Argo

This is Argo. He's my horse. My very firstest ever horse and in a strange twist of irony is a Tennessee Walking Horse from Montana. Although not at all fancy like those Tennessee Walkers from Tennessee and not very smooth, he is a pretty great buddy. And the best part of all -- he's tall: About 16 hands which is a pretty good size for a horse. Why is this so good you ask? Because the people I'm married to, they're not so tall. Ha Ha Ha! He He He! So this makes him mine, all mine, because no one else has the mad physical skills required to get on him. But the joke's probably on me, because in 15 years, I'll need a step ladder for this guy.

Anyway, we went for our almost annual Thanksgiving ranch tour. By ranch tour, you are probably envisioning neighbors stopping by to ooh and aah at all the wonderful conservation features of our ranch, the latest in green John Deere equipment, the beautiful winter wheat crop, the, the, the...oh wait. We don't have any of that. And nobody came by to ooh and aah. So instead, me and my horse and my husband's horse (who I felt sorry for because no one likes to see a horse all alone) went for our own tour of the ranch. We noted how the power lines sing in the wind, how a tractor trailer a mile away on the highway roars as it coasts down a hill, and how those darned rabbits can turn white overnight. Weren't they brown just yesterday?

I should have taken my camera for to share this beautiful loneliness with you, but not today. Today it was about me and the horses, because it is so seldom that we are together. And for those fleeting moments, I am most thankful this day.