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