tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1030482066657268512024-03-13T08:24:49.383-07:00Living Outside the BoxThe stories are real.
No names have been changed to protect the innocent.Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-46129131504290906322010-10-05T07:42:00.000-07:002011-01-26T08:08:52.033-08:00I Need Olga Korbut.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s 10:09 am in Susquehanna, PA and I have just finished cleaning the bathroom on the second floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am exhausted and in need of pains killers. I have pulled muscles and popped my shoulder out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Morphine or codeine is preferred. If they were readily available I would pop two before I start the bathroom cleaning.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At 52 years of age I want to kill whoever thought of putting the toilet against the wall. When I was younger it was a stretch, but now, it’s damn near impossible. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Kevin Mazeika </span><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">is training young gymnasts</span><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> in Houston, TX area. He was not Olga’s trainer, but he still has an impressive record when comes to training gymnastics. I spent 6 years in the Houston area, why did I not look this man up? Join a class or two to figure out the best way to bend my body around the toilet. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I bet most of the gymnasts in the world can’t appreciate how their training is going to paid off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep the medal, think about toilet cleaning when that camera is following your every move. You will be cleaning behind the toilet for a life time. The Olympics comes around once every four years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Toilet cleaning is twice weekly if not more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There is no contest here. Toilet cleaning wins hands down. Perhaps they should turn this into an Olympic Event. I wouldn’t win, but the performance would be memorable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-35600997560664026632010-09-28T10:18:00.000-07:002010-10-04T12:51:33.893-07:00Another Chapter In Our Lives<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUOn9u0lqBgFmZvMEGv78n9dvSp1-advuPHd1LY55byKWO8k6oHM9gGcOlOM7cCKkmIQZ4iJs_mEnY56iPIZKCd8mmX3xtRs-QIf9MQ7cdIoe-edG_jexAjzqPoL81aBYdhzNpp9ld8rlS/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUOn9u0lqBgFmZvMEGv78n9dvSp1-advuPHd1LY55byKWO8k6oHM9gGcOlOM7cCKkmIQZ4iJs_mEnY56iPIZKCd8mmX3xtRs-QIf9MQ7cdIoe-edG_jexAjzqPoL81aBYdhzNpp9ld8rlS/s320/009.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daryl & Alfred on our new porch</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Less than a year after moving from League City, TX to Brashear, TX we are being relocated again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are headed for North East Pennsylvania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, goodie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The horses have to go back and I pray someone will adopt them. The tears fall as they are loaded for their ride back to Galveston County. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will my heart ever recover? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After three trips to Pennsylvania, one that I joined Alfred on, he finds us a home in Susquehanna.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another chapter begins and I’m not happy with how the last one ended. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-42526377357652703722010-09-28T07:35:00.000-07:002010-10-10T07:17:52.874-07:00As I Wait For Annie <br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNRQ4WkfW6Yl5jxkfAdE5uktunLPrh7kwtFRA7-0tvgamPYDCIUYX3RAVicskYCKVHSNUEK1Wkj4rBTH4xjooewNadkrKedcoQwIvfBS8v_EuiMJjYdpKE7708AfBSYVeQjc9sVcnz3a7/s1600/DSCF1428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNRQ4WkfW6Yl5jxkfAdE5uktunLPrh7kwtFRA7-0tvgamPYDCIUYX3RAVicskYCKVHSNUEK1Wkj4rBTH4xjooewNadkrKedcoQwIvfBS8v_EuiMJjYdpKE7708AfBSYVeQjc9sVcnz3a7/s200/DSCF1428.JPG" width="200" /></a></div> <br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">April 11, 2009 </div><br />
It was seven days ago that my Noel left for Rainbow Bridge. I stand at Noel and Tecs grave and try to understand. I feel comfort knowing that they are together, but I still miss them. I guess I always will. Death is just one of those things we all have to get used to. <br />
<br />
I can still smell you in your coat. So many tears have been shed as I bandage myself in your coat. My Gentle Giant I would give anything to hold you one more time. Kiss that pudgy nose of yours. <br />
<br />
Annie comes on Monday and I know you will be happy to see your stall being used for someone from the Habitat ranch. Annie needs lots of love and attention and I will try to help her forget the wounds from past abuse. I will hug and kiss her like I did you. <br />
<br />
I know she isn’t you. I will follow her lead as I attempt to make her feel loved and safe at her forever home. I know you will be with me as I try to make her feel comfortable. I’m going to do our Lucky Charms meal for her. The one with all the little broken pieces of apple wafers and cookies mixed in with your food. <br />
<br />
My Gentle Giant you have taught me well. I know you will always come to me in my dreams with Tecs. I know you will help me, help Annie. Thank you for being strong when I wasn’t, patient when I couldn’t figure out which way the polo wraps went on and so gentle when I handed you treats. You were a gentlemen right up until the end. <br />
<br />
By the way, Daddy’s lettuce has grown back strong and fuller than it was before. Natasha tried to climb on the porch today. Silly girl. She is getting used to you not being here. I’m glad she's doing so well and I know you are watching over the pasture and barn.<br />
<br />
As always, from my heart to yours…………'I love you more, than even one more day'. Run strong, run free, find Tecs and keep a look out for me. I’m just one heart beat away from Rainbow Bridge.Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-7075326810180121472010-09-28T07:20:00.000-07:002010-09-28T07:36:35.455-07:00Noel's Last Day<h3 class="post-title entry-title"> </h3> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May your knees be pain free &<br />
your heart always mine. </td></tr>
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<div class="post-body entry-content"><br />
<br />
April 4, 2009 <br />
<br />
Life changes fast.<br />
Life changes in the instant.<br />
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.<br />
The question of self-pity.<br />
<br />
Joan Didion<br />
<br />
<br />
What can I say about The Gentle Giant who filled my heart with so much love? <br />
<br />
I could tell everyone he was a cutting horse who worked his body with savvy, and style. In his day, I suspect he was somebody special because of his rodeo abilities. <br />
<br />
Instead, I’ll tell you why I think he was so special. He had arthritic knees that ached with every step that he took. He kept on walking. When I polo wrapped his knees with ThermaCare Wraps and rubbed on Surpass, he just waited for me to finish. When I held him and nuzzled my face into his neck so I could inhale his smell, he stood there waiting for me to finish this ridicules human ritual. Right before I would let go I would whisper in his ear, 'I love you more, than even one more day'. (The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion)<br />
<br />
I called Dr. Allen on Friday, Noel was limping. He came. He said it was time. Once again, no backhoe people were available. That evening the man who helped us bury Tecs called. He could be here in the morning. The hole was roped off and I called Dr. Allen. He would be here after lunch. <br />
<br />
Alfred got up early to make Noel’s favorite horse treats. They hid in the corner of the yard and Noel ate warm treats with his daddy before breakfast. Noel licked his lips all the way back to the barn. My tears were starting to fall as I fed and wrapped Noel’s knees for the last time. <br />
<br />
Natasha and I were with him when he took his last breath. I buried my face in his mane and kissed his pudgy lips. Natasha pushed his head and ran around the pasture neighing and kicking. I wanted to scream with her, but I couldn’t. When Noel left for Rainbow Bridge, I wanted to go with him, but I couldn’t. It’s not my time. I have things I must finish before God calls me home. <br />
<br />
Alfred and I wept as we worked together to bury Noel. Natasha stood at the grave until she couldn’t see any part of his body. She ran the pasture time and again, kicking and neighing over her loss. I tried to console her, but quite frankly I was wondering which one of my body parts was going succumb to an injury. I sent Alfred to take care of his girl. By dinner she seemed fine. She’s kicked Moose a few times since Saturday, but I just keep telling Moose he’s lucky to be alive.<br />
<br />
This morning I wrapped myself in Noel’s winter coat and inhaled his smell. I sat on his stall mats and wept for the Gentle Giant who left me way too soon. The joy my friend, has left with you. <br />
<div style="clear: both;"></div></div><div class="post-footer"><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard">Posted by <span class="fn">Denise Hampton</span> </span><span class="post-timestamp">at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://whatmitehavebeen.blogspot.com/2009/09/noels-last-day.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2009-09-20T08:16:00-07:00"><span style="color: #999999;">8:16 AM</span></abbr></a> </span><span class="reaction-buttons"></span><span class="star-ratings"></span><span class="post-comment-link"></span><span class="post-backlinks post-comment-link"></span><span class="post-icons"><span class="item-control blog-admin pid-1402066015"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=5059563614478385381&postID=5492037427270476262" title="Edit Post"><img alt="" class="icon-action" height="18" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" /><span style="color: #5588aa;"> </span></a></span></span></div></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-13922430835175575892010-09-28T07:00:00.001-07:002010-09-28T07:06:53.808-07:00On My Mark...Get Ready....Set....GoNovember 28, 2008<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Food & Freedom</td></tr>
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I was driving into the yard with a truck load of hay. All the horses were at the back of the yard. I jumped out of the truck and swung opened the gates. I jumped in the truck and all of a sudden Moose starts running toward the truck with Natasha and Noel in tow. <br />
I jumped out of the truck and tried to be big. I couldn't close the gates because the truck was in the way. Moose pushed pasted me as the horse across the street started to whinny. Natasha went to visit him. Moose has his head in the hay and Noel has hobbled out of the gate too. <br />
I had no lead ropes or halters, because they were all in the feed room. I have Natasha across the street, Moose eating hay out of the back of the truck and Noel standing right on top of the septic system. <br />
I pull the truck into the yard and get the gate situated so I can chase them back in. Yeah, right! <br />
So I run down to the barn and grab lead ropes and run across the street to get Natasha, who believe it or not was the easiest one to catch. I get her into the yard and have my eyes set on the boys. Cookies I'm yelling and Moose mossies over and I get him with some difficulty, because I don't actually have any cookies on me. Noel is still standing on the septic system and every time I approach him he does his spinning dance trying to get away. I finally get him and walked him into the yard. <br />
By now Moose has his head in the truck picking through the Wal-Mart bags on the seat looking for the apples and carrots. Natasha is trying to get her head in too and I'm sure there is gonna be a fight and they are gonna dent the new truck. I get in the drivers seat and slowly start to move. Moose is keeping pace all the way to the barn with his head still in the window. I just kept saying, Thank you God that everyone is home, safe and sound.<br />
<img height="47" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwcrO1dVJaa3bO_Y-pqqyhUuX8850UjNWs63jYrPBP4oYNDuZ8Tc2OQTEQ0RJoCstbKaH9QdiNtRsEi6WHRgP7q9Ze-QHdqvLj8vrxItOauOKPsc1bmP1AVhh-oxDVDbRHyw0x1mG6BbW9/s200/Picture+006.jpg" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 599px; mozopacity: 0.3; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 65px; visibility: hidden;" width="96" />Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-51751415931739602222010-09-28T05:10:00.000-07:002010-09-28T06:14:53.749-07:00Natasha Has Colic<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Dinner Tonight</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">March 26, 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
Everyone knows the relationship Natasha and I have together. The Mafia Princess versus me. The Mafia Princess usually wins and I have no doubt that the little town we live in knows I am not the owner of the pasture. I simple plant grass seed, clean up poop and Alfred is responsible for paying the taxes. Natasha owns the property. We should just put her name on the deed and be finished with it.<br />
<br />
A short history for those of you who live in big cities, and don’t about the NOAA (sounds like NOAH) Hazard Radio. (It has nothing to do with the ark.) The first time this radio went off, I honestly <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>had no idea where the siren sound was coming from. Dogs were barking and I was in a panic. Alfred strolls out of his office and calmly explains its NOAA. I hate it when he strolls. The only NOAA I know has an ark. <br />
<br />
Yesterday the NOAA Hazard Radio repeated went off. Tornados, thunder storms and heavy rain were coming our way. I decided to feed the horses early in an attempt to stay dry. Everyone is in their stalls and I proceed to do my Meals on Wheels routine. <br />
<br />
Natasha is not eating and she has gone poop in her stall. I call Beth and ask if she could not be eating because of this upcoming storm. We discuss colic. Beth explains that a horse can still have colic even if they have pooped. I put halter and lead rope on the Princess and we begin walking the yard. She keeps lying down and I cautiously continue to make her get up. I pull her off side and we do circles as the rain begins to fall. <br />
<br />
I call Beth again and ask about some medicine I have for Noel and would this help her. No was the reply. I call the vet as suggested and I get the answer machine. We keep walking and the rain drops are turning into buckets. Some two hours later the Princess decides to poop. I call poor Beth again and she says don’t feed her tonight. Ah geez, there is going to be H E double toothpicks to pay in the morning. <br />
<br />
I stand with her in her stall as we watch the rain fall. I put the blame squarely on Beth’s shoulders about no dinner tonight. I lay my arm on her neck and tell her how scared I was. She turns to me and I’m thinking I’m about to get a nose job. I slowly remove my arm and step out of the stall. <br />
<br />
I tell the boys everything is going to be fine. Noel is thrilled, Moose is not. I head to the house to take a shower and keep an eye on Natasha from the kitchen window with the binoculars. Stall hoping begins and Moose is left standing there wondering where he will be sleeping tonight. <br />
<br />
Natasha is back to her old self. Thank you Jesus for saving Natasha! </span></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-64674301204736311062010-09-27T16:27:00.000-07:002010-10-01T08:46:36.970-07:00The Jolly Ball<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">March 20, 2009<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I batted my eyelashes at Alfred this morning asked, “Honey, do you know what tomorrow is?”<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nope,” he quickly replied. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s our anniversary.” I gentle reminded him.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, that’s a first.” He said.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I know this is the first time I remembered the date, but you don’t have to be so crabby about it.”<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How many years have we been married?” He questioned.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Got a calculator?” I inquired.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What year did we get married?” He probed even further.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know…..1991, 92, oh no wait, I’ve got it 93.” I said proudly.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wrong, you get nothing again this year.” He said, enjoying my incompetence where holidays are concerned. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, maybe I’m just so happily married that I lose tracked of all the wonderful years we’ve spent together.” I am now trying desperately to shroud the fact that I have never remembered what day, date or year we tied the knot.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nice try, you can have that Jolly Ball you’ve been asking for since the horses got here.”<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wait one minute Mister,” I snapped. “I need that Jolly Ball for Moose. Moose is your horse.” <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stared at me and I knew another anniversary was ruined. Defeated I grabbed my keys and headed over to Tractor Supply. I was in a quandary over the many colors Jolly Balls come in. Finally, I had it down to two, red or purple. I went with the red. Happy as can be, I drove home singing along with Garth and Trisha, “In another’s eyes.”<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once home, I waited for Alfred to finish his work related phone call so he could see Moose receive his new toy. I hold it out and the jackass takes off like I pulled a knife on him. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you trying to do scare him to death,” Alfred asked, as he ran into the yard to comfort the big lug. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked up the Jolly Ball and walked down to the barn wondering how I had been so wrong about Moose not enjoying a Jolly Ball. He picks up everything he gets near. Lawn chairs, hay stands, and coffee cups. I’m really tired of being squirted with the hose. He picks it up by the nozzle spraying everyone but himself. He is now chewing on the handles of the wheel barrel. I get splinters. The boy needs a Jolly Ball. I put the Jolly Ball down in the middle of the yard and scoot into the house to spy on him from the kitchen window. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slowly munches grass in a circular pattern as he inches toward the Jolly Ball. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m cheering him on from the kitchen. He’s about to touch it with his nose and ‘WHAM’ Natasha shows up from out of nowhere and kicks him right in the butt. My neck extends like E.T.’s and my eyes bulge out of my head. I race into the yard to see if he’s okay. I am not the best person to be checking on him because the Mafia Princess has just kicked him and her two legged female side kick is running through the yard directly towards him. He puts his head up, nostrils flaring, and he is backing away from the Jolly Ball and me as fast as he can. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s okay Moose,” I say, extending my arms in a bear hug embrace. “Mommy just wanted you to have a Jolly Ball to play with.” I gently rub his neck and he begins to calm down. I put the Jolly Ball on the side of the barn and go back into the house to finish some cleaning I had started two days ago.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a quick peek into the yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moose is pushing the Jolly Ball with his nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, Natasha comes from behind the barn and kicks him again. I have a few colorful metaphors that escape my lips as I race into the yard again. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“NATASHA!!!” I holler, “What the heck are you doing?” She turns her butt in my direction and sashays away. “Geez, Moose, I’m really sorry. This is my anniversary gift. I really thought you would like it.” I put the Jolly Ball in the feed room hoping this will save Moose’s life. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All is quiet until dinner time. I open up the feed room door and the Jolly Ball rolls out. How can this be I think to myself? It has a handle on it. It just waddled out the door, handle staying on the side until it hits the ground. Now it’s kind of rolling and popping up and down from the handle hitting the ground, that’s when Moose and I hear hoof beats bearing down on us. He jumps in his stall and I jump in the feed room. ‘WHAM’ Natasha kicks the feed room door. I pull my cell phone out to call Alfred to come and save us. The calls keep dropping because the barn is metal. More colorful metaphors are now spewing from my mouth. I talk to Moose through the slits in the wall, “Do you see her?” I ask.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The feed room door is suddenly jerked open and I wheeze as I inhale breath from the fear that Natasha has learned how to open doors. Alfred is standing there asking me, “What the heck are you doing?”<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing.” I say.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve called me four times and when I pick up you’re not there.”<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to think quick, “My butt called you,” I said. I pull my cell phone out of my back pocket. <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put it somewhere else. I have work I need to finish.” <br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turns to walk away and Natasha joins him in a walk to the gate, her butt sashaying in the wind.<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moose and I step back into the sunshine. I turn to him and say, “She’s out of control.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stares at me like I’m the jackass now and I quickly add, “I’ll take the Jolly Ball back.”</span></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B3co9-HmRNdiNHUHSwowc7pY9hmvMhbbdrKP1Jv9HmRd5yexv_ktTMTZ6vivyKiLwtj4KQwaffd7tlmu_qd5ocXEVfOsmkqUlL-KSx4y53_vktgtbCr9opEdPmFfSrSVB4VgWM_js3jy/s1600/Picture+034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4B3co9-HmRNdiNHUHSwowc7pY9hmvMhbbdrKP1Jv9HmRd5yexv_ktTMTZ6vivyKiLwtj4KQwaffd7tlmu_qd5ocXEVfOsmkqUlL-KSx4y53_vktgtbCr9opEdPmFfSrSVB4VgWM_js3jy/s200/Picture+034.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natasha</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGPkH2ebpk24GXAkYUzIfvUlklm6PYIBe7zksbx606Mi86qELSz6dM0u5cNK0_7X7lEd4tGTZr0sOwEkSBCYODtO_E1slphzTY6RcTcUt5EhHZV2wYaKFQ-XlEnGw0E-h_laR3GVwPp6R/s1600/Picture+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGPkH2ebpk24GXAkYUzIfvUlklm6PYIBe7zksbx606Mi86qELSz6dM0u5cNK0_7X7lEd4tGTZr0sOwEkSBCYODtO_E1slphzTY6RcTcUt5EhHZV2wYaKFQ-XlEnGw0E-h_laR3GVwPp6R/s200/Picture+021.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-13323005553662279062010-09-27T15:07:00.000-07:002010-09-27T15:07:37.246-07:00The Chia Pet<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGxmY7nzqE0VRI_SaL8lH751cqY1gS2Lt3ggW5VBnIBOqipIJRLPx43UKNufVyEDaE0SnucxjPvfLpnAfEu7fvgsfDEhGOEAPt6Y2xnzfBSzfzndRT_Eid00YUFzqVQ1E43j19wyNOz40/s1600/Picture+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGxmY7nzqE0VRI_SaL8lH751cqY1gS2Lt3ggW5VBnIBOqipIJRLPx43UKNufVyEDaE0SnucxjPvfLpnAfEu7fvgsfDEhGOEAPt6Y2xnzfBSzfzndRT_Eid00YUFzqVQ1E43j19wyNOz40/s200/Picture+007.jpg" width="177" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">March 23, 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
Yesterday Alfred and I planted ¾’s of an acre of Organic Horse Grass for the horses. We also ran a small stream through our yard because we are expecting 4 days of rain. We have put in three french drains and now a new stream I will line with small rocks. Alfred will be building a bridge for the horses and the wheel barrel. This should be fun when I have 50 lb. bags of horse food and a dozen bails of hay to take to the feed room. <br />
<br />
We have a spreader on the riding lawn mower and I poured half of a 50 lb. bag in the contraption. I put the bag on the porch and when I turn around Moose and Noel are eating it. They were so enticed with this new culinary delight that I really couldn’t get them away from it. I tried to ride the mower into the yard and it was impossible. I’m waving my arms at Alfred who is on the tractor digging and he doesn’t see me. How this can be I just don’t understand. But, the man is getting on in years and there are times when a gallon of milk eludes him on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Still, this doesn’t help me with the problem of the moment. I am watching $90.00 worth of grass seed being inhale by the boys. If Natasha had been eating it, I would have just given up and walked away with my tail between my legs.<br />
<br />
That’s when Wesley runs across the yard with the Jolly Ball in his mouth and the boys move away as if Wesley is running on remote control, and I have the controller. I jump on the mower and drive into the yard shutting the gate on the boys. I spread grass seed and add a thin layer of top soil and we hope to have a green pasture once again. Now we are looking forward to the rain, provided it is just enough to get our seed started.<br />
<br />
Today, out of no where it rains for about 30 seconds. Moose hits the ground rolling around like a hump back whale. I don’t think anything of it until I go into the yard to check water stall buckets. <br />
<br />
As I get closer to Moose I see white flecks on him and Noel is kind of licking him. What is this new activity I wonder? That is when the grass seed can be seen by the naked eye. Moose is cover with it. It starts to drizzle again and I wonder if Moose is going to sprout like one of those Chia Pets I’ve always wanted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just don’t have a green thumb. I killed an air fern once and that about says it all. <br />
<br />
I think that maybe I should brush it off and hope it lands back on the ground so it can grow where it was intended to. That’s when Natasha sashays over and starts licking Moose too. <br />
<br />
His eyes dart back and forth in fear of being bitten, but he stands like a statue. I too wonder what could happen next, but all goes well as Natasha walks on with Noel right behind her. <br />
<br />
Moose shakes himself, grass seed lands back on the ground and I’m thinking <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really could have the first walking Chia Pet on the planet. This could be bigger than the real Chia Pets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I add Pet Rocks to the list and cha-ching the numbers are adding up. I can save every horse in the world. <br />
<br />
The big lug walks over and pushes me into the barn with his head in a loving gesture. I give him a big hug and he bites my shoulder blade. I sigh and wonder exactly how much abuse the human body can actually take. <br />
<br />
God I love these guys!!!!! </span></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-14734567326894099252010-09-27T13:57:00.000-07:002010-09-27T15:28:56.111-07:00Singing In The Rain<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBPyEQaRNZEvZCYcUVDMvFiyH28zsXhdcrffAnmiKjbN9H1X5FTV5kYsEY5mlvsACGKsjWU_0fSeO9hPaoVmUgTqCBBgKb6mva_lw5GEU2l_DIPheZguoTLYO_hc43MT_koqiPhgcZFq8/s1600/Picture+058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBPyEQaRNZEvZCYcUVDMvFiyH28zsXhdcrffAnmiKjbN9H1X5FTV5kYsEY5mlvsACGKsjWU_0fSeO9hPaoVmUgTqCBBgKb6mva_lw5GEU2l_DIPheZguoTLYO_hc43MT_koqiPhgcZFq8/s200/Picture+058.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yucky Day In Brashear, TX</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">March 11, 2009<br />
<br />
<br />
I have been so stressed out lately that I’m walking and chit chatting in my sleep. This could be a potentially explosive situation. Alfred could ask me anything and I would tell the truth. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
The alarm goes off at 5 AM, I reach for my glasses and they are not where I always put them. I turn the light on and look on the floor. Not there. I’m not flipping out yet, I’m just worried that I could step on them. Alfred is now up from the noise I am making as I talk to myself and continue the search. I check by the computer, but my reading glasses are all I find. Now I am starting to panic and Alfred joins the search. <br />
<br />
Some 30 minutes later, we are still looking. Dog jaws are pried opened and flashlight beams can be seen under beds and couches. <br />
<br />
I can’t see past my nose and Alfred says he will take care of the horses. It’s pouring outside and has been since yesterday. In my mind I’m thinking how great is this. It’s 38 degrees and I’m not going to get wet. I immediately try to atone for my sinful thoughts, but it’s to late. In my mind I am now humming, ‘Singing in the Rain.’ God is going to punish me for this. The sound of glasses crunching is just seconds away. The back door closes and I start singing out loud. The dogs are jumping up on me and I dance with Wesley. <br />
<br />
Alfred finally returns to the house and the glasses are still missing. He starts looking around since he is the only person who can see anything. I hear him say, “I found them.”<br />
<br />
“Where were they?” I ask.<br />
<br />
“In my office,” he replies. <br />
<br />
I thank God for the return of the glasses and I ask for forgiveness of my sins. And darn it, don’t you know, I start humming ‘Singing in the Rain’ again. My arrival in heaven is now in question. </span></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-61673601515797662282010-09-27T13:44:00.000-07:002010-09-27T15:34:56.494-07:00Tricking the Thermostat<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxmH4gWwjb_Tte_WbfJSRdrQdsMpn4o5y4O3VWeZ_4uABpGE60BiJY6GgQh96PfRCD235LzfcowXbFTfPUQyzVc4M5wK_T9-aQUUStfv6S6rzPt9iDRAQSb2fpMt8TxOdx1OwrfH-OKQu/s1600/Picture+060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxmH4gWwjb_Tte_WbfJSRdrQdsMpn4o5y4O3VWeZ_4uABpGE60BiJY6GgQh96PfRCD235LzfcowXbFTfPUQyzVc4M5wK_T9-aQUUStfv6S6rzPt9iDRAQSb2fpMt8TxOdx1OwrfH-OKQu/s320/Picture+060.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noel and Natasha Resting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>March 10, 2009<br />
<br />
It’s raining and cold here at the Hampton Homestead. Dogs are curled up on recliners and beds. Horses are sticking their noses out of their stalls and Alfred has actually put some heat on in the house. If we go below 60 degrees, I will run over to a floor vent and rub my hands together as the hot air rises. As of yet, I have not learned how to out smart the thermostat when it comes to getting heat. <br />
<br />
Air conditioning I can work with. Alfred thinks 78 degrees is air conditioning. By putting my hands around the thermostat and blowing hot air from my mouth I can raise the temperature. “Walla”, we have air conditioning I announce to the dogs. We all run to the floor vents. I can almost hear them saying, “Way to go, Mom!!” Wesley rolls on his vent like its horse poop. Max stretches out, his belly covers the vent and Barney lies on his back staying on his vent long after air stops coming from it.<br />
<br />
Now making the thermostat think it’s colder in the house is quite another thing. I have tried eating ice cream and blowing on the thermostat. Doesn’t work. Putting a piece of cloth in the freezer for a few minutes and laying it over the thermostat. Nope again. Frozen vegetables. “Yes!!!!!!!!!!!” I whisper to myself. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The heat kicks on and I am so happy that I become delirious. I turn to run to a vent and bang right into Alfred. Frozen peas in my hands, I look up and smile. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He looks down and suggests, "You should watch where you're going." </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He continues walking to his office and I wipe sweat from my brow. “Thank you Lord,” I whisper. I put the peas back as quickly as I can and scurry over to the kitchen vent like a rat and begin rubbing my hands together. Peas will not work forever. I must come up with another plan if I expect to stay warm this winter. </div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-32100508846693379952010-09-27T13:24:00.000-07:002010-09-27T15:38:13.696-07:00Peace and Serenity<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="100" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCJt6FQPD3L7seAOoZ5cjzQjZqSqU5bahqAfZxl5V99Hqr4qBbR4fNdz1ribsJpYg7xmyONS9WUAT0E2wzWxDLB9xJEbZGqztMRGBldqPIk_pwM5HUCI3k04TkmJE8FkgfhmECyQM1k9w/s200/Moose+Laying+Down.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose Sun Bathing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Feb. 28, 2009</span></span></div> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Today I sat in the yard and looked at my horses. The peace and serenity I felt was overwhelming. (Moose was so overwhelmed with peace and serenity he needed to lay down.) The lives that some were willing to throw away were such a comfort to me that I wept. I looked at Tecs' grave and at Noel and wept for a friendship most of us can only dream about having.</strong></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tomorrow I will be 51 years old and I have learned more this year, than any one person can imagine…… </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I learned that Alfred and many others have hearts of gold when it comes to God’s creatures. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I learned that some have the blackest hearts on the plant. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I learned that God has an agenda that I will never understand until I cross over into the light. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I learned that growing old is mandatory and growing up is optional. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I learned that some will do whatever it takes to help and some will do just what they need to get by. <br />
<br />
The two most important things I learned today were…. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">“I love you more than even one more day.” (Joan Didion)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exactly what that means for me is……I would give up a day of my life, for any one person to understand that God’s creatures are just as important as any human. For me, it's no wonder that God spelled backwards is dog. The force of the horse is not just a saying. Rainbow Bridge is a place that animal lovers cross before they enter heaven. That the least among us, are not just the children, but the pets we call our own. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The second thing I learned was, before we look out for ourselves we look out for each other. May we all come to understand that everyone has a soul? If we are to look for a role model, we need look no further than our pets. Who else stands by our sides in moments of need, loneliness and depression? They never judge.<br />
<br />
May the horse, dog, cat or any other animal that we bring into our lives, have the respect and love that they deserve. May we all take a moment to look at our much-loved pets and say thank you God for sharing your creatures with us. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;"><br />
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</div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-37159170664940030732010-09-27T12:41:00.000-07:002010-09-27T15:39:34.978-07:00Dog Mania<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYLoFeZTRQ0AYI-TZ6ZGQ61LbpxjqxT5gUZuojfmUL468UQdpQikUL0unBzc3eRS3Maa5AjtxF5a8KMW3rQwHWac-ZycM3ZC26nQHwYwF-5uWttNIo1Ot2N-sr-oqiT2jOlVamdi9b5uRp/s1600/Barney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYLoFeZTRQ0AYI-TZ6ZGQ61LbpxjqxT5gUZuojfmUL468UQdpQikUL0unBzc3eRS3Maa5AjtxF5a8KMW3rQwHWac-ZycM3ZC26nQHwYwF-5uWttNIo1Ot2N-sr-oqiT2jOlVamdi9b5uRp/s1600/Barney.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barney</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflNPNtWb96NuvStIvAkspcXr-4oRHFQR2MDBFshONcf5j3CaM4b9e4k4_GGVlvUnMJ7m92Inl7ZukpxmA2NCbsJgRZxHFvu9ykSGQw28eqXZUcFNty8nX4RSkSB8FPeDOdNovRAAlB7DJ/s1600/DSCF1346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflNPNtWb96NuvStIvAkspcXr-4oRHFQR2MDBFshONcf5j3CaM4b9e4k4_GGVlvUnMJ7m92Inl7ZukpxmA2NCbsJgRZxHFvu9ykSGQw28eqXZUcFNty8nX4RSkSB8FPeDOdNovRAAlB7DJ/s200/DSCF1346.JPG" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wesley</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">October 25, 2008<br />
<br />
My three dogs are driving me to the edge. Max is running after cars on the road beside our yard. The Zap Collar is in his future. Wesley and Barney are now doing the same. This means two more Zap Collars. I would sit in my chair outside the barn and Zap away. I will have to color code them so I Zap the proper dog. <br />
<br />
Horse poop in the morning is a banquet of culinary delight. They are in a frenzy over which pile they should pick first. Natasha does these little nugget poops and the boys think I have instituted portion control in bite size pieces that can be carried away to enjoy under a tree. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t push the wheel barrel around fast enough. <br />
<br />
I have never been able to teach anyone to roll over. Now, however, they all roll over in poop and pee grass. I am about to pull my hair out. I even tried yelling roll over, but they don't seem to understand this command in the house. <br />
<br />
Digging is another problem. Mud stuck under their nails and their coats are impossible to clean. I took a pair of scissors and clipped Max's butt hair. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvNw9TDpciOb_yn1F7YzV3_8k900acgi8Y9C5kaBBsZrIrF-PhlIhHpUPcjDaiM0Kp4DCLlfxtOSnViLCoKrNj4Gehq5DHbilZhv8KVQSGIJabD9CN6WxWSC0so79h5u80sbQCe3Sd0n4/s1600/Picture+066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvNw9TDpciOb_yn1F7YzV3_8k900acgi8Y9C5kaBBsZrIrF-PhlIhHpUPcjDaiM0Kp4DCLlfxtOSnViLCoKrNj4Gehq5DHbilZhv8KVQSGIJabD9CN6WxWSC0so79h5u80sbQCe3Sd0n4/s200/Picture+066.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Max and Alfred</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Alfred asked, “What were you thinking?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s crooked!”</span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Georgia','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I gave him the evil eye and explained, “We have a gun and scissors in the house. Which would you have preferred I used?” <br />
<br />
Now you must be thinking why I don’t just leave them in the house in the morning. This is a very good question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys were walked three and a half miles every day before we moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking dogs in the new neighborhood is not possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have two acres that I think they should be allowed to enjoy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Provided they can keep their mouths shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Natasha the Mafia Princess would start disciplining the dogs, everything would be fine. </span>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-63958832620630056602010-09-27T08:44:00.000-07:002010-09-27T15:40:33.888-07:00Don't Get Mad, Get Even <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiFFGFpM-jUItVZdD20n8XBu_i9buG0-Ge1TJi47cfhUwDwngNyuHXrp2WywMWNhdqmn_XlKdRli8cQzk2pH_vcDO7FVz7KijuUJEr2nF62fLTuRNppc3z9PrWicjH1VDk0CwJncIfkqz5/s1600/DSCF1240.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521620053206880594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiFFGFpM-jUItVZdD20n8XBu_i9buG0-Ge1TJi47cfhUwDwngNyuHXrp2WywMWNhdqmn_XlKdRli8cQzk2pH_vcDO7FVz7KijuUJEr2nF62fLTuRNppc3z9PrWicjH1VDk0CwJncIfkqz5/s200/DSCF1240.JPG" style="float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 150px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natasha</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I was brushing Natasha's neck and telling her how happy Noel and I were that she was here. I thanked her for saving his life. While all this girly talk was going on.....out of nowhere she head butts me and bites me in the chest above by left boob. Thank God they aren't still perky. She would have bitten it right off. I am stunned and I stand there for a moment trying to figure out what just happened. <br />
<br />
Alfred is sitting on the porch chatting on the cell phone watching the entire scene. I leave the yard, pull half my shirt down and show him. He's laughing so hard tears are running down his face and he can't catch his breath. <br />
<br />
"IT HURTS!!!!!!!!!!!!" I say, grabbing my chest. <br />
<br />
"I'm sure it does. I can see the teeth marks," he says. <br />
<br />
I march back into the yard. I hook the lead rope to her halter and make her run around until she is good and tired. Then we walk around the yard, all the while I'm saying very nice things in a calm assertive voice. Then I gave her a treat before I release her. <br />
<br />
She stands there, staring me down, as if to say, "I’m the head mare in this yard and don't you forget it." <br />
<br />
I turn as the chain clanks against the fence and Alfred enters the yard. I turn to look at him with Natasha directly behind me. I'm wondering if she's going bite me again.<br />
<br />
"Ahh, sweetie, its okay," Alfred says as he walks right passed me and gives Natasha a big neck hug. She nuzzles up to him, her eyes still fixed on me. <br />
<br />
It's at this point I realize not only does she own the yard, but she also has Alfred wrapped around her little hoof.<br />
<br />
While Alfred is in his office making another work call, I decide to give Natasha a haircut. Let's see what Dad thinks of his little girl now.Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103048206665726851.post-33976535454608190922010-09-24T14:50:00.000-07:002010-09-27T16:10:21.026-07:00Tecs' Gift <br />
<br />
A Love Story<br />
<br />
<br />
Iselin, NJ<br />
1964 - 1969<br />
<br />
A long time ago, in a place called the Garden State, a little girl jumped out of the car, grabbed her father's hand and dragged him to where the horses were waiting to be auctioned off. <br />
She ran from pen to pen touching the horses and wishing she could have one of her own some day. <br />
<br />
<br />
League City, Texas<br />
June 2008<br />
<br />
Forty-plus years later, that little girl was still waiting for her horse. She learned about Habitat for Horses in Galveston, Texas, sent in her volunteer paperwork and waited to hear from them. She wanted to help. Finally, the call came, and she was out the door and on her way to the ranch. There she found herself surrounded by horses that had stories of their own to tell. This is the story of three of those horses and a little girl’s wish coming true in an unexpected way.<br />
<br />
Galveston, Texas<br />
July 2008<br />
<br />
I looked around the ranch at all the unwanted horses, unable to comprehend how or why their owners had thrown away such beautiful animals. More baffling was how someone could starve or neglect an animal on which Jesus himself would be returning to earth. <br />
<br />
I had four teachers at the ranch. Beth, Vicki and Jamie. It was Tecs, however, who taught me the greatest lesson of all. <br />
<br />
I reported to the feed room and introduced myself to Beth, who was busy filling feed bowls for more than 60 horses. She handed me a stack of feed bowls and told me to follow Jamie, who explained how the feed bowl system worked. Top bowl starts here and the last bowl ends there. Easy enough I thought, until I tried to enter my first pen. A large sorrel pushed his face down into the bowl with such force that I almost dropped it. <br />
<br />
Food was distributed and bowls retrieved for cleaning as horses were set loose to roam the ranch. My next job was to fill water buckets. That was when I first met Tecs and Noel. Tecs walked up to the barrel I was filling and began licking the salt block beside it. He was skinny guy and not all that attractive. Noel was a much bigger horse that followed closely behind Tecs. His knees were knobby and he walked slowly as if in terrible pain. I reached out to Tecs, and he let me rub his neck. I reached out for Noel, but he immediately backed away.<br />
<br />
It rained that day so I went home wrapped in a beach towel because my jeans were soaked and filthy. I was as happy as anyone one person could be. I had spent a day with horses.<br />
<br />
On day two, I had my first horsemanship class with Beth. I was thrilled to be learning about these majestic creatures. Day two was also the day when Tecs started following me around. As I filled water buckets, he came up looking for cookies. Noel, following, would take a few, provided there was no touching. <br />
<br />
As the days turned into weeks, I fell in love with Tecs. Noel would let me put cream on his knees, but any other touching was still a slow process. They were an inseparable pair in spite of their very different personalities. I learned that Noel was so depressed that his very survival was in question. His former best friend, a horse named Natasha, had been fostered out of the ranch. Tecs, who had been seized from a family that wasn’t feeding him, took Noel under his wing and provided the “stand-in” companionship he desperately needed.<br />
<br />
I spent a little over two months at the ranch and then put in adoption papers for both Tecs and Noel. I wasn’t going to be responsible for breaking up their friendship. <br />
<br />
My husband, Alfred, stopped by the ranch to meet the boys and look at the fence. We were going to have to put one up at our recently purchased property in Hopkins County before they arrived. That's when Moose came into the picture. He adopted Alfred, as Tecs had adopted me. More papers were filled out. I had gone from no horses to three!<br />
<br />
<br />
Hopkins County, Texas<br />
September 2008<br />
<br />
As our moving day approached, I had to deal with leaving the boys behind until a fence and barn could be built. Alfred and I worked on the fence for two weeks and the barn finally arrived on September 9. The boys arrived on September 11 and I was filled with joy as they walked off the trailer into their forever home with us. <br />
<br />
Hurricane Ike was due to make landfall on September 13, and I was thankful that the boys would not have to endure the harsh weather that would hit the Habitat ranch. The trip north from Galveston County to Hopkins County had been a long one. Evacuation traffic had them on the road for more than 10 hours. Tecs stood close to weak-kneed Noel helping him stay on his feet. <br />
<br />
Tecs, who was famous for eating anything, didn't eat his dinner that first night. Not to worry, I thought, it was a long trip. He'll eat in the morning. The morning came, but he was not my Tecs. I called the vet who was out on an emergency, but came over as soon as he could, around 9:00 a.m. He gave Tecs a shot and suggested I give him some time to settle in. Friday came and went with Tecs nibbling some grass, but eating no food. Saturday morning I call the vet again. He came and put a tube through Tecs nose and into his stomach to expel gas. Again, I was told, he would be fine. <br />
<br />
Ike hit us that night and the rain flooded the barn. Alfred and I dug trenches around it, but nothing worked. I stayed with Tecs until 10:00 p.m., but I was exhausted from the previous nights of sitting in the barn and not sleeping. I prayed a mighty prayer before falling into a restless sleep in my bed. <br />
<br />
At 5:00 a.m. Sunday, I ran to the barn to check on everyone. My beautiful boy was dead! I fell on my knees and grabbed his face hoping he would wake up. I ran to the house for Alfred. With tears streaming down my face, I tripped on the porch stairs and fell in a sobbing heap. Tecs was dead and I wasn't with him. “Oh God, what did I do wrong? Why did you do this? Why?” <br />
<br />
I knew I had to pull myself together to feed Noel and Moose. I returned to the barn and with tears still falling, put out their food. I tried to console Noel, but he pulled away as always. Moose was comic relief as he ate and found busy work to do—checking pockets and chasing the dogs. Alfred came and we wrapped Tecs in two tarps. Grief engulfed me as the rain had engulfed our new home. I was drowning. <br />
<br />
Tecs deserved a decent burial. I called Dr. Allen to see if he knew someone with a backhoe. He couldn't believe that Tecs had died, and only knew of the animal disposal company. <br />
<br />
“Tecs was treated like garbage once before, he will never be treated like garbage again,” I replied. <br />
<br />
I drove around the area looking for a backhoe in someone's backyard. In tears I waved down a man coming out of his driveway, “Do you know anyone with a backhoe?” He took my phone number so he could forward it to a friend. <br />
<br />
We buried Tecs at 6:30 a.m. Monday morning, September 15, and that's when Noel started his vigil. Every sunrise and sunset, he stood at Tecs’ grave. It was the only time he would let me put my arm around his neck as I told him, “I will take care of you forever. Tecs loved you and I love you too.” <br />
<br />
Poor Noel walked with his head down, nose dripping and tears running down his face. I called the vet and he came and gave Noel a shot of antibiotic. Nothing changed. He was depressed again, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. <br />
<br />
Several days later Beth called. She and Vicki had been thinking about another horse for us, and Natasha, Noel’s old friend, came to mind. But how could we afford another horse—and would her foster family suddenly want to adopt her? <br />
<br />
October 2008<br />
<br />
I e-mailed a prayer request on October 1 asking God to make a way. Could Habitat for Horses let us adopt Natasha and allow us to pay her fees over the next few months? Annie called me that night and said she sent the e-mail to everyone involved with Habitat for Horses. <br />
<br />
I thought I could find a horse trailer for rent rather easily and go get her myself. I was wrong. No horse trailers could be found. When I opened my e-mail on Thursday morning, I couldn't believe what I was reading. E-mails were coming in from all over the place. A transport was being assembled and someone was paying her adoption fee. I sat and cried because so many people would put their hearts together for Noel and me. <br />
<br />
I ran to the yard and approached Noel slowly so he wouldn't walk away from me. “Natasha is coming,” I said. He looked at me and I said it again. I gently took his face in my hands, kissed his nose and told him about all the people who were working to make this happen for him. He understood. That night he didn't stand at Tecs' grave. <br />
<br />
Natasha arrived on Saturday and Noel was waiting for her as she backed out of the trailer. They knew each other immediately. They whinnied and touched noses. Once in the pasture, they ran around kicking their feet up and enjoying each other’s company. <br />
<br />
Noel is a new horse. He actually has a sense of humor and shows it by sneaking up behind Natasha and nosing her behind. The boy’s knees must be killing him with all the running and prancing he is doing now. <br />
<br />
Moose is still Moose. He likes to suck Alfred's bald head. I guess he can't find the salt block in the yard. He gives Natasha the cool guy look, but she only has eyes for Noel. <br />
<br />
I silently thanked Jesus for the miracle that unfolded before my eyes and for giving me my childhood wish in such an incredible way. He silently reminded me there were many angels who worked to make this happen and to bring us such joy. <br />
<br />
Noel and I would like to thank our angels:<br />
<br />
Jerry Finch<br />
Rebecca Williams<br />
Annie Garcia<br />
Paula Johnson<br />
Karen Strieder<br />
Beth & Vicki – for thinking of Natasha<br />
Toni & Kelli<br />
Debbie Lavallee<br />
Edie Skuca<br />
Lauri Barr<br />
Melissa Thomas<br />
Jolene Castillo<br />
and everyone else whose e-mail <br />
names I couldn't figure out.<br />
<br />
And most of all. . .Tecs<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNYXns-EN8WG-V3uVMhFPCJid3QakLDdCuytR7ylXsjf8dNY6zwG6wE1cIG2RDpgCn6eAobE-aVGbwN0vAZvOWc_jmcZirYs0SegrSBe1AoEaQefM4HuJzJ8o3WelNY2EbKjpFr9Vjxx7/s1600/47540005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNYXns-EN8WG-V3uVMhFPCJid3QakLDdCuytR7ylXsjf8dNY6zwG6wE1cIG2RDpgCn6eAobE-aVGbwN0vAZvOWc_jmcZirYs0SegrSBe1AoEaQefM4HuJzJ8o3WelNY2EbKjpFr9Vjxx7/s200/47540005.JPG" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 131px; mozopacity: 0.3; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 318px; visibility: hidden;" width="96" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Denise Hamptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466122081779798878noreply@blogger.com0