear my head and to try to find a moment of peace. It was not meant to be. I was sweeping the barn floor when I heard and felt the “whoosh!” of wings over my head and immediately felt something wet on my arm. It was a Pigeon airstrike, and I had been hit!
I looked up and Pigeons were everywhere. I felt as though I was being swarmed in a vicious bird attack. My instinct took over and I started swinging the broom wildly in the air, screaming at the pigeons to get out. Feathers and pigeon shit filled the air in the chaos. I was angry now, and I just wanted the Pigeons out. All of them! Finally, after several frantic moments of swinging the broom wildly and yelling like a mad woman, the broom left my hand and flew out the door, hitting the ground with a loud thud. The Pigeons had finally flown outside. Tears streamed down my face and I started to sob. The Pigeons had to leave. All of them. Permanently. But how does one get rid of Pigeons?
It was in this moment that I knew I needed to talk to someone and seek counseling from an unbiased source. Friends had been encouraging me to go to counseling, but I was too absorbed in my grief to see the value in it. As it turned out, counseling was the best decision I ever made. Initially, I didn’t feel it was helping because I would leave some sessions and cry uncontrollably in my car. I would feel completely spent by the end of the session, and I didn’t see the value in that. Not at first, anyway. However, I stuck with it, because I honestly didn’t know of any other way to get rid of the “Pigeons,” and I needed answers. Something had to give.
It took nearly two years of grief counseling for me to come to some very important realizations. The first one is something that sounds simplistic when I see it written out or say it out loud, yet it was something I didn’t grasp because I had allowed the “Pigeons” of my life to rent entirely too much space, “nesting” in my mind for far too long. Here’s the earth-shattering revelation – I am not responsible for the dysfunctional behavior of other people. I do not own the behavior of other people, and I should not ever hold myself accountable for the actions of others. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? However, when the dysfunctional behavior comes from people you once loved, respected, and considered loved ones, it is hard to comprehend and accept.
To take it a step further, I also learned that it is human nature to question yourself and think that perhaps you did something wrong to deserve being treated that way. No. Odds are, you did nothing wrong and it’s their issue, not yours. In my case, the dysfunction had always been there, my husband and I had just found a way to put a bandage on it and live with it. Unfortunately, the bandage was ripped off with a vengeance when my husband died, and there was simply no adhesive left to put it back in place.
Finally, allow yourself to move on and remove yourself from a situation that has become toxic. It’s okay to let go of people that are going to do nothing but crap in your barn. There are times that the healthiest thing you can do for yourself is move forward in a manner that is best for you and leave the “Pigeons” behind. Let them crap elsewhere! Perhaps the “Pigeons” will acknowledge their behavior was wrong and take responsibility for the mess they created and clean up their shit. And perhaps not. That may well be wishful thinking! If they can never see or acknowledge that what they did was wrong, remember that it falls on them, not you. You don’t own their behavior, nor are you responsible for their actions. Not your nest, not your “Pigeons.”
Circumstances and life events can change people, and unfortunately, those changes may not always be positive. Death can bring out the very best in people, and it can bring out the very worst. I saw both sides of this very clearly when I lost my husband. Right now, the goal of my journey is to move forward in a positive light. The “Pigeons” are gone from the recesses of my mind and my life, and hopefully it stays that way. It feels good to let go.
As for the barn itself, spikes were placed in the rafters to prevent the Pigeons from being able to nest there. I placed large plastic owls in the rafters and completely closed the barn as often as possible, so as not to allow the Pigeons back inside. I also moved.
P.S. The stress and anxiety caused by grief can be overwhelming to the point that you may feel as though you are having a heart attack. An anxiety attack is nothing to take lightly. I suffered from anxiety attacks endlessly the first year after my husband passed away. Trying to find a way to calm down, relax, and manage your anxiety is important. There are a lot of tips and tricks for alleviating anxiety and stress. I found the following blog excerpt from Greg Thurston to have some valuable insight. http://bbbblog19.7minutem.hop.clickbank.net?type=blog3&tid=TRACKINGID
Monday. The very mention of the word makes most people cringe. For many people, Monday symbolizes the beginning of the work week, the start of endless doldrums and toiling away at a job that we would love to quit. It is often a depressing, mundane day.
Monday, January 21, turned out to be anything but mundane or boring. It is a day I will always remember and cherish because it will forever serve as a reminder of how amazing life can be and how quickly things can change in a positive way. It will also serve as yet another reminder of how little control one actually has and how things happen in their own time.
Anyone that knows me is well aware of the fact that I love horses. I have a few. Err…several. More than I probably should have. However, they bring me tremendous joy and they are quite possibly the only reason I am still alive after the loss of my husband. There were days after the passing of my husband that I struggled to get out of bed because my depression was so great. I was overwhelmed with grief, and the fact that the rest of the world was continuing on as though nothing had happened wasn’t lost on me. In fact, it made me angry. But I was forced to pull on my boots and put my anger and self-pity aside because several 1200-pound reasons counted on me – my horses. I can honestly say that my horses were the only thing that brought any sense of joy or peace for me at that time. And they still do!
I am blessed to own many beautiful thoroughbred horses and one quarter horse, the later being my trusted riding pony, Annie, who happens to be a favorite among my friends. The thoroughbreds are a collection of mares and geldings, all beautiful souls that are each special in their own way. Hey, they make me put my boots on and enjoy the outdoors every day, even when it’s 20 degrees below zero. Who wouldn’t love an animal that requires this of you? Horses truly are therapeutic beings.
Last September, my best friend was in Oklahoma City at the Heritage horse sale. She spotted a big, lovely black mare with a white heart on her forehead named “Note This.” My friend called me and was insistent that I needed this mare. Something about this mare was calling out to my friend, and since her instinct with horses is impeccable, I told her to go for it. Note This happened to be pregnant to a stallion with an amazing pedigree, and quite frankly, Note This has nice bloodlines herself. I honestly figured she was a horse we wouldn’t be able to afford, so I told her to go for it, thinking we likely wouldn’t be able to buy her. However, I failed to consider that Note This was the last horse to go through the auction ring. Since most buyers are broke at the end of a sale, no one bid on her. My best friend spoke with the gentleman that had placed her in the sale, and within 24 hours, Note This was standing in my barn.
As I stated before, Note This is a big, beautiful mare. I immediately fell in love with her, and my gratitude for my friend and her insistence on buying this mare is beyond measure. Upon reviewing Note’s paperwork, I noticed that the date she was bred to the stallion coincided with a very important date to me – my late husband’s birthday. It gave me chills when I saw it, and it brings tears to my eyes whenever I think about it. I like to think of my husband in the great beyond, helping me out behind the scenes, because that is something he would do.
Note This settled in to her new life in Colorado and as the months progressed, her body became larger and larger. Her belly started to drop around the first part of January, and I knew it wouldn’t be long until her due date of February 1st arrived and a new addition to the barn would be on the ground and running.
In preparation for the momentous event, I had placed Note This, along with another pregnant mare, Snow Bunny, in an area by themselves. They shared a small paddock during the day but were each enjoying their own large stall at night whenever the weather was bad. The weather had been unusually nice for Colorado in January, so the night of January 20th, I had left the stall doors open and allowed Note This and Snow Bunny access to their little paddock throughout the night. This also happened to be the night of the “Super Blood Wolf Moon.”
As the sun rose the morning of January 21, I looked outside and could see both mares in their paddock. Everything was quiet in the barn area. It looked as though the horses still had hay and nothing was amiss, so I decided to make coffee and watch the morning news. Around 8:30 or so, I looked outside and noticed both Snow Bunny and Note This were laying down in their paddock, soaking up the morning sun. I decided the world wouldn’t end if I continued to enjoy my coffee and watch a cooking segment that was coming up on tv. I should also mention that I have been very blessed this winter to have two good friends of mine staying at my ranch – Mike and Jen – a kind, young couple that are both very good with horses, and quite frankly, very good with me.
I was getting ready to put my boots on and head to the barn when my phone went off, so I stopped to answer a text message. I was writing my reply when my back door flew open and Jen stormed in. “Sandy! There’s a baby! Note had her baby! We have to get to the barn!”
I was stunned, and I am quite certain I had a stupid, dumbfounded look on my face. “What?!” I replied. I looked out the window and sure enough, I could see the white blaze of a very tiny face in the paddock. I couldn’t believe it! How in the hell did I miss that this was happening? I ran to get my coat and fumbled with my boots momentarily. My mind was going a million miles an hour.
As Jen and I were running to the barn, Mike came along, carrying hay for one of their horses that was spending time in the barn. “What’s the big hurry?” he asked. Jen replied that Note This had her baby and he also started to move towards the barn in a higher gear.
When I arrived at the paddock, Baby Note was trying to stand on very wobbly legs and take those first uncertain steps. The baby was lovely, but oh so tiny and petite! Baby Note could best be described as a dark bay with a big, unusually shaped white blaze that seemed to dominate her tiny face. Note This was very protective of her baby, and she was busy trying to keep not only Snow Bunny away from her foal, but some other horses that had gathered along the fence to see what the commotion was.
A flurry of activity ensued. Mike and Jen grabbed a rope and halter and somehow managed to catch an elusive Snow Bunny and get her in a stall. I was frantically trying to clean the floor of the remaining stall, because naturally, both mares had decided that was the ideal place to poop throughout the night. It was important to get a clean, dry area for mom and baby, so I frantically cleaned. While I was busy cleaning, Mike was trying to assist Baby Note with standing up on those long, wobbly legs. Jen put a halter on Note This, and mom and baby were slowly moved into the barn where they could be safe in a clean, quiet stall, free from the prying noses of other horses. Jen held Note This while Mike helped Baby Note nurse on her mother. “It’s a filly,” Mike proclaimed with a big smile. He had his hands full, as Baby Note wiggled and wobbled as she nursed, not quite sure of how to behave in her new world. Three proud parents were born in that moment, and we all continue to make a fuss over Baby Note.
I called my vet and told her of our morning excitement. Before she set out for my ranch to examine Mom and Baby Note, she expressed the importance of leaving Note This and her baby alone for a bit so they could have some much-needed bonding time. So, the three proud parents vacated the barn for a bit. We were all in awe of what had just transpired. Note This had given no signs that she was THAT close to giving birth, and yet, we had a baby! I was struck by the fact that life can begin just as quickly as it can end. A new life was in our midst; things would not be the same at the ranch. Life can truly be unexpected and crazy sometimes.
As I walked away from the barn toward my house, I looked to the sky to say thank you to my husband and the heavens above. It was then I noticed a hawk soaring in the sky directly overhead, its dark brown wings shining in the sun. New life in the barn and life in the form of wings above. The world is truly beautiful in its own time.
"Birds, Boots, and Brews ~ Volume 1" is now on Amazon! ISBN-13: 978-1799235361. If you like the pictures from this site, visit the artist stores for Sandy Shiner-Swanson on Redbubble and Fineartamerica.com! Dismiss