It is 6:00 a.m. and I am sitting here writing.
This is what I do.
Outside the doors on the deck from my office, this is what it looks like at exactly this moment:
On the other side of the trees in my backyard, we have an enclosure for our horses. We took them down there yesterday afternoon and I shot these photographs.
Our horses were actually the horses that were kind-of characters in my first novel, Ghost Medicine. This is Arrow.
This is Dusty. Our older horse, Reno (the heroic horse in Ghost Medicine) died about a year ago.
Our dog waited patiently to be asked to bring the horses back home from playing out in the field.
And then he ran them along this ridge...
And down to the flat where they could get back through our gate.
For horses, it's always time to eat.
5 comments:
I can't think of any other words...so I'll just come out and say it: you're spoiled.
My daughter just started Ghost Medicine (loves it already) and is sad for Reno. What great views to write by!
What a charmed life.
Holy crap. I agree with Jonathon. Spoiled rotten.
Gorgeous horses!
Yesterday I walked a steep mile of pasture looking for the break in the fence that let my missing horse out. Turned out he was asleep under the tree next to the barn, tucked into the closest corner of fence. I don't understand. Did he turn invisible when I checked there before I took off up the hill?
Then I spent twenty minutes trying to extract his stubborn self from the field without letting the other three horses, who actually like me, get out.
Then I noticed he was limping and discovered that he'd popped a splint.
Then he tried to eat the ice boot. And when that didn't work, he tried to pitch it into next week. And managed to pitch it into the manure pile.
And it's not my ice boot.
Then I cold-hosed him and he grabbed the hose and splashed me.
I hate horses.
But yours are very pretty.
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