The Land of Missing Pets

“Katie!”

The dreaded sound of Mama’s voice beckoned me from my perch in the tree house. The sun was setting gold, yellow, and pink over the horizon, and I knew it was time to go back inside. Still, I pretended that I didn’t hear. I would stay in that tree house as long as possible, eyes scanning our yard, the neighbor’s yard, searching desperately, desperately for Mollie.

It was my fifth afternoon in the tree house; the fifth afternoon I’d spent calling her, watching the woods, watching the driveway, watching everything for any sign of her gray and white coat.

Mama and Daddy had all but given up, but the eight-year-old I was stubbornly held on, keeping vigil on Daddy’s plywood and the limbs of an old oak tree for as long as possible. I don’t remember how many more days I stayed in that tree house from after school until nightfall calling Mollie’s name, but I do remember she never came back.

She wasn’t my only pet that went missing, but she’s the one I remember the most…except for Danny of course. Danny was an escape artist. If there was a hole in a fence, he would find it for you and help himself to the always greener grass on the other side.

Not unlike many of the horses I’ve known, Danny was food motivated. Extremely food motivated. He loved cheese puffs, animal crackers, and apple treats. Not to mention sweet feed, alfalfa, and carrots.

If there was nicer, sweeter, more fragrant grass on the other side of the fence, Danny would find a way through and indulge. Thankfully, he escaped only twice (we think), but both times, he managed to get himself in a whole heck of a lot of trouble.

The first escape resulted in a nasty collision with a car.

Thankfully, the driver of the car escaped with only a few scratches, but Danny wasn’t quite so lucky. The accident tore a nasty gash on his beautiful face. Forty-three stitches and three thousand dollars in vet bills later, we decided it was time to move on to greener—and more secure—pastures. Danny’s new home provided better fencing and a little peace of mind.

Several years passed without incident. We checked the fences religiously, patching where needed and always keeping an eye on our big, flashy blonde Appaloosa, lest he should revert back to his old Houdini ways.

And eventually, he did.

When I came home from school one day, Mama broke the news to me.

“Danny’s missing.” She said with a grim tightness around her lips. “Daddy’s already out looking for him.”

Missing? The word didn’t compute. Danny was huge. Hard to miss. How could a 1500-pound horse possibly be missing?

But he was.

We called the Sherriff’s Department daily, drove up and down the streets calling his name. We did all the things you do when a pet a missing, even though our pet happened to be a horse.

About three days out, we got a lead that Danny was spotted in a church parking lot on a Sunday; I guess he was praying that we’d find him. At the time, I imagined him milling about the church goers, nibbling on the floppy hat of the pastor’s wife, saying his “hi, how are you’s” and nodding his gigantic head.

The church lead never did pan out, but all the praying I'd been doing did finally pay off.

Daddy was the one who found him. On one of dozens of drives down country roads. Like me holding vigil for Mollie in my childhood tree house, Daddy just wasn’t willing to give up.

Danny was pinned in the front yard of a mobile home of a family who claimed they’d tried to find his owners, but I suspect they hadn’t. They had a nice setup going on, new (temporary) fencing, fresh hay. We figured they intended to take him to the livestock sale, make a few extra hundred dollars. 

Thankfully, we found him just in time. Thankfully, he wasn't destined to disappear to the land of missing pets, that elusive place where cats and dogs--yes, I suppose even horses--go when their people can't find them, that place where they all sit and wait patiently until we finally come to take them home.

The Blonde Who Still Has My Heart

Psst! Did you notice my new blog banner? How could you not, right? Isn't it amazing? The image is by the incredibly talented Flood. I was lucky enough to win a few customized images by Flood in the yeah write Superfecta Challenge.  I recommend you check out Flood's Photostream immediately. Her images are beautiful, unique, and haunting. 

Linking up with yeah write, a wonderful, supportive community of writers who blog. Just click the button below for extraordinary writing. 

The Cathedral

                                                                                  Source: None via Bobbie on Pinterest

The smell is what you notice first. It permeates the air, invading every breath you take, sinking into your hair and skin. It’s offensive, not something that you would spritz on as a perfume, and yet, I kind of like it. I relish it and the feeling of the crisp morning air.

This moment of silence at sunrise is the most magical part of my day. It’s filled to the brim with possibility, with just a hint of excitement.

I can feel their own early morning excitement and energy as I make my way down the hallway, hay and cedar shavings crunching under my boots.  Hushed nickers greet me, begging for the apple treats they know are in my pockets.

The barn is massive. It reminds me of a cathedral, with its soaring ceilings and the filtered sunlight streaming in. I worship here daily.

Marveling at His gorgeous creations, as they nudge my back pocket or carry me over fences and fields.

Praying for peace and patience, as I begin a new day.  

There is no finer religion than losing yourself in His work and beauty. I soak it in now, along with that unmistakable smell of manure and sweat.  

Author's Note: This week's Write on Edge assignment was to describe a setting, to take our readers to a certain place. The word limit was 200. 

If you enjoy writing, consider stopping by The Lightning and the Lightning Bug: a Community of Writers. We are a small, supportive network of writers, both experienced and new, sharing our words weekly. 

Out of Order: How to Overcome a Writing/Blogging Drought

I feel like I need to hang a sign on Chicken Noodle Gravy's doors. It would read in big red letters:

Out of Order

And it would give readers some sort of indication as to what the heck is going on around these parts. Because something is definitely going on...and that something is defined by the fact that pretty much nothing is going on and how that sucks. 

I'm going through a dry spell; I can admit it. We all have them. I haven't been inspired to write much of anything lately, and so honestly, I haven't written much of anything, even though I know the whole key to overcoming writer's block is writing through it. But what I have written in the last couple of weeks has been drivel and that annoys me. It's annoying enough having to deal with writer's block in the first place, but having to deal with bad writing, too? Well, that's just too much. So instead of writing badly, I just don't write at all.

Not a good answer.

And because I've been so absent as a writer, I'm finding that I'm pretty absent as a reader as well. When I sit down at my laptop to catch up on blog reading or (miracle of miracles) actually WRITE something, I get distracted by things like this:

And like this:

                                                                        Source: thedailytail.com via Katie on Pinterest

Because, I mean, who wouldn't? But getting distracted by cat videos and beautiful horses isn't really getting me anywhere in the whole "become a writer" endeavor that I've taken on, so I'm determined to start "writing through" this...whatever it is. Even if writing through it means I write some really horrible crap, at least I'll be writing something. 

So, in the spirit of overcoming this blog/writing drought I'm in, I'm going to make up some advice for myself and for you, if you choose to follow the advice of some random internet lady who has no idea what she's talking about. 

Without further ado, I bring you: How to Overcome a Writing/Blogging Drought in Ten Five Four Three Easy Steps!*

3) Take a "break" from blogging. This is not to be confused with a break from writing, because that's not accomplishing much of anything. We've been over that. But getting away from your computer and bloggy land might do you some good, might give you a little perspective, and I'm pretty sure that getting out of the house will provide you with better blogging fodder than the view from your couch provides you. Fact: no one can blog about the lint under their husband's recliner or the drink rings on their coffee table and make it sound compelling. True story. 

2) Pick a fight with your husband and/or significant other (like how I added the and/or there? Hey, I don't judge! Whatever floats your love boat, man). Now this particular step is to be handled with care and caution. I don't recommend picking any fights that might end in violence or divorce, because that's not cool, but a tiny little fight over clipping toenails in the kitchen should be allowed. Passion is definitely something that gets the creative juices flowing, and chances are getting a little "het up" will be a great way to open the flood gates o' inspiration. Studies show. 

And the number one way to overcome a writing/blogging drought is:

1) Write! Who cares if you write complete crap that you wouldn't even wipe your tail with? No one will read it, unless you're like me and like sharing everything, so what does it matter? Write a story about that gnat that flew up your nose last week. From the gnat's perspective. Write about how your front porch steps desperately need to be painted. Write a letter to your former arch nemesis with whom you are trying to make amends. It doesn't matter what you write. Just write. Because writing is what you love and without it, you feel a little empty inside and that makes you cry. And no one likes a big cry baby. 

*The author of this blog does not endorse these three easy steps. Follow at your own risk.

There you have it. The end of the Chicken Noodle Gravy Blog Drought of 2011. Now back to your regularly scheduled posts full of awesomeness and killer writing. 

PS ~ I will catch up with my blog reading. Someday. I promise. I miss you guys!

A Girl on Horseback

A Girl and her Horse

Thubalup, thubalup, thubalup.

I felt slightly out of control as the horse lurched beneath my body. He was a big guy, and I don’t remember him ever moving that fast before. We’d worked with him for months trying to get him to pick up his pace a bit. For Danny, nothing was worth rushing for, unless it was some sweet feed or a Cheeto. But even then a fast walk would do. He never got in a hurry. Except today. For some reason, today was different. Today, he was going, going, gone.

Thubalup, thubalup, thubalup.

Tightening my legs around his huge barrel of a torso, I held on for dear life and said a quick prayer. I loved horses for the sake of horses not for the sake of speed. In the comfort of a round pen, I didn’t mind a canter, but I much preferred a leisurely trot. I guess that’s why Danny and I got along so well. He was lazy, and I was chicken. A match made in heaven. Except today. Today was different. Today, we were going, going, gone.

Thubalup, thubalup, thubalup.

The horses around us matched our pace perfectly. For a brief moment, we were like one huge four-headed, sixteen-legged creature barreling towards the ends of the Earth, eating up that red Georgia clay like it was the turf of Churchill Downs. My fellow riders whooped and hollered. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the sensation of the wind on my face, the sense of freedom that can only really be found on the back of a horse. I opened my eyes again and let myself go like I had never done before on any other day. Except today. Today was different. Today, I was going, going, gone.

Thubalup, thubalup, thubalup.

Then the rain started. It poured down in great sheets, stinging our bodies and slickening the horses’ hides. My jeans contracted, my boots filled. Without much urging, Danny picked up his pace, sensing our need to get to shelter and wait out the storm. The thundering of his massive hooves was now a hollow smacking against the quickly forming mud. We pulled ahead from the pack for only a moment, a moment that will be seared into my memory forever because it was just me and him, us and speed and nature. Going, going, gone.

That’s the last ride I can vividly remember with Danny. All of it was so perfect, so unlike me or him. The rushing through a Georgia rain, the speed and loss of control and care, the final moments of a childhood spent with horses that I hardly ever think of now. Except today. Today is different. Today, I am going, going, gone back to a place and time I will never forget. Back to the frenzied music of a girl on horseback, eating up the rain and the wind.




Write about a time that rhythm, or a lack thereof, played a role in your life. And don’t use the word “rhythm.”

Maybe it’s a time that you danced to a special song. Maybe it’s a period of your life during which the days were marked by a distinct pattern. Or maybe it’s a time that you couldn’t catch your breath because life just kept coming at your randomly.

It’s up to you.

Let’s see if you can convey that rhythm using your writing, and not the word itself. Word limit is 600. Come back here Tuesday and link up!

Suzy

The following short story "Suzy" was written for The Red Dress Club's prompt:

The happy ending.

It's what we all hope for, isn't it? We all want everything to be neatly tied up in a bow.

In fiction, this can be, well, a little boring. Or predictable.

This week, we'd like you to write a scene that includes a happy ending - it doesn't have to be the actual END of your story, if you're working on continuations, but it should include at least one challenge for your hero to overcome.

Surprise us. Don't give us what we expect.

If you are writing non-fiction, you can use the same parameters. Or you can even change the way something happened to give it the happy ending you wanted.

Suzy

When he got the call, all he could think of was Katie. As he grabbed up his keys and flew out of the office to his truck, he imagined her sitting in school, counting the seconds down until the bell would ring, hating it there with a passion and just wanting to return home. He didn't tell anyone he was leaving; he didn't even think to. He only thought of her, and he prayed.

The drive to the pasture was a relatively short one, but on that particular day, with a million thoughts racing in his mind and his daughter's heart in limbo, it seemed to take forever. On his drive, he remembered a similar day years ago. He remembered how his heart had broken when she had cried and cried.

That day, all those years ago, she had been gone to a friend's house. Little Heather Anne, a natural Southern Belle if there'd ever been one. The complete opposite of his own tom boyish, perpetually dirty daughter, and yet, somehow they just fit. They had played and played all afternoon, and when Katie had come home, he and her Mama had told her the tragic news. While she'd been having a tea party and making mud pies, Coco the cat had broken into Chip the squirrel's cage and helped himself to an afternoon snack. Poor Chip, an orphan until he'd found Katie, an impromptu gift from Daddy himself, a bi-product of working in a sawmill. Even though he was just days old and without his mother, Katie had nursed him with a tiny dropper until he'd grown strong enough to eat on his own. He had been a dearly beloved pet, and when told the news of his death, Katie had broken a little inside.

And now it was happening all over again. Sure, she was older now; she might be able to handle the death of a pet a little easier, but Suzy was hardly just a pet. Katie loved that horse with a fierce kind of passion, had a bond with it that was unique and mysterious to him. He wasn't sure where Katie had gotten her nearly overwhelming love for animals. Neither he nor her Mama were animal people, and yet, Katie seemed touched not only with a love for them but with a gift that allowed her to connect with them in an amazing way. And her love for horses transcended everything. Bad days at school. Exceptionally low self-esteem. The nearly constant attempt to "fit in."

How would he tell her if Suzy died? How would this affect her already fragile adolescent heart?

He wheeled the truck into the drive that led to the pasture. The crunch of the gravel under his wheels sounded much louder than usual, as he pulled up amongst the other cars already parked near the big red barn.

From that point on, everything happened in slow motion. Getting out of the truck, approaching the barn, seeing his daughter's beautiful filly collapsed on her side, her lovely head resting in the lap of the vet. It was unnatural for Suzy to ever be in a state of rest. She was always moving, graceful, full of life and spunk. He watched her sides rise rapidly, her breathing shallow and difficult. The stark white bandage over her shoulder blade provided a sickening contrast against her sorrel coat that was now dulled with mud and matted blood.

The vet spoke, and he heard her as if she was a million miles away. Her voice was barely audible against the rushing of his thoughts. "She was shot. We've stopped the bleeding. Thankfully, the bullet just grazed her flesh. She'll be okay."

She'll be okay. His relief was palatable; his little girl wouldn't have to cry today.

Author's Note: As you can imagine from the purpose of this prompt, Suzy was not okay. By the time my Daddy arrived, she'd lost too much blood. The vet did everything she possibly could. My Daddy made sure of that. But Suzy died that day with her head in his lap and her blood on his clothes. Mama ended up telling me. Daddy had stood just behind her with regret-filled eyes. I think he blamed himself somehow, but there was nothing he could do. A hunter had shot her. Mistakenly, we always hoped. We never found out who did it. I wish I could say I'd forgiven them for that, but I hate whoever it was to this day. 

I struggled with this prompt as I'm not really a happy-ending kind of girl. I didn't even think of what I would write on until this morning, and then I thought of Suzy.