GoLightly Fiction, completed, finally

Without much ado, here it is. Thanks for reading.
Have a Happy New Year, All The Best in 2009. I hope it lifts your spirits, as the story has always lifted mine.

GoLightly - A Story of Love, Luck and Hope.

Part 12

Gen hired a private investigator with the last of the profit from her sales horses. DragonFly had fetched a very nice price, and his new owner had practically begged Gen to sell. The DragonFly went to a very nice barn, almost as big as his ego. Gen wanted a little more information on the comings and goings at Dr.Rick's. She paid for two months worth of surveillance. It was all Gentian could dare to afford, with hay prices going through the roof. Gentian hired the guy in the middle of October. She knew what her next step would have to be, if nothing came of the private investigation. The last link to GoLightly was a twelve year old girl. Gen was loathe to involve one so young in something so sordid. Gen "knew" Golly's time was either up, or coming to a cold end, but she couldn't play act with children, even for GoLightly. Children are born honest. Gen hoped Jessie hadn't learned too much from her Dad. She hoped the private eye could find the trail of Golly. Jessie was the last card Gentian wanted to play.

The P.I. discovered some interesting things, but none of the information he gleaned helped with finding Golly's location. Gentian learned who Dr.Rick's best customers were, the people who kept his considerable bills paid. Gen felt in her heart, that this rather elite group of people had masterminded the plan. Gentian and Golly had consistently kept these people from the top prizes they usually enjoyed. But where was GoLightly? The P.I. funds slowly ran out. In the middle of December, Gentian bit her lip, and called Craig with a plausible lie to bring Jessie to Touchwood for a photo shoot for Gen's next CD cover. Jessie's Mom agreed, and Gen booked the visit for New Year's Day.
GoLightly's countdown began. His luck, a house of cards, was poised, needing to fall just the right way. Sometimes good luck just needs the delicate brush of a butterfly's wing or a kitten's purr.

L's discussion with Dr. Rick went very badly. He called her later, on that cold sunny Christmas Day,and tried to charm her with season's greetings, hoping she'd consumed enough alcohol to blunt her caustic tongue. Dr. Rick tried several different tactics, and as each was met with further dismissal, he finally, brusquely said "I just called to remind you not to use that big bay horse." A long, foul stream of expletives followed. L muttered that she'd sent in the farm insurance cheque, the month before. L mentioned that she was planning a "renewal" of her current facilities. Dr. Rick replied, "Oh. Okay, fine." L snarled something else, and hung up. Dr. Rick didn't quite hear her. He didn't want to, of course. The phone tap on Dr. Rick's line had been turned off, two weeks before. L said "Everything burns, doesn't it."
No-one was listening. The horses shifted & shivered uneasily in their cold stalls.

Jessie had started volunteering at her local animal shelter when she was 10. Jessie was very tall for her age and had a curiously adult face, shaped by her lonely years. The shelter staff believed her to be 14, when she started. The Shelter started paying her after six months, to the relief of Jessie's Mom. Jessie was a prodigious worker and an avid learner. The Shelter Staff were touched that Jessie always insisted on taking only half of the money, choosing to donate the rest back to the Shelter. Jessie was thrilled by her work, and grateful for the respite from her home life. Getting paid for doing work she loved was the icing on the cake. Gen was well known at the Shelter, and had posted several "GoLightly Stolen" flyers there. Jessie had first learned about her heroine, Gentian MacFarland, through these flyers.

Christmas Day was always a low key affair at Jessie's house. Jessie's Mom and her current boyfriend would drink until incoherent, and after a TV dinner, Jessie headed off to work. She happily cleaned, fed and nursed her animals, and after completing these important duties, Jessie treated herself to a kitten and puppy snuggle. Jessie usually skipped cuddling the littlest ones, reserving her extra time for the older, lonelier, less adoptable animals. Jessie never received Christmas presents. Kitten & Puppy Snuggle was her gift to herself. The older animals remained silent, knowing their turn with her would come. It was 8:30 pm, on Christmas Day.

L was roaring drunk by Christmas afternoon. After Dr.Rick's call, she became a raging drunk. The dogs began to whine, and the horses started doing what they could to prepare. Many lay down, their fear overwhelming them, in their emaciated physical state. Some stood, poised, shivering. Some snorted, the long low snort of power and bravery & brilliance, reserved for respect and disdain, in the face of death. Ian's big bay Softy started to make sounds that made Ian's blood run cold. Emily pricked her long ears, many, many miles away. Ian remained in the barn, bringing each horse the only comfort he could. Water, a mouthful of hay, a wither rub. Ian's backbone stiffened, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Ian was in Softy's stall when he saw L come out, carrying a gas can. If Ian had owned a watch, he might have marked the time, for legal purposes.
It was 10 pm, on Christmas night.
For some highly evolved, powerful, lucky animals it was a lovely evening. For many other animals, it is the reason they are eaten. For animals at L's, every day was the same. Only worse.

Gentian enjoyed her Christmas as best she could. She didn't like to admit to playing favourites with her animals, and currently didn't like herself much, for "losing interest" in her other horses. Gentian fretted over such things, as she mucked, and swept and groomed and rode. Allaflame and Mystery noticed her mood, while the older horses continued eating. Christmas Day was always a good day for Gen's horses.
Horses are capable of counting good days versus bad. Once the sum of recent good days exceeds the most recent sum of bad, they can become confident in their future. Horses are an "every day" animal. Mystery had had so many good days, she'd lost count, and had happily forgotten her previous hellish days.

Billy worked with Ruff (Rough Cut) himself, as Gen had ignored the gorgeous gelding since he'd arrived. Ruff was Gen's reason for feeling guilty. One horse ignored, and she felt she'd lost interest. Billy chatted with Gen the best he could, and bored her with the Ruff's rapid progress. Ruff fancied himself a Houdini, and enjoyed appearing suddenly, in other paddocks, looking innocent. Gen smiled a little, and Billy went back to work.
As neighbours, friends, family and band members dropped in and out, the day wore on. Allaflame's first owner, Karen, and her mother Barb, came by after dinner, to much joyous nickering from 'Flame. Mystery joined in on the demands for attention.

Mystery was almost identical physically to 'Flame, although a hand smaller. The two red mares had "hit it off" instantly, and were always inseparably together out in the field. It was geting late, but Gen turned the two mares out in the nearest paddock for a moment. Karen got her camera out, but of course the batteries had died. Allaflame was now off for the season, and loved gossiping with the older mare. Both Gen & Billy had remarked on their afternoon "bitch & squeal" tea parties. They'd graze, and chat, sip water, and repeat. The two mares seemed to have a lot to say to each other. Billy swore that Allaflame came in one afternoon, absolutely aghast at something Mystery had "said". Billy had needed to spend some extra time with her, to soothe away the expression with carrots and neck scratches.

Solid Red Chestnut Thoroughbred Mares. Clever and opinionated, willing to listen, fiery and reasonable. Gen and her friends loved watching her red mares as they gently discussed the places they'd been. Mystery found it hard to believe 'Flame's stories, and the feeling was mutual. Each would gasp in awe, or aghast, in turn.
The Touchwood Farm/Rescue phone rang. It was 9:30 pm. The mares were instantly still.


Part 13

Jessie had been looking forward to New Year's Day, and blissfully imagined being in Gentian's barn patting Allaflame as she carefully dialed the number she'd been left. Jessie was very proud of her new responsibility for this evening. Jessie listened to the message, the colour draining from her face. She was shaking from tip to toe as she hung up. Her mouth contorted as she suppressed the urge to vomit. Jessie called the emergency pager number for the Shelter Supervisor, on call that evening. Jessie knew how far away the Supervisor was, as she'd said to Jessie "Make sure you call me quick, it's about an hour and a half away, where I'll be. I'm sure nothing will happen, Christmas is our slowest day of the year." Jessie left her a shaky-voiced message, and then listened to the voice-message again, carefully noting the address. Jessie didn't recognize the location, a twelve year old still learning about her world's compass. She was very sure it was a very bad place, wherever it was.

Not long after her first meeting with her father and her first "pony" ride ever, Craig had taken Jessie to Dr. Rick's barn. The difference between the two places bewildered Jessie. Craig had flustered when she'd asked about the disparity of quality, and she received the usual "You don't know horses, not yet!" response. Jessie was confused by her father's quick dismissal of her questions. How could what looked good and what looked bad equal no distinction?

Jessie sat by the phone, drumming her fingers, racking her brain for anything useful she could do. Jessie was ready to go see this place, right now. Restless, she wandered down the long hallway and stopped before the lost and found board. Her famous Gen's "GoLightly - STOLEN" poster still hung there, a picture of the pair jumping a huge oxer. It was 9:30 pm, and she really should go home now. Jessie clenched her strong jaw and called her mother, lying to her for the first time ever. Then Jessie called Gen's number, and told her everything, including the pony-ride part. When she'd hung up, she had no idea why she'd blurted that out, except it seemed important. Jessie had believed her father and his dismissal of her theory, until that moment.

Ian smelled the gas, before he saw L, ranting and raving as she soaked the floors and walls and meagre wisps of dirty straw. The thickest cobwebs had been eaten long ago, as it was a now a horse barn trying to eat itself to stay alive. The dogs howled miserably, some already coughing and gagging on the fumes. The horses that could snorted and flung themselves to the back of the stalls. L was blind drunk. She didn't seem to see anything. She kept staggering forward down the long aisle, roaring at each horse as she spewed liquid & verbal & painful death. The big skinny bay started rearing, and struck out at Ian, for the first time since he'd met him. Ian knew Softy could feel his death rampaging towards them. "Hey, big Softy fella, let's take us a walk" he said with his best lilt. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, let's vamoose, take a powder". As he spoke, he walked and the big bay willingly followed his soft, safe voice.


L caught sight of Ian & GoLightly, just as she'd run out of gas, and gone back to the north barn opening to get more. She was enraged, as the barn was only about one third soaked. L screamed at Ian to stop.
Then she dropped the match. The horses started thrashing in their stalls as Ian, desperately calm, lead the big bay out to the farthest graveled ring. It was heavily gated. The first horse died just as Ian was closing the gate. He told Softy to stay put, turned and faced a swaying L pointing a gun unsteadily at his head. With purest instinctive reflex, Ian struck L in the head with the chain of his lead shank, and she dropped like a stone. He tied her to the fence, well away from the gate and gun. Ian ran back to the barn, his lungs already gasping for air. He grabbed several lead shanks and tried to close his mind to the dying sounds of horses he couldn't save. 50 miles away, horses were answering with shock and horror. We are dying. We are dying. Help Us Please. Where are You?

The blaze was reaching its' zenith as he tore open stall doors and grabbed heads, and went back to his steady calm lilting chant. C'mon, I'll help you, come with me, it's safe, please come with me. Some of the horses had died before he could reach them, from shock & fear and emaciation. The dogs had been sacrificed first, closest to the deadly match. Ian saved as many as he could, and when he was collapsed, sobbing & coughing miserably beside the huge gate, a beautiful voice asked
"Are you the hero, here?"

end part 13

Part 14 & PostScript

L had planned her Christmas atrocity very carefully, as psychopaths do. She had purchased a fire permit the week before. The first fire calls from a concerned public were therefore ignored. It took several calls for the fire and police to finally respond. That had been part of the plan. The $200.00 permit was used as evidence in her attempted murder, arson and harboring GoLightly, the stolen property, trials. Ian testified for the prosecution. At her subsequent trial on the charge of cruelty to animals, Ian was the star witness again. Jesse was allowed to carefully and quietly tell her story and Craig had no choice but to agree with his daughter.

Dr. Rick & his customers had avoided most of the charges, but they were all charged and convicted of theft over $500,000.00. L had kept very good records, it turned out. Jack Toronto had left town after the growl by Samson. He straightened up, by coming back and testifying against Dr. Rick. Jack Toronto "flew right" for the rest of his career. He did change his name to Just ForSam.
L was never to own animals again. The public outcry fueled her notoriety, and when her jail time was finally up, it was said she fled to Mexico. Gen always liked to believe the worst rumour, that she'd died in a fire. One could only hope.


PostScript

Almost a year passed. Gentian's ride today is her first since he's come home. His skin had been terribly damaged, but because of Ian's furtive treatment protocols, Golly has healed very well. GoLightly has just taken her for such a ride, she was speechless for several minutes. GoLightly gave her his gratitude, his love and his courage on that first ride at home. She'd dropped her reins, and as they flew the fields bareback, of course, first ride and all, Golly showed her what do to with him next. Run, with the courage of the wind. Jump, with the fluidity of water. Fly.
GoLightly showed Gentian she could now do anything, anything she wanted, with just a thought. GoLightly gave her his life, in her heart. Now, today.

The company of wrecks that were Touchwood Farm's biggest ever rescue, slowly became horses again.

Gen glanced over into the schooling ring, Billy was longing the "hoof" horse, "3DO", sound & comfortable again. His strange dapples glinted in the lowering sun, 16 hands of "plain dark bay". Only in certain lights would his Bend Or spots glow. 3DO circled at a trot calmly, beautifully in balance.
"Jessie, what am I doing right?" asked Billy.
"Everything."
Billy laughed "True. And now?"
"mmm, not sure."
"My hips are ahead of his, see how he stops? If I point my shoulders at his, same thing. Horses are mirrors of our thoughts and movements, Jessie, why?"
Jessie understood this one. "Herd animals, right?"
"And?" Billy waited. Jessie wrinkled her brow, thinking hard. "They watch us all the time.They know how we feel, not how we think." She stopped, looking doubtful. Billy laughed happily "Jessie, that's the best answer I've ever heard! Now, get along and get your Mystery mare ready for her opening ride with you!"
Jessie's smile lit up the entire acreage. She hurried to the old mare's stall and carefully fussed over brushing every square inch of her coppery red coat.

Mystery had, yes, a mysterious lameness issue. Every time Mystery was ridden, she had looked and felt slightly lame. Mystery was lazy in the field, and only briefly cavorted when she thought no-one was looking. Mystery was very clever. Gen & Billy didn't have the heart to really get after her, and see if she was truly lame in the field or not. Gen's veterinarians were stumped, and couldn't give any good medical reason for the lameness. Mystery had needed a lot of patience in her re-schooling, learning all over again that saddle and bridle could mean a good thing. Gentian had supervised her re-fit & training, and had earned a rarely given compliment from Billy. "Mystery's nicely broked again, Gen." Four words, and they always meant a lot.

Of the seventy horses Ian had worked with, only 19 survived the ordeal, twenty, if Mystery was counted. Jessie had helped in their rehabilitation, and successfully ridden all of them, except Mystery. Gentian had finally learned where all of Dr. Rick's broken-down rejects had ended up. That any of them survived was a pure miracle of good conformation & powerful genetics.

Mystery looked at her new rider with gentle amusement, and shook her pretty head, impatiently rattling the cross-ties. Gen watched Jessie out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to let Jessie know she watching. Or Mystery, for that matter. Jessie carefully tacked Mystery up, and gently gave her sparkling coat a final rub, stretching the mare's front legs, to guard against girth rubs. Mystery looked straight at Jessie,and then Mystery slowly, deliberately, touched her nose to a spot above her right knee, on her "sore" leg. Jessie gently kissed and polished the spot. The little old mare chuckled a nicker of thanks. Mystery's lameness disappeared that very instant, forever.
If Gen hadn't seen it with her own eyes, Billy wouldn't ever have believed it. No-one but Mystery knew, that the mare had been pointing to the spot where L had kicked her. Once her Jessie fixed it, the spot stopped rankling in the mare's honest mind.

As Gentian watched Billy teaching Jessie, she was overjoyed all over again at just how many geniuses had been rescued that terrible night.

Most all novice riders have a universal bad habit of looking down at the horse or the ground. Jessie, instinctively, never did. Jessie knew she was on a animal that could fly. Horses never look down, except to eat. They look forward towards their future.
Gentian had been trained by many great horsemen. The tears stood in her eyes, watching her newly adopted daughter riding the old red mare.

Gentian looked over at Ian, working Ruff for Billy. The tired, frightened man she'd first met on his knees, had become Billy's irreplaceable extra right hand, almost overnight. Ian caught her eye, and smiled.

Gen blushed to the backs of her ears. GoLightly flatulated noisily, before turning back to his hay. Golly had a big show coming, he could feel it in his hooves. GoLightly never looked down, except to eat.

Samson destroyed some freshly planted flower beds. He still had lots of work left to do. Rusty & Emily cuddled, awaiting their turn for attention.

Allaflame & the rest of the herd grazed, content. They were all having another very good day.


The End

To Horses. To You.

Just had to post this picture

I found it on "Bunny ain't no kind of rider"'s Blog. She hasn't posted in ages, I actually found her site through the trot.org forum. She has much the same opinions I do about the medals in Dressage at the Olympics.
Talk about poetry in motion...
Piaffe, done by a master, softly, kindly, beautifully. Anyone recognize the rider?

I have a question for you

Ok, the finish is almost entirely typed, as opposed to hand-written scribblings and scrawlings from pages and pages of 20+ year-old paper, typed carefully into my lap-top. I'll post the finish next. But once it's posted, should I eventually take the whole thing down, and post the entire story, beginning to end? Making it easier to follow? Can Blogger even take a 15,000 word blog?
I have zero idea.
I'm still "hot under the collar" with that three-legged filly on fugs. Vets just do what they're asked to do, by the paying public. The owners of that filly should have euthed her. I have great respect and admiration still, for most all vets. Not all vets, though. They are still human. Took me a long time to figure that out. I was a chronic hero-worshipper, in my youth. I think it goes to their heads, the bad ones.
When my red dog died, my vet had recommended bringing her in for a "diagnostic" x-ray, that day. The vet had already x-rayed, and found a mass on her right side. Inoperable. I knew she was on death's door, she had told me so. She hated going to the vets. She passed, quietly and peacefully, at my workplace, in my hands. If I had taken her to be PTS, she would have been frightened, before she died. I'm glad I could give her what she wanted. She always gave me everything. I owed that much back to her. When I brought in my new dog Flip, the whole staff, including my vet, seemed terrified of her. I found a new vet. Well, I went back to my old vet, the one who had saved Sam from strychnine poisoning. I forgave him the mistakes he'd made with my red dog, and went on from there. I had made the mistakes too. I had allowed her to be over-vaccinated, and over-fed. Two recipes for disaster. At least, no-one at this vet office is scared of my dog now. They'll often do the nail-clipping for free. I can do cats, but not dogs. Yes, I am a wimp, with doggie nails:) I can still give an IM shot though!
Ooh, I'm so excited. Thanks for being there, my very, very few gentle readers. (Yes, stolen from Stephen King) I'm looking forward to finally finishing something that has patiently waited for finishing, for 20+ years!
To 2009, a brand, new, fresh start. Thanks to my friends on this blog. Thanks for being there and reading the fiction. Facts to follow.... (Patience, Fern!)
Oh, and thanks to Fugs, for giving me back my equine-ality.
Amazing how words can inspire...

Crackin'Wise Redhead

Here's a pic of me and my "new" dog Flip, the day she came home, November 4, 2004.. I had just lost my little red dog, two weeks before. I will post her stories, one day. Little red dog was my wonder dog, and Flip had a tough time filling her paws. I do think I got Flip a bit too soon. It made me a little quicker, a little harsher, than I should have been in her early days of getting to know me.

Anyway... I've always harbored dreams of being a stand-up comic. If I'm relaxed, and feeling confident, I can be (so I'm told) really funny. Trouble is, that isn't a "natural" state for me. I've always read that comics are basically loners, very shy, until they "switch" on. I do that, when I'm typing, for example on Fugs, way easier than in person. My sister is best friends with a Stand-Up Guy, and I get so shy around him, it's ridiculous! I've been calling our local talk-radio shows, on the commute home (I know, cell-phones and driving are bad, but my car has the route memorized) and they love to put me through. Usually, I'm fine, but once in a while I just start stammering. Self-confidence is a tenuous thing.
Here's some stand-up comic "bits" I've scribbled, and then not thrown away..

(screams) I'm terrified of all of you. Seriously. This is how I've figured out how to talk to people, like I'm included in this whole weird thing. I can't believe what I say, out loud, in public, which is like, never. I scare the crap out of people. Hey, I can't HELP it. I surprised the heck out of my parents with this red hair. Who donated that?? I'm born, my parents are immediately suspicious. There's a confidence builder. Hmm, WHO is your father? I have been regularly mistaken for a witch, by kids under 10. "Hey, Mom? Is THAT a witch?" Many, many times, I've gotten "Excuse me, Sir?" Helped alot, me finally getting the nose job. (shouts at heaven, THANK YOU, MOM! Sorry I waited so long!!) Father features are fine, as long as it's eyes or hair, but not a giant, hooked, Scottish schnozz. My nose can't vote, it isn't 18 years old yet. I throw my nose a birthday party every year. I then met my future husband, get this, red-necked farmer next door neighbour, after I'd moved to the middle of nowhere, to get away from all "civilization". He thought I was gay. Surprised the heck out of him, too. Thanks to husband, I grew other female features, that I'd completely given up on. Amazing, how at 42, you can finally be recognized as a woman. Takes me a while, but I get there..

Yeah, I know. Needs work:)
Here's another pic, of Flip & puppy, Blaze would be 11 weeks old, to Flip's three years old, at this point, I hope I haven't screwed up dates!
Enough blathering, I have a story to finish up!

All the best, to all who read, thank you!

GoLightly Fiction, parts 9, 10 & 11

Well, I've looked and looked, and I have zero digital pictures of my old horses. I have a bunch of so-so pictures of my friend's horses. I have a lovely collection of DriftWood Horses. I will post one, let me know if you think I'd get in trouble for using them. These women are amazing. They gather old pieces of DriftWood and craft them into amazing works of art. Anyone else seen these? Sooo coool. I believe they are in Britain. I'll dig a bit, and make sure to post the credits if I can find 'em.
The first pic is my sister up in Inuvit, to remind you of winter fun:)
Second is the DriftWood piece that wowed me.
Third is my sister's dog, patiently pretending she doesn't mind such silly indignity:)
I hope they're in the same order. You should be able to tell, which is which.
Thanks to 2Toads, for the tip!

I hope you all had a great Christmas, I sure did:) Dogs are exhausted from playing with their best friends.
And because I didn't want to leave you without a further installment, and since FernValley is impatiently drumming her fingers, I present Parts 9, 10 & 11 of the GoLightly Fictional Story. Funny, I've had lots I've thought to post about the "real" GoLightly Story, but I'm never near pen, paper or computer when the thoughts flash past.
I'll get crackin' on that, Fern:) Pass the cinnamon buns!
Merry Christmas, any and all who honour me by reading.

GoLightly - A Story of Love and Hope and Luck

Part 9
Gentian decided a visit to Dr. Rick's was in order, and Billy agreed. The finagling of a good reason to visit took several weeks, as he'd sold his latest bunch of really nice, badly broken horses. Dr. Rick took the meaning "broke to death" to the extreme. Gen had felt Dr. Rick's eyes on her several times at the show, but his dark sunglasses hid his expression. She couldn't see any reaction when she noticed him looking in her direction, again, as she was chatting with Craig and daughter Jessie at her stalls. Dr. Rick didn't allow dogs on his property. Gen and Billy carefully worked out a plan for Samson to get "loose", and trained him accordingly. Samson enjoyed his new training mightily, as good dogs do. Sam had extensive previous experience in the matter of clandestine escapes.
Dr. Rick decided not to visit Letitia, opting for a stern phone call instead. But after reviewing the matter of Craig & Jessie & Samson, any communication with Letitia was to be avoided, for the moment. Craig had no idea where the horse was. Craig had mentioned Jessie's pony ride with a big horse to Dr. Rick, but Rick pretended he'd never heard of the place. The horse would be dead soon, anyway. Letitia was very experienced in such matters.


Dr. Rick kept Craig on the home farm for the rest of the show season, though. Dr. Rick needed to be careful, for a while. Craig didn't mind, show work hours were much more brutal. Home Farm work was "easier", if only in measure of distances traveled and total amount of endless days.
Show Grooms, all grooms for that matter, the great ones, are a priceless bunch. They are also the lowest paid workers of any circuit. Their love for horses keeps them working, often to their own detriment. Loyal grooms, seeing employer abuse, can feel honour bound not to report it. Paychecks are more important than conscience.

Jack Toronto had moved to the west coast after GoLightly vanished. He was "JT" to everyone in the hunter/jumper world. JT could get any horse to do anything, it was said. He was truly a gifted horse handler. JT had never worked for Gen, but he had freelanced at most of the shows her barn went to. Short, with a boyish, jockey charm, he'd befriended GoLightly and his groom Michelle, at several shows. JT was paid extra for these duties, from his employers. He did it so surreptiously, and yet so smoothly, it was never noticed.
JT could sometimes feel a dark pang in his heart, before he slept at night. His only choice had always been, take the money. JT still heard Simon's pained yelp, at the hands of Dr. Rick, when he was stone sober.
JT missed the east coast terribly, and when his old employers called, offering him more money to return, he agreed. Horses can be lied to, honest beasts that they are. JT was one of the best at horse lying. JT could feel remorse, but no actual guilt. Business takes precedence over ethics.
Dr. Rick's concerns about Gen and Samson slowly subsided as time passed. After a few months, with his syndicate's approval, he called JT back home. Dr. Rick missed the guy, JT always seemed to assist Dr. Rick's focus. JT could sharpen anyone's senses. Dr. Rick appreciated his medical and pharmaceutical expertise, in horses and humans.
Gen's phone call later that same week didn't even raise Rick's blood pressure. She often would try to buy a horse as soon as she heard it was headed to his barn.
Dr. Rick would always gladly sell horses. He smiled, thinking maybe the beautiful Gen would finally succumb to his considerable charm. Dr. Rick and JT both resented Gen her ability to resist them.

Part 10

Letitia was furious. She'd just been kicked, for the dozenth time in her life. Horses are not evil, which had kept her alive for a very long time. Horses were only allowed to kick her once. GoLightly was on borrowed time, as the summer was ending. Ian was worried, for as his Softy's sedation level lowered, so his temperament increased. Ian kept the horse as far away from her as possible, and so far his luck held. A tall, Thoroughbred solid red chestnut mare had nailed Letitia again. Some highly intelligent horses will commit revenge.

(Author's note - For further typing purposes the author will no longer type out L's name. The author can no longer bear to name her. It disgraces the perfectly good name she had. Letitia (ouch) will now be typed as "L" only.)

The mare conveniently kicked her the day before the auction, so off they went to dispose of her. Plenty more horse to be had, anytime. More you have, the less you feed. It was simple. Then, once the numbers were crunching.. In the fall, auctions were busy with the cast-off pets, camp and trail and school horses, all hoping they would live to see dinner. L's trailer was repaired, and Ian & L drove her to her fate. The Auction Yard was big, loud and very secure. No pictures were allowed on site, and the rule strictly enforced. For such good reason, of course. Sights seen at Auctions will break a kind heart. No-one noticed Ian, quietly rubbing the tall red mare's neck & withers goodbye, helpless to direct his own fate, let alone hers. L was in her favourite place, where mindless brutality was ignored. She picked out a tiny, terrified weanling (barely), as she hadn't had fun like that for awhile. Christmas was coming. The pair left, without waiting for the result of the mare. L couldn't care less.

A small miracle occurred at the Auction that day. The mare didn't ship west. She ended up not 10 miles away, NW, from Gentian's Touchwood barn. Gen's kind neighbours just couldn't let the mare go, with such a kind, intelligent eye and her terrible lack of weight. They rarely visited Auctions, but they knew Gen was away touring. They were still looking for Golly too. Instead, they found a red TB mare, already loaded on the "kill-buyer" truck. Arriving home, they unloaded her, and her first response was a surprising strong whinny, aimed SE. Allaflame answered, but no-one else heard. I am here, thank you, I am here..
The first twist of GoLightly's fate was begun.

Samson had been acting strangely all morning. The cold fall winds were howling. Gen and Billy were busy putting up stores for the winter, and didn't really remark on his odd behaviour, until he'd disappeared. As Gen was placing her second phone call, call waiting beeped, with her NW neighbours saying Sam was there. Gen was in such a rush to go get him, she didn't hear Sam's story until they'd repeated it for her, upon arrival. There was Samson, sitting in front of a very skinny chestnut mare's stall, quietly barking every few moments. Gen stared at the mare for a long time, and finally asked "Ok, when & where did you get her, and may I have her, please?"

Gen and Samson headed to the Auction Barn the next morning. Sam alerted again at a trash bin. The sales catalogue was still tacked to the bulletin board. Pages and pages of non-descripted horses, and the chestnut mare's owner listed as "L.M." None of the staff admitted to remembering either the mare or the seller. They were paid to forget things quickly. An "L.M." was also listed as the buyer of a weanling. Gen found the seller, but he again declined to say much. Auctions are for soon to be forgotten horses.

Gen was sure of her dog, but unsure what he'd found. Gen knew, somehow, the man Sam had rushed at the Feed Mill was connected. But how?
Gentian hated Auctions and always tried to avoid them. She couldn't save them all, and relied on her local Humane Society to alert her. It was often easier that way. People were happy to sell horses out of a field. The chestnut mare had a connection to GoLightly. Sam continued to alert to the chestnut mare, until she was bathed. GoLightly's scent had to be rinsed away, for the mare's sake. Gen named the skinny mare "Mystery". Her tattoo was almost obliterated, naming her breed, but not clearly defining who she was, or where she had been. Mystery easily gained weight, as horses do when fed.

She blossomed into a sweet, mostly sound, honourable red mare. Mystery had been in hell. Mystery knew she'd found heaven. Gen, in desperation, after many tries from local eyes, sent a picure of the mare's tattoo to the Jockey Club. The JC could not be hurried though, and she tried not to check the mail every day, for several weeks. Anything was worth a shot at this point! Gen and Billy plastered the Auction BB with GoLightly's poster. At the next Auction, which Gen & Samson attended, Samson remained silent.

Gen had to bid, feeling her flash of recognition on two horses. Gen bought a blind 30 year old pony and a 16.3 hand plain bay Thoroughbred gelding with a terrible hoof injury. Gen & Billy loved on the old pony for a few days, then put the pony down, quietly and kindly. The gelding, with a year's rehab, would be an excellent hunter. Billy was thrilled at the prospect, although of course he didn't show it. Billy loved to fix a good horse. At 20 years Gen's senior, he never admitted to any age. Gentian often caught herself thinking "What will happen when Billy's not here?" He was her friend, mentor and horseman, a rare, quiet, capable man.

Part 11

Gentian finally found an excuse for the long drive to Dr. Rick's. Billy couldn't go, as he hadn't the first time, and Gen wanted no suspicion as to her motives from Rick. Samson waited silently in the trailer as she tried out Dr. Rick's horse. The plan had been carefully trained. Gen concentrated on her breathing as they chatted about the horse. As usual, the Vet's eye for functionally correct conformation was spot on. The horse, a gelding, was a massive TB/Friesian cross, and had a perfect 10, rolling, rocking canter. He left the floor almost as lightly as Golly. His soft eye and willing, calm attitude allowed Gentian to honestly write a cheque for the horse. Craig went back to the barn to ready the horse for transport. Gen's recent sales of DragonFly and the other amateur horses had bolstered her bank account. Gen breathed slowly and carefully as she lowered the ramp, quietly. Samson, equally stealthy, crept unseen into Rick's barn, just as Craig and the carefully wrapped horse came out. The horse loaded easily, and Gen held her breath, counting the seconds Samson was trained to search for.

When Gen heard Sam bark, she nearly fainted. Dr. Rick scowled, and quickly Gen headed to the barn, mock-scolding Samson. He had Jack Toronto cornered in the tack room. Gen apologetically "caught" Sam and put him in the truck. Gentian laughed about it, saying Samson had now fooled her twice. Samson loved to steal a few rides in the trailer, she lied. Gentian hid her disappointment well. Samson hadn't scented GoLightly. He'd picked up on JT's dishonest heart, and was reprimanding him for it. Gentian was informed of JT's character, by her Samson. Sam had been trained to use several voices, for different tasks. Sam's voice was not telling Gen what she needed to hear. At least Gen was pretty sure Dr. Rick, Craig and JT were somehow part or privy to the crime against her horse. Where was GoLightly?


Dr. Rick watched Gen's rig through narrowed eyes as she drove away. He asked JT what he'd done to provoke the dog, to which Jack honestly replied "Nothing." The cheque in Dr. Rick's pocket helped him to decide it was a non-event. Gen's acting was flawless. As his latest meds kicked in, Dr. Rick decided to forget about it. Dr. Rick disliked dogs, always had. Samson had turned and growled at him, before he jumped in Gen's truck. Dr. Rick hated dogs, he decided.
Jessie, smelling lightly of Golly, visited with her father at Rick's barn the next day.. Golightly's luck was an hour-glass, sand draining, silently.

Gentian blew a long sigh, as she drove home, trying to enjoy the thought of hacking out her new horse. But, she simply handed the shank to Billy and went to visit Mystery for a while. Billy happily loved on the new horse, and named him "Rough Cut" for his feathered, kevlar-hard legs. Sam softly sighed, as he went to sleep in front of Golly's stall, empty since the old pony's passing.

The vet had wept, looking at the pony's feet. Untreated, exacerbated founder, the worst pain for any horse, the hooves as hot coals. Gen had the same routine for all her horses due for mercy vet visits. The animal was given whatever level of pain medication gave relief. If the animal was terrified, Emily donkey would gently calm them, until they could be given medications in their water. As the horse's pain/terror waned, they were groomed and fussed over as much as they wanted. All her mercy horses died quietly and peacefully. There is an art to euthanasia and a science. It was Gen's promise to honour, for each of these horses was owed this simple thing. A gentle death, at the right time. Gentian had insisted on learning to do it herself, when Billy showed his skills to her, early in their partnership. Gen had a kinder power than many so-called humane people, who prolong an animal's suffering for the funds it can raise, or the false feeling of hope for the human. Gen had several pieces of her old horses, a fringe benefit of five attempts at admission to veterinary school. All the pathologists were huge fans of hers. Gen had several teaching "instruments" that demonstrated correct and incorrect leg structure at the ligament/skeletal level. She had learned to warn the squeamish, before presenting "Foreleg of Dolly" at her conformation and soundness clinics. Gen honoured all her horses.

Mystery drank and ate, and fluttered her soft red nose in Gen's coppery red hair. Mystery then snorted, firmly, at Gen's sorrow.
Billy laughed with glee at the good day he was having. His Hoof Horse was healing well, the new horse stupendous and his Rider/Boss's hair was full of nice clear horse snot. He carried the news from the Jockey Club, as well. Mystery was solved. Her previous owner was Dr. Rick Thomlinson, DVM. Wherever GoLightly was, it wasn't at Dr. Rick's barn. Gen decided to spend a little extra on GoLightly's search party.

GoLightly whinnied softly in his stall, slowly reviving from his stupour. His company always answered, as bravely and as quietly as they could. Horses endure, without question. It is the horse's inherent nobility, to accept direction with honour.
L's behaviour worsened, but her visits to the barn became less frequent. She drank and ate heavily, and her weight ballooned. When she was sufficiently hammered, she would stagger out to the barn, and harass the closest animals, the unfortunate dogs, usually. Ian cleverly stalled GoLightly as far away from the house as possible. Ian had learned to handle the "customers" very well, and did his best to make the horse's lives less uncomfortable. It was a terrible testament to L's choice of clientele that none of them, regulars included, ever recognized GoLightly. None of her customers had any real interest in the animals.
Jessie, never having met him, knew him right away.
The dogs were routinely beaten and starved, before L would stagger back to the house. Then, one night, L sacrificed the weanling, for her special amusement, to the dogs.
Ian's heart burst that terrible night. He also, finally, recognized what he had to do. Job be damned. Ian got a brain tune-up, as he buried his head in the pillow, to drown out the dogs rage and the weanling's dying shrieks of pain. The horses all cried that night. It was such a chorus of sorrow Ian had never heard before. He never wanted to hear it again. Pain has a voice only kind people can hear.
L did not leave the house for three days. She left Ian a note for errands to run, cash & the truck keys nailed to her door. Ian made an anonymous phone call from a booth in town, as he waited for his order to be loaded. The local Humane Society was on holiday schedule, as it was Christmas Eve.
Ian completed his errands, and went back to the horses. After all, they had given him back his spine.

end part 11


Off to visit step-daughter tomorrow. Have a Merry Boxing Day, from Canada, eh?

Merry Christmas!! Aaaand Part 7 & 8 of GoLightly Fiction

Sheesh I sure hope all that above gobbledygook means there's a picture of someone being chased by a PolarBear:)
Blame 2Toads if it doesn't work. I did what it said!!
Just wanted to say Merry Christmas, life sure could be worse!
My fingers are typing, and I've transcribed part 7 & 8 of GoLightly Fiction, for your enjoyment, or not, of course.
Hope ya like it. All the best wishes to everyone in 2009!

GoLightly - A Story of Love, Hope and Luck, in varying orders:)

Part 7

Golly's morning had begun normally, until his friend changed his routine and didn't return from morning feed. When his friend returned, his smell was electrifying to the big bay. Golly perked up as hard as he could through the haze of the tranquilizer. He blew a long, low, whinnying snort, starting a ripple of whickers and low whinnies from the rows of other horses.
"Yes, we are here. Please, please help us." Quietly, as horses do, when they start to lose hope.
The big bay slowly started to feel better.

Dr. Rick was tired, more tired than in his Vet School days, when he worked two jobs to pay for the education. He survived, but 7 years of 21 hours days had taken its toll. Why, he often wondered, did I spend all this money on education, when my brain, as good as it is, was not physically designed to handle extreme lack of sleep?
Dr. Rick felt fuzzy, some days, the only word fitting to describe his state. Slightly erased, as if a piece of him was loose. That piece was always his conscience.
So, there he was, 15 years out of high school, feeling 30 years older, deep into debt, and removed from emotion. It was easy to agree to the money and an easy enough plan. Lead a horse onto a trailer, with the help of an equally conscience-challenged groom, give the horse a shot of bye-bye juice and leave. His debts were erased, but instead of feeling sharper, better, he only felt fuzzier.
Dr. Rick fancied himself a rider. He liked to keep several sale horses. He had an excellent eye for good conformation. His horses, if ridden long enough by Dr. Rick, would show truly text-book results of how poor training and management caused structural lameness. The horses could only remain sound if they sold quickly.
Gen had bought one of his horses, but she had never used his sales or vet services again, making it that much easier for him to partake in her horse theft. She had politely but soundly rebuffed all of his friendly advances.
Dr. Rick was a handsome man, and he despised women who seemed immune to his charms. He could never understand why clients stopped calling. He made himself unavailable for emergency calls. He worked in a haze, brought on by his years of abusing drugs to stay awake. He was actually an excellent diagnostician, but he didn't like too many treatment protocols. Repeat visits weren't interesting enough for him. Dr. Rick's looks kept the new customers coming, though. So many wealthy naive women in this horse world, and Dr. Rick had so little time. He decided to hire on some new barn help, to off-set his own work load. Dr. Rick lived in a constant state of desperation for more sleep.
Craig, freshly out of jail, seemed the natural choice. Craig would close his mouth, anxious to avoid fresh trouble, but eager for quick money. Just Dr. Rick's type of guy.
Which, naturally, made his jaw drop when he saw Gen & Craig talking at her stalls. Craig's explanation of his little daughter wanting an autograph from the famous Gen was certainly plausible, even probable. The fuzzy part of the story seemed to be Gen's new German Shepherd Dog, Samson, who sounded like an enemy. Vets didn't usually think of animals as the enemy, did they? He decided to visit Letitia, and explain more firmly the imperativeness of the horse's complete isolation from the public. He wished the syndicate had just put the damned horse down. Dr. Rick chose not to think about further chores he might have to perform.

Gen hacked Flame lightly when they got home, groomed her and turned her out for the night with Emily & Joe. Samson curled up in front of Golly's stall, and slept until late the next day. Sam had finally worked himself to sleep, with the satisfaction of his job well done.

Part 8

Blog Preface
Horses differ from riders in their capacity for honesty and generosity. Riders can be dishonest, even to themselves. Horses are utterly honest.
To live is to Ride. To Ride is to live. (thanks, charlie brown)

There are as many types of riders as there are types of horses. As with any large group, riders can be divided, not quite evenly, into 1) riders who sit the horse and 2) riders who merely sit on the horse.
A few riders are true horsemen. These riders climb inside the horse, not clamber onto it. Horses, ridden well, carry themselves. Any horse, ridden correctly, carries himself, happily. If he has bad natural balance/conformation/inclination, the rider can help or hurt, but the issue will never entirely go away, without good sustained training. And it's an issue to the rider, not the horse. Any sound horse, of course. A true horseman trains and loves the horse himself, for what he is, for life.
There are cruel riders, enjoying senseless arguments and relishing harsh punishments. These riders, thankfully fairly rare, have no comprehension of how cruel they are. Horses endure harsh treatments because of their nature.
There are timid riders, sweet riders, bossy horses, bold riders. Horses are drawn up like a quiver, trembling in place, flight, poised. A horse is a sensitive, slightly nervous herd animal. The horse knows he is prey, not predator. A horse, rarely ever, freezes. For long. If they do Stop, prepare to Go. Flight is faster than Fight, but they will, if terribly pressed. A horse is born to move. There are horses born & bred to pull loads. To Trot. To Run Quick, or Run Long. To Jump. To Dance. All horses can do all of these things. Riders have narrowed their purpose/form & function with good precision, but all horses can do anything. Their basic gifts remain, no matter the "style" or "discipline". There are angry riders, loving riders, weepy riders. Horses can drop roots down into the ground, holding ground with hoof. Then, they can lift off, defying gravity. They dance on air, run with wind.
Good horses will try to respond to bad riders. Bad horses will not always respond to good riders. Bad horses are as rare as good riders.
School horses. Unsung pillars of the equine world. Heroes, for the deaths they don't cause. Sensible, honest, patient, kind, forgiving. The bad school horses can last a long time. Some are either outright lame, or "servicably sound", as in medicated. Some join the schooling ranks unbroke and frightened. They learn, as best they can, often brilliantly, often safely. Some are so badly conformed, they are textbooks used for the Instructors that would mention such things. Harder to ride, because they find it harder to stand square.
"Camp" horses, rental/trail horses are the worst statistical types for injuries, often bound for slaughter at the end of the summer. They should be forgiven any quirks in their personalities, they can feel the cliff coming. Horses feel their future. Their movement forward is their purpose.

Jessie's Mom half-listened to her horseman daughters' story, and hurried off to work. She'd listened to so many horse stories from her ex-husband. Jessie's Mom learned they were either untrue, or forgettable. Jessie's Mom didn't believe in her daughter's horse wishes. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, was her favourite expression. Horses were wishing for Jessie, though. Horses can recognize people like Jessie, for exactly what they are.

Craig's father had been a "horseman", a member of the Mounted Police Force. Jessie's grandfather died before she was born, known before his death for his cruelty and love of alcohol. Jessie was a very lucky girl. After his death, drunk in a car crash, his cruelty to his son and his horses was largely forgotten. Craig had no love for horses. They gave him a living, like anything could, but their memories weren't important. Craig was surprised to learn of his newly introduced daughters' obsession with horses. Jessie was also surprised by her newly introduced fathers' profession. She'd never met him, but he worked with horses. Jessie didn't understand his lack of interest in horses. He acted flustered and pestered when she'd ask any questions. Jessie's love for horses was actually all of her very own, her own private fire, warming her cold life, quietly. Her suitcase, tucked into her closet, continued to smell of GoLightly. Jessie's talent was as darkly hidden as GoLightly's first life.

end part 8

GoLightly Fiction - Part 5 & 6

Thanks to all who read this. My latest epiphany came again this weekend. Wish I'd had more of these flashes of intelligence as I was growing up. My dislike of the horse industry in general, and the "great divide" between the disciplines, heck between rescue people, is never more evident than in some of the posts on Fugs blog lately. I've tried to "get back into it", several times. I just can't deal with the type of people I meet. I have learned to be quiet, for the most part. I do not rise to any bait. I do not question stupidity, or bad riding, as it is no longer my place to speak. I will continue to write letters to my "powers that be", and hope someday animals will finally be re-discovered for the wealth of information they can give us, everyday. Nature, and it's beauty and ugliness, can teach the human race so much. By denying our animal state, we deny ourselves.
I am denying myself the joy of any horse, because I can't bear the despair. Part of the training I gave myself. Feel nothing, it hurts less.

I have a picture of my dear Mom, at around 19 years old, looking so beautiful, with a broad shadow of despair on her face. She was born wealthy, as I've mentioned. She had black servants, and a coach house full of horses, until the automobile came along. I remember her speaking of kittens in the barn, and her shock and grief, witnessing one unlucky kitten being squished underneath a carriage's horses' hoof. She was always afraid of horses after that. Both my parents were not thrilled by my early and utter obsession with horses. I was never encouraged to speak or write or talk about them. My Parents never abused me for my interest, yet I never felt supported. What happened at my first barn changed how I would look at the world.
Instead of telling my parents what happened, I kept it my dark, terrible secret, because of my fear I would lose the right to see horses. Horses were everything I ever wanted in life. One dark secret seemed a small price to pay, for such a gift.
I turned inward, became silent, even more shy, even more in my own small world. I don't blame my parents for what happened. How could they know what evils abound at a simple horse barn, for an 11 year old, horse-faced, shy dreamy child?

Christmas time is always hard for me. I lost my Mom twenty years ago, and each Christmas since, I need to cry for her. I never know when it will happen. Sometimes, I'm in a mall, sometimes, as now, I just cry. Love your Moms, people, if they loved you at all. My Mom deserved so much better in her life. Her kind, gentle nature still writhes with despair in me, when I read the more terrible stories of reality.
This is a part of why I have written the GoLightly Fictional Story.
I need to own a happy ending, somewhere.


GoLightly - A story of love, hope and luck.

Part 5
Alllaflame was spectacular in the grand prix, but an unlucky rub cost them the big prize for the Sunday class. Gen took Fly out for a last hack before loading up the van for the long drive home, and let his electric personality recharge her smile. Samson was hot, and tired from his week of working the show, the first time she’d ever seen him admit he was pooped, as he lagged behind them up the gentle slope. Gen loved these show-grounds, nestled into a valley with sandy, well-drained light soil, and lots of trails through the fields and forests surrounding the place. The horses always enjoyed this show, almost a holiday for them really, she mused as Fly cantered happily up the hill. The DragonFly snorted, checking his stride a split second before attempting to spin a 180. Gen laughed, catching him with her leg and weight and balance. She gentled Fly back into his original cadence and circled to a halt in front of the Fly’s excuse to spook.
“Hello, Craigie.”
“Hey, Gen!!! How’ve you been?”
“’bout the same, I guess. How long have you been out?”
“Oh, about a month now. Got a job working for Rickie Thomlinson, you know him?”
Unfortunately she did, RT was one of the worst vets on the planet, responsible for uncountable equine breakdowns due to his admiration for phenylbutazone and acepromazine. She’d used him briefly, when her regular Vet had health problems, but never used him again. The horses loved RT, that much could be said, but horses don’t always know what’s good for them.
“Sure, Craigie. Good for you! Well, got to keep moving, this baby needs his fun time everyday… “
“Yeah, sure Gen, I was just wondering if I could stop by your stalls for a minute, my daughter would love to meet you.”
Samson had finally caught up, and immediately alerted straight at Craigie.
Trying to sound nonchalant, she said, “Sure, give me a half hour or so, okay?” Samson, thinking she hadn’t noticed his response, barked, but Gen persuaded him to follow by cantering off again, Fly happy to comply. Once they were out of sight, she congratulated her brilliant dog, for his Samson power.
Gen’s mind was racing as she tried to calm herself down, knowing Fly would soon start to mirror her mood. Samson, very pleased with himself, had raced ahead of them. Fly’s Thoroughbred blood was game for the chase. She quieted them all down, and they walked thoughtfully back to the show stalls.

Jessie was thrilled for too many reasons, and since she was trying to calm down, she listed them. She was 1) with her dad, who worked with horses, 2) at a famous horse show, 3) with famous horses everywhere and 4) she was about to meet Gentian MacFarland, only one of the best, most famous riders in North America! Jessie was trying to become a quiet steadfast horse, in her imagination, so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. A big strong Clydesdale she was now, beautiful bay, four white stockings full and soft, feathers, what an appropriate name for them! Jessie smiled, and sighed quietly, feeling the power of her body as she pulled a huge wagon. Sometimes, Jessie was a race-horse, flying down the straightaway, pulling away from the others to win, but she usually dreamed she was Allaflame, a tall, bright red chestnut mare, built to run and jump forever. The owner of Allaflame would be here any moment! Jessie dreamed of her horses, and in the tack room, surrounded by the heavenly scents of horses, she was calmly and completely happy. Jessie was a natural born horsewoman, gifted beyond talent and ability and sense. Jessie was an equine prodigal daughter.
Jessie was blissfully unaware of her audience, immersed in her horse world, until a prodding of her foot, and then a very large wet & whiskery sniffing nose pressed her hand. She opened her eyes, and saw a huge german shepherd cocking his ears at her, her hands half as big as his ears.
Her father, laughing, said “Gen, where did you find him?? That’s the longest, tallest Shepherd I’ve ever seen!”
“Another pound rescue.”
“Of course!!” Gen and Craig said in unison, and Jessie laughed, just to let them know she was still in the room. Jessie was introduced to Gen, who graciously showed her around her show stalls, and best of all, Jessie patted Allaflame’s silky red nose. They chatted a bit, Gen describing how Samson had come to them, that he’d been a difficult dog to train for a small family, but that he’d found a new job that he loved. Jessie’s dad started to look restless, and it seemed to Jessie that Gen was very excited about something. Samson hadn’t left Jessie’s side, sniffing her, sitting in front of her, staring pointedly first at Jessie, then at Gen, until he’d bark, and Gen would say “Good Sam!! Good boy!!”
Jessie asked Gen what Sam’s new job was, for he still seemed to be working.
“Horse hunter” said Gen, grimly.
Her father said, “Right! GoLightly was stolen while I was gone, wasn’t he? I’d forgotten that, sorry, Gen.”
“Yes, and he’s been pointing at your daughter, Craig, and he pointed at you too, when I met you out hacking”
“What?” Craig protested. “I just got out of jail. I mean, my training program last month, and I’ve been at Rickie’s since then. I’d recognize your horse, big bay, no white, scrawny mane & tail? He’s hard to miss, ya know, Gen.”
“Well, he’s still missing, Craigie, and it’s been over a year since he was stolen. Has Jessie been near any other horses?”
“Just with me, to Rickie’s and here.”
Gen sighed, more deeply than she realized. Craig started to apologize, and father & daughter left, Craig promising to let Gen know if he thought of anything. Jessie said something about a pony ride, but Gen didn’t hear them, lost in her thoughts.

“Remember my pony ride last month, Dad? That horse was huge!”
“Sure, honey, but he had a bald face and 2 white feet, and he was quiet as a mouse. GoLightly was abused before Gen got him, he could be a real bad actor if he got scared.”
So much for Craig’s powers of observation. He’d never been as gifted with horses as he was with making a quick, dishonest buck. He was far better at lying about horses. Craig could sell any horse, as anything the seller wanted. He'd always forgotten horses. Craig made his living that way.
Jessie was scrolling back through her memory of her first real horse-back ride ever. Her horse, with his impossibly high head, his broad back, her legs barely reaching halfway down. The horse had a swaying motion, especially when he turned, as if it was difficult to go straight again. He was a bay gelding, she knew THAT much, even if she was 12 years old. The horse’s mane had been chopped off, and his tail was a solid tangle of burrs & knots, so it was difficult to tell how thick or thin it was. His white marking were dirty, and his white face had seemed like a frosted coating. The gelding’s nosepiece seemed to rub the frosting off. A light flashed in Jessie’s mind and she stopped and said “Dad! It was GoLightly, I’m sure! That mean lady painted him, so he’d be invisible!”
Craig laughed, and ruffled her hair.
“Oh, Jess! Forget it! I know horses, and you don’t, not yet!!”
“But, Dad!!” She gave up, knowing how fruitless an argument with her father was. Once he decided, that was it.
But Jess couldn’t get the big horse out of her mind….

Gen rubbed Sam’s gigantic ears, lost in her thoughts. Her disappointment hung on her like a dark cloud. She asked Sam again, "What did you find, Samson?"
He barked, and Gen cried, a little.

Everyone dreamed of Golly that night.

Rickie Thomlinson was uneasy, and he had figured out why. Craig was a good worker, if not great, and he could be counted on to keep his mouth shut. But RT saw Gen & Craig talking outside her stalls, Gen and her huge shepherd looking very intently at Craig. RT hadn’t thought of this.

Part 6
Ian groaned, and rolled out of his cot, shivering. It was 4am, time to start his 19 hour day. He could hear the horses stirring below, hungry, aware of when their barely meager feed was due. His big horse started the morning routine, and the dogs were quiet, knowing their rations were coming. He needed to hurry. Letitia had ordered him to pick up at the feed mill, a rare privilege he’d lose if he didn’t get all his other chores done first. Letitia had been drinking more heavily than usual, and she was far too crafty to risk a DUI.
Ian gave the big bay horse a good head rub, and finished his chores in record time, trying not to look happy at the prospect of leaving the farm for a while. His last time off the property was the previous year when he’d left the track to come to his new job. What a long time it had been! It was odd how time had changed since his life with horses began.
The feed mill was busy; trucks lined up and down the street. Even better, Ian thought, and went to the doughnut shop for a coffee. As he returned to his truck in the feed mill’s lot he heard a dog barking behind him, which he ignored. He loaded his small order off the dock, closed the tail-gate and heard a woman’s voice saying firmly “Samson, come here!”. Ian turned to see a gigantic German Shepherd charging towards him, barking excitedly. Seeing the dog had no aggression in him, he knelt down and murmured “Hey, Samson, how ya doing?”
Samson immediately rolled over for a belly scratch.
“Wow! How did you know he wouldn’t bite?” said the woman and as Ian looked up to answer the question, he had to force himself to stand, for his knees tried to buckle before this incredibly beautiful woman. His face flushed, and he shyly muttered “Oh, he wasn’t angry, just excited.”
“Well!” beautiful woman said. “Not many people would know the difference. Are you a dog trainer?”
Ian tried to swallow, failed and managed to stammer a laugh. “No ma’am.”
“Please, call me Gen.” She said too quickly, because Sam was staring straight at this man. Gen wanted him to keep talking, but he looked so tired and thin and worried.
“Do you work around here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where?”
“I’m not allowed to say, ma’am, my boss is a little strict about things.”
Gen’s mind raced. “Do you work with horses?” She couldn’t see into his truck, and couldn’t tell what he’d bought.
“Well, I’m sorry ma’am, but my boss says it’s my job over, if I talk to strangers. I’d better get going now, I’ve chores to do.”
Gen could sense she had frightened him somehow, and never felt more helpless in her life as she watched him walk back to his truck. “Well, come visit my dog sometime! TouchWood Rescue, we’re in the book!” She’d added the rescue just to see if he’d react, but he only turned and drove away. Gen wrote down his license number, and quizzed the feed mill guy, but no-one knew of him. What a fluke! she mused to herself. If we hadn’t forgotten Sam’s food at the show, we’d never have stopped there. What barns were around there? Billy couldn’t think of any, just on the outskirts of the city, so close to being developed into houses anyway. A search of the license plate would turn up nothing. “What did you find, Samson?” Sam wagged his tail, proudly.

Ian drove back, unaware of the chaos he’d left behind, replaying every word the beautiful Gen had said. He wondered at how her eyes had flashed when he’d refused to talk to her. Why did he feel so badly? Letitia had been very clear when she’d hired him – no outside contact with strangers, no information offered, ever. It never occurred to him that someone would even want to know about him, much less be offended if he refused. Ian was a nobody, in his tired, lonely mind. No friends, no family. Why would the beautiful Gen want to know anyway? He unloaded the truck, and set about mucking the stalls, enjoying the luxury of doing it later than usual. TouchWood Farms, her trailer lettering spelled. Why had this beautiful woman said rescue? Softy, his favourite big bay, nudged his hand, and blew a long low whistling snort, perking up harder than Ian had ever seen before. Ian went back to work, but he started changing Softy’s water every day. Surreptitiously, of course, but rescuing comes in many forms, from the smallest of gestures.

Gen decided to advertise again, in the area of the feed mill, but nothing came of it except the usual crank calls. She wishes GoLightly home every night, and her nightmares dream it is forever.

end Part 6.


To Horses. To Joy on Earth, good will towards all animals. Humans are animals, too.

GoLightly Fiction- Part 3 and 4

Och, what a day. Facts are so hard to deal with sometimes. I got positively enraged on Fugs blog, and of course I know why. There are things I still think aren't worthy of writing down, and yet my anger comes from not writing them down:) A conundrum. There are parts of this fictional story that are true, and of course, many many more parts that are not. Here's one fact about GoLightly, that isn't allowed to be in his fictional story. The real GoLightly did not have a real pretty head. He had a bit of a small eye. He had a good roman nose. I loved his old head:) He did have a thin mane and tail, like an appy's, THAT thin:)The Real GoLightly was NEVER called Golly by me. I called him LIGHTly", always accenting the "Light", in his name. He made me feel lighter than air, when I rode him the first time. We, for sure, just "fit". All the other horses I'd ever ridden before that, vanished, when I got on his back that first time. He taught me everything I'd ever wanted to know, about how a "broke" horse should go, in the first fifteen minutes. I got off, after flatting him for half an hour or so, and just cried. Happy, crazy crying. I'd been given the first gift of his knowledge. I'd been looking for it, riding for it, reading for it, and there GoLightly was, a master of horse. I loved him, for his great character, honesty and humour. He was a funny horse. I came up to ride him once, on a hot summer's afternoon. He was still out in the paddock, where there was one small puddle of water. I called out "Hi Lightly"! As soon as he saw me, he raced over to the puddle, rolled quickly on both sides, and got up, his nose up, laughing his fanny off. They call it the "flehmen" response. Uh-uh. GoLightly was laughing at me. Hard. I had to laugh with him, it was tooo cute. I wish I had more pictures of him. I counted, I have five of me jumping him, one of my trainer showing him, and one "For Sale" ad from the Chronicle, after he sold out of my ex-trainer's barn. In 1990, at 12 years old, GoLightly's new owner wanted $25,000.00 for him. If only I'd had the money.

Here's part three and four, of the fiction.

Part Three GoLightly - A Story of Hope and Love, and Luck

Golly’s first idea, when he was so rudely roused from his snoozing, was that his human couldn’t sleep, and needed his company to help her rest. He rose to his feet, shaking his head, snorting his mild indignation. Golly's eyes widened when he saw the face at the trailer door, familiar, but unexpected at that hour. The man spoke to him gently, and haltered him, leading him out to the waiting two-horse trailer. Golly followed willingly, trusting this man. Golly wondered at the tears falling from the man’s face, and nuzzled his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Simon was growling at the man, low and deep, and Golly was shocked at the sudden urgency in the mans’ voice, urging him onto the trailer. Golly walked on willingly, but felt a vague fear in his heart, not knowing why his Simon would be threatening the man. The man slipped a needle into his jugular, and quickly Golly slid down, sparing him at least, the sound of Simon yelping in pain.
Golly woke sharply five hours later, still in the trailer, stiff and bruised from his fall. A stranger woman’s voice spoke harshly to him, startling him to leap to his feet, snorting and trembling. Golightly's memories of his past life were instantly wakened at the tone of the woman’s voice. The woman grabbed at his halter dangling a lead-shank, and Golly struck out, his instinctive reaction to such a threat. The crack of hoof against knee set off a cacophony of barking from the kennels outside. The air turned blue with her angry obscenities, worsening the din, and terrifying Golly even more. His hooves began to shiver, and with her next attempt at capture, he threw his head up, simultaneously throwing his body backward, away from her threat. The van, an old two-horse rear-loader, needed repair, and Golly highlighted her next problem by snapping the rear-door latches in two, ending up on his fanny at the bottom of the ramp. Golly sprang to his feet, trembling all over, and galloped away from her as fast as he could travel.
“You idiot!” she screamed at her bewildered assistant. “Why didn’t you catch him?”
“I can’t catch that end.” mumbled the reply.

Golly’s flight to freedom actually saved his life, as the anesthetic they’d needled him with would have soon killed him. All horse’s guts need their natural movement to stimulate them, and his long, contorted sleep had left his insides ready for catastrophe. He galloped & galloped, his long strides eating up the ground, uncoiling the potentially fatal knots deep inside his body.

His new home was on one hundred acres, very well-fenced. The surrounding neighbours thought the woman just a little extreme, for the 6’ PVC/electric/wire/board fencing must have cost her a small fortune. However horse people are by definition slightly insane, and she certainly never let her horses get loose from their fields, or onto highways, a practice most of her neighbours appreciated. The woman ran a prison for horses.

March’s lion roared as the big bay ran and ran the perimeter of his prison. No-one tried to catch him. He finally slowed, and stopped, quivering with exhaustion. A gentle brogue asked “Hey, fella?” The gelding turned his head, and blew a long sigh, as he recognized his new friend for what he was. Golly's name wasn't spoken again for two years.

There wasn’t darkness at the big bay's new home, but that was about it for comfort. His new stable was the other end of the spectrum again. His narrow, standing-tie stall was narrow, and worn from other horses chewing away their boredom, his hay dusty, his water odd smelling. The “paddocks” were rings of chopped up heavy clay & sharp gravel. His tack was an ancient western saddle, and an old cavalry style bit, long shanked, high ported and vicious. He was in a riding horse factory, routinely drugged with tranquilizer, enduring overweight, &/or unbalanced &/or uncaring riders. The customers he was carrying didn’t know any different, although some of them might have cared, with just a bit of knowledge. All of them were city folk, first timers that came back for the purpose of bragging rights to their friends.
The gelding’s stablehand had some knowledge, but was powerless to improve the situation. Ian worked hard all day every day, but there were seventy horses, and he was only one man. He stayed because he loved horses, and he had nowhere else to go, having closed too many doors behind him. Ian had very little extra time and indeed wasn’t allowed any. But his calm presence soothed the big bay. If not for Ian, Gen wouldn’t have found Golly again. The big bay would have succumbed to the indifference. Horses live to be noticed, to be loved, to be touched.

Golly trudged around the gravelly rings, nose-to-tail. His skin chafed, his calluses allowed to grow. He had no indignation, he wasn’t fed enough to care anyway. Ian did what he could, and wondered at the sanity of his boss, Letitia, who added tranquilizer to the horse’s water every day. Ian didn’t argue with her, but did manage to slip the horse fresh water occasionally, risking the wrath of Letitia. He’d worked at the thoroughbred race track for a year after he’d gotten out of jail. It was all the experience Ian had with horses, although he was surprised at his own natural aptitude with them, a born horseman. The horses were grateful to him, and loved him. Ian was born with the horse-sense to save Golly’s life.
So Golly followed the leader, and felt vaguely ill, and tried his best not to touch the humans that clambered onto his back. He learned to hollow his back, and shuffle his feet and carry the human around with as little commotion as possible. He was a living caricature of what he’d been with Gen.
His skin suffered, but Ian finally found time to notice, and surreptitiously cared for the worst of the sores. The old western saddle pinched his withers cruelly, which grew his only white hairs, later in life. The heavy bit was his new owner’s deliberate pain infliction.
Letitia was a sour, crazy older woman, large and fierce. She’d been born into the horses, but hated them from the moment she could walk, as if she’d found her life’s work. She enjoyed burning noxious things, like cans and green weeds for the bad smell she could create for her horses. Her dogs were either tied or caged, and neglected to insanity. Her cats were emaciated and overpopulated. Her incredible ability to lie, her stable’s remote location, and her uncanny knack of remaining outside any circle that would report her, allowed her to maintain her own nasty little empire. She ate very, very well, as most animal abusers do.

Part 4
Jessie was trying very hard to be calm. Her anticipation and excitement made her shake and then stop herself. She was beside herself, but admonished by her own self too. Horses can sense excitement, she knew, and she did not want the first horse she ever rode to be as excited as she was. Jessie had been riding horses in her dreams for most of her twelve years. Her father laughed and said “Hey, calm down!! This may turn out to be nothing. That sign could be one hundred years old, and I’ve never heard of any horse places around here!”
“Please, Dad? We’ll just look, okay??”
He didn’t answer, for he’d just noticed the fencing, and was calculating its’ worth. Lots of dough here, he thought, his spirits rising. This outing was his ex-wife’s idea, and he’d agreed amicably enough, for she was his halfway house right now. Who knew? Maybe a buck would be made in here. He needed to find an honest line of work, at least until his parole was up.
He mused aloud, “I wonder how long this place has been here? I thought I knew all the barns in Ontario! Look at the size of that gate!! Are they breeding giant horses in here??”
They both fell silent, as the narrow tree-lined drive opened up to reveal a massive black barn with an attached outdoor ring and a huge indoor arena. Her dad whistled softly and said “Look, Jess! There’s a horse for you!”
Golly was next in line for rental, tied to the fence, dozing in his usual stupor. Jess gazed at him in awe, his size alone overwhelming her.
“What do you want?” barked Letitia, standing at the barn door. “This is private property!” she snarled, over the din of the dogs.
He put on his best sweet-dumb face and said “I’m real sorry to trouble you, ma’am. My daughter here has been begging for a pony-ride, and we saw your sign, and here we are.”
“We don’t have ponies here, but I guess you can lead her around on Hoss here, 30 dollars cash for half an hour.”
“He’s a bit big, isn’t he? Don’t you have anything smaller?” he asked, as nicely as he could, wishing suddenly they’d just kept driving.
“No! Take it or leave it, I haven’t got time for this garbage!”
“Okay, Jess?”
She nodded, holding her breath, and then she was up on the gelding’s back, sitting three miles above her father’s head, flying with her horse, a mere feather soaring across the fields. What felt like a second later, the woman was back, growling “Time’s up. Leave now.”
Jess, enraptured, speechless, smelled her hands in silence all the way home. She reverently placed her jeans and jacket, smelling of this precious, real horse, in her suitcase. The next morning, the heavenly scent was still there.
Her father, indeed something like a horseman, couldn’t get the farm out of his mind. He’d asked the fat, surly woman if she was looking for help, but the question only enraged her further. He wondered how she managed to feed all those horses. She obviously didn’t manage too well, as there was no fat anywhere, only on the woman. The horse Jess had ridden seemed too quiet, and he’d noticed the animal’s balance seemed a little off, as if it were weaving instead of walking. The shrieking dogs were ignored, and he’d been glad to leave. He’d seen dirtier, uglier places, but this farm had a bleak pall draped over it, a sour shawl. He decided to take his daughter to a more reputable place for their next day together, scheduled firmly by his ex-wife, who really was a good girl.

GoLightly Fiction, end Part 1, Part 2

Back into Fiction Land again.
Here's the end of the first, and all the way to the end of Part 2.
Thanks for reading, any and all.
Thanks for being there, with your horses.

GoLightly - A Story of Love and Hope.
Part 1 continued.


GoLightly’s name was his happiness, finally expressed. Golly! became his easy-going barn name, for his expressions.
It belied his appearance, a huge, solid 16.2 hand CUI-Completely-Unknown, -maybe-Irish-bred?, and many commented on his unlikely name, until they saw him moving. Golly’s huge hooves were like India rubber, bouncing over the ground. He couldn’t maintain his airy movement for long at first, his muscles so wasted from lack of freedom. Gen took pictures of him monthly, and at the end of the first year, they were like an animated cartoon, so gradually and strikingly did he change.
Her life apart from him was a busy one, juggling a job as a struggling rock-star, (she’d been there, but she’d been branded a “one-hit wonder”), and as a professional rider, with a training and sales barn. Business was fair to good. Gen made the national team for three years straight, unheard of in her country, and was short-listed this year for the Olympics with her good chestnut mare Allaflame. Her platinum hit “Joanie’s Gamble” had brought her into the high income-tax bracket, but it was always consumed, and she knew how quickly it could disappear, with one bad step.
She’d audition her new songs with Golly, and his eyes & movements would reveal new words and chords and rhythms. During one particularly hectic week, when she’d been away with her band, her barn manager, Billy, called her on the road, announcing that Golly finally had a girl-friend. Emily, a fine piebald jenny, was rescued from particularly brutal circumstances as well, and she had instantly recognized Golly’s peculiar odour. Her sweet, curious, persistent nature had finally broken through Golly’s refusal to make eye contact, mainly because she was only 11.5 hands. Billy suggested letting the unlikely new pair out with her miniature herd. Gen pleaded with him to wait for her return, a little jealous that she’d missed Golly’s first contact. They videoed the couple’s grand entrance together, one holding the camera when the other couldn’t stop laughing. Emily paraded out towards the centre of the field, Golly rooted to the spot beside the fence where they’d loosed him. His great head touched the ground, smelling the hooves of his new pasture-mates, and he trembled with his fright. Emily stopped, looked over her shoulder, and brayed a sound Gen had never heard from the donkey, in 12 years as best friends. The other equines didn’t take one step towards the stranger, although they were keenly, clearly interested. They milled amongst themselves, not-so-casually grazing, their eyes trying not to look at Golly. Emily turned around, and very gently, almost as if she was simply blowing his great bulk along with her breath, cajoled him to follow her. As Golly slowly realized the other animals weren’t going to attack him, he gingerly followed in the tiny jenny’s footsteps. They proceeded out to the greenest part of the field to feast, the small leading the large, Emily’s flattened donkey ears the only signal necessary to warn the others away.
Emily had always been far from the CEO of her barn’s corporation, but Golly’s arrival catapulted her to the top. Gen’s herd was comprised of 4 boarded/in-training show-horses, 4 lesson horses, 2 donkeys, 5 horses in training/sales and “several” retirees, ranging from a slightly disabled old appaloosa called “Moon” to the oldest of her old friends, “Dakota Joe”, a truly ancient thoroughbred polo pony. Joe was her first rescue, and she loved how quickly Golly learned to trust Joe as well. Emily, Joe and Golly became their own little herd. They were the top of the pecking order, from then on. Emily had finally found some back-up.

(Fact, yeah i skipped this part in my first post, goLLEE)

Gen watched and laughed as Golly's new experiences taught him how to behave like a horse. His first neigh came out embarrassingly donkey-ish, but he practised with Joe, a cheerful chuckler, and soon Golly was greeting her with his voice as well as his eyes & nose. Golly's voice was like a "Hahuhahahah", sometimes ending in "whee". Golly learned the joys of wither-scratching, head-to-tail fly-swatting, and rolling in dust (to his rescuer’s chagrin). He'd plume his stringy tail with excitement, a very comical sight. Like a wispy, wizened black broom, sprouting from his huge haunches. Every new sound, smell and sight became something to investigate, thanks to Emily’s own natural “snoopiness”. Emily toured the farm with him, imperiously granting visitors the chance to scratch her long ears first.

Spirits soared at her little barn, watching GoLightly growing into himself. In the second year, Gen started introducing him to ground work, round penning and little cavaletti, and through it all he never questioned anything she’d ask of him. His gentleness when moving around her was so kind she’d choke back a tear through her smile, loving him completely. His skin and hair-coat had finally healed itself, so thin and sensitive that she could never use anything but the lightest touch when grooming him. Her biggest problem at that stage was finding tack that wouldn’t rub his newly grown hair off.
Gen scoured the second-hand stores for cast-off silks, and wrapped his bridle, girth and breastplate with a rather garish variety of the fabric, much to Billy’s delight.
We should rename him GoBrightly, he’d crow gleefully, and she had to admit that Golly’s blond peach fuzz/dark-skinned tufts of bay with blinding lime green scarf was a little hard on the eyes each morning. Gen didn’t care; his gaits were tremendous, so a little bad taste was perfectly acceptable.
GoLightlys’ behaviour finally started to resemble a young horse, which he was. His previous history had matured him, and helped him to appreciate how good his new life was. Gollys' gratitude towards his human and equine herd maintained his gentle nature, even when Gen could see how young and free Golly felt within himself. He’d learned to buck and play, watching her young horses, and his gigantic contortions when he was first turned out each morning left her weak with laughter. Most striking was how silently he moved, even during his biggest crow-hops and grand-standing leaps towards the sun. Golly patted the ground like a cat, springing into the air, as if he had trampolines instead of hooves. Gen looked forward to showing Golly he could jump, for she knew almost from the start that he was her next big star. Golly had always watched her schooling Allaflame. Billy swore he was studying, and taking notes. Golly would blow his nose noisily each time they landed from a particularly difficult gymnastic line, as if he’d been holding his breath.
Gen swung up onto Golly’s broad back the first time when he was four and a half. After riding all of her life, on some very fine horses indeed, she instantly felt she had finally come home. They custom fit each other, to a "T". Gen was tall, and slim, while Golly was tall & strong. She’d backed him with her saddle, of course, but for his first true ride she elected to go bareback, to assure them both that nothing was going to hurt him, including even her well-placed saddle. GoLightly’s skin would never be tough enough to endure long periods under tack. Gen left the saddle in the barn, over Billy’s half-hearted protests. GoLightlys' chest puffed out, and instead of humping his loin at the extra weight, he raised his withers, rounded his back slightly upwards, lightening naturally in front & re-balancing. Golly looked back at her almost indignantly, as in “it’s about time you sat on me, too!” GoLightly loved her, and carried her, pointing his toes, slowly offering a natural passage around the round pen, pluming his wisps of tail hair over his back with excitement. Gen sat him fluidly, marveling at the power she felt beneath her, a huge grin from ear to ear. “In three years, Spruce Meadows!” she sang out to Billy, and Billy laughed with delight at the picture of synchronicity in front of him. Gen & GoLightly were synergistic. They moved as a centaur would. The two hearts became one being.
Gen never doubted words that she spoke, and in two & a half years they were winning whenever they competed, creating sheepish downcast looks among her competitors whenever she pulled into the show grounds. Her musical career was strong and steady, and so she was financially able to turn down vast sums of money for him. GoLightly could never have been for sale. Like Allaflame, he was only for her, but it was still wonderfully empowering to say, “No, thanks a million, though!” They swept through the competitions, winning all the big prizes. Golly was compared with the horse show-jumping legends Milton and Big Ben, for his great size and wonderfully light, elastic movement. He was compared to The Natural and Apollo, in concert. Golly was Gem Twist, without the buck, or the foolish bravado. Golly's bravery was from his heart and his trust in his Gen.
As the offers grew larger and larger, so did GoLightly's talent. A way has to be found to stop them, a few muttered, how are we to justify our own expenses, if we know we can’t win against them? A plot, sickened by the harsh & often desperate greed of the horse show world, was slowly hatched.
(end part 1)

Part 2
GoLightly was nine years old when he disappeared at a show, coming into the prime of his life. His unheard of success in the show-ring made him a vulnerable target, although Gen hadn't comprehended that until he was gone. Gen never believed in any type of security system for her little paradise. At the shows, she trusted the show management’s security. It had never occurred to her to be paranoid.
How stupid/naïve, she raged at herself, trusting her fellow humans not to try and hurt Golly again! Emily & Joe were inconsolable, and Rusty kept her little nose pressed to knees for weeks, trying to cheer everybody up. Gen posted “horse stolen” notices everywhere she could think of, and called the police station every week, but no-one had seen/heard anything, it seemed.

Gens’ dreams became nightmares, as she tossed herself to sleep each night, frantic with worry for her horse, blaming herself alone. Who would have stolen him? Where was he? Gen had never been far away from Golly at shows, his stall was her six-horse trailer, and “guarded” by the presence, if not the demeanour, of her old shepherd, Simon.
Simon was found unconscious, with a bump on his head, and traces of Phenobarbitals still in his blood. Gen thanked her spirits that he was at least found alive. It drove her slightly crazy thinking about how she’d slept while her horse and dog were struggling with some unknown assailant. Her music and her business stuttered and flickered, and her fans and friends could offer little, other than compassion. Compassion wouldn’t find Golly though.
Gen rescued another German Shepherd, and set about, with her trademark single-minded obsession, to training him as a tracking dog. Gen named him Samson, for he had a truly Herculean task awaiting him at his “graduation”. Samsons’ story was typical, birthday present, father not home, mother at home with baby, so no time for the dog, which naturally started inventing important tasks for himself to do. Sam was returned to an animal shelter, with the complaint, “He lets himself out, he won’t come back unless he’s ready, he buries everything, he finds disgusting, smelly stuff and brings it home..” Samson was perfect for the job she needed done

Gens’ music got angrier, and her riding and training suffered for what seemed forever, to her. The constant worry robbed Gen of her sleep, and her exhaustion slowed her instincts down. Gen finally let Billy finish Sam’s training. Little red nurse dog Rusty did her best to cheer Gen up daily. Rusty started hanging out with Emily, Golly's donkey, whenever she felt ignored. Driving onto to Gen's property, one would come across an unlikely if incredibly affecting sight, the one silhouette, eight-legged, two long eared, two shorter ears, sitting/snuggling, watching the road, waiting for their buddy to come home…

Sam was rapidly becoming a genius dog, under Billy’s patient, careful tutelage, and took the credit for making Gen truly laugh again. His great shepherd head, with comically gigantic radar ears, never failed to lighten her heart. Sam would twist, first one way, then the complete other, straining to catch every micro-syllabic decibel that came from Billy’s mouth. Sam decided to bring back anything of same-scent that he might find in a day, stashing little proud piles around the barn, digging mightily in the manure pile and the ploughed fields, to save his treasures from harm. Sam would invariably return all the items found, (if asked). They wouldn’t deny him the trick, as it was (very) basically what Billy was trying to teach him… Sam would probably outgrow the digging and burying behaviour, (they could only hope) and after all, he only did it when they gave him brief free time to be a dog. Sam was the first dog Gen had ever met that would rather not nap after serious play and work-time. The gardens were never quite the same again. Gen watched him make up his games, fascinated by his thought processes, as Sam sauntered down the stable aisle. Sams’ great nose would casually touch something, like a pail, or a brush, although he would always snuffle a sweater or blanket if given the chance. That was his signal to start casting the air, sniffing/whuffling the air through his long snout. It was as if he was taking a great breath, and sorting out which way the next scent was coming from. He’d disappear, which was no small feat for such a large dog, and return with first, a halter or another brush, and then perhaps a dried ball of dung, etc. All would be carefully piled, beside the scent’s stall, or truck, or nest, for that matter. If no interest was shown in his prizes, Sam would bury them, with a look of profound concentration and much looking back, to exactly memorize where they were.
Finally, Billy announced “Sam is ready.” Gen had of course kept all of Golly’s “clothes”, and stopped herself from washing them, when realization dawned. They started casting Samson out, using Golly’s saddle-pad, at home, and he’d come back with a hurt expression, as if to say “What, THAT far?!”

The show caravan was loaded, and Gen worried over last minute instructions to her friends and family for taking care of her mostly ancient little herd. Most of the sale horses were gone, and she regretfully had to ask her few boarders to find new accommodations. Gen had let her extra staff go after Golly disappeared, so as not to cast doubt on any of them, telling them she’d be calling once she was back on her feet. They all knew she meant when Golly was back. Gen and Billy were going horse-showing, as far as anyone else knew, bringing some sale horses and students, as they had often done before. Gen was bringing Allaflame, the mare still had quite a few good wins left in her. Flame had always been a little aloof with GoLightly, and she got worse with him as he started winning everything. Golly had always admired Flame, and his dogged crush had only grown with time. (Gen hoped her mare would be able to smell Golly, too…)
She & Billy took turns driving, and with two bed ‘n breakfasts ‘n stalls booked, they made great time, arriving well rested & refreshed. After all, they only had four horses and two dogs to care for; this was going to be a breeze!!
Her students met her at the show, and helped with set-up, exercising /hand-walking and feeding, freeing their time to casually introduce Samson to the show-grounds. Sam was clearly intrigued by all the sights and smells, and they were glad they’d (almost) tired him before they got there. Sam wasn’t the least concerned with all the other horses and people, and enjoyed meeting some new friends, introduced by Rusty, an old hand at shows.
They woke early, and bustled about, readying her sale horses for their first “baby-green” classes, letting them get used to their braids on the longe. Her favourite of the little band was DragonFly, his blue-black gleaming coat like dark, polished hematite. Fly loved to travel, and enjoyed lots of activity surrounding him, so she knew he’d be a natural for the show life. DragonFly puffed himself up when he was braided, showing off his long, curved neck and broad shining chest, pointing his toes like a ballerina. They laughed as Fly begged for his hoof-polish, admiring his toes. Gen left his warm-up to last, as she knew he’d need no extra time.
Gen watched a few rounds as a treat to herself, letting her students take care of the two babies for a change. The youngsters were well-broke, but their new experience was affecting them both, in their own individual ways. SeaBreeze was the quietest and most lethargic, not really caring where she was, as long as the hay and grain kept coming. Royal Chocolate was nervous of everything, needing soothing words and steadying routines. She’d kept her student’s personalities in mind when assigning them their charges, and was very pleased by the harmonies she saw. High-strung Michelle galvanized Breezy to brighten, while calm and cool Nancy was perfect for Coco's case of nerves.
Gen would ride Fly herself, to savour his first trip as a show horse, and to guarantee he’d look forward to his next.
Billy warmed Fly up for her, and she enjoyed watching his delight with the top youngster’s proud antics, Fly practically bowing to his audience. “Do I ever look good!!” laughed Billy as they pranced past, Fly’s tail plumed with excitement, trotting on air. Gen set some fences, rolling out ground-lines for her amateurs, helping them find comfortable, consistent rhythms to jump from. The day flew by, with Fly completely brilliant, an easy" first year green" champion. Her students placed very well in their divisions, improving the value of her young horses, demonstrating how well they could go for amateur riders.
Showing done for the day, she took Flame out, to limber up her mature, ring-ready mare. Billy grumbled only slightly when told his turn had come for de-braiding, and sent Samson with her for “protection”. They both laughed, half-heartedly. She wore her wrap-around sun-glasses, a little dark, but the mare knew these grounds like the back of her dainty hoof. While Flame watched where she was going, the "surveillance team" would casually look around. Gen relaxed into the tack, and allowed the mare to choose her own road. The famous pair ambled through the grounds, stopping to chat with the mare’s first owner, Karen, Flame giving the soft sigh she reserved for dear friends. The mare perked her lovely ears and followed the sound of her friends’ voices, her eyes widening and softening as they spoke of her and Emily and the animals they loved. Ready for more movement, Flame decided to move on. Gen, Karen & Flame promised to catch up later. Samson, bored, had been pacing impatiently while they were stopped, and instantly went back on smell duty, gigantic nose on the ground, in the air, circling and twitching as he sifted scents, aromas and auras. Gen let Flame follow, as it always sparked equine blood to follow a gigantic dog on a scent. Gen remembered her old amateur jumper Kondor, rescued, and so lethargic she nick-named him Eeyore, for his “oh, well, maybe tomorrow” attitude. Kondor was so wearied with life that Gen deliberately started aiming him at her dog. Simon thought this was great sport, and would happily run ahead. Kondor started winning everything, and she learned never to school him at home, always letting him have fun with his pack. He became quite animated, to the astonishment of his previous owner, who had hoped Kondor had lobotomized himself in a trailer “accident”.
Kondors' previous owner, Craig, had recently served 3 years for insurance fraud. Craig had followed the horse shows. Gen received much teasing for “her fan-mail from jail”. Gen was looking for Craig this evening, knowing he was out of prison again. Gen asked herself for the millionth time, Why would anyone steal her horse?? If GoLightly was shown, he’d be recognized, so "they" just needed him out of the way, to re-distribute the show prize income back "their" way. Would "they" use him in a school? Gen's mind stopped, and her horse and her dog stopped with her, feeling her sudden flash of agonized emotion. School-Horse? Golly would be difficult & dangerous, she guessed, unless they tranquilized him, for he would be grieving the loss of his friends. Who would want to keep such an ongoing problem? Was he dead? Gen had been asking herself such questions for almost a year now, and it never seemed to make any more sense to her. Why? Gen had become convinced it had to be someone within her competitive circle, someone who’s income had been severely affected by her horse. She couldn’t believe such animosity could come from a sport with a foundation supposedly built on the love of horses. Golly! She’d give anything, almost anything to get him back, or at least to put him to rest, so she could properly grieve the loss. Would she find him at shows? Impossible? Could Samson find his traces? Sam had decided to snuffle noisily up ahead, tracking the scent? Did Sam understand, in his doggy head, what he was searching for? Samson had only smelled Golly, he’d never met him. Could his motivation continue, with such an uninteresting target? Gen shook her head, clearing it of the cobwebs, unconsciously sending Flame forward into a little canter. She wished again for clairvoyance, anything that would help her sort this problem through. They settled, trotted and cantered through the beautiful old show grounds, both completely absorbed. Allaflame always loved to loosen up on a free rein. Gen, as always, let her be.

End Part 2


Thanks for reading.