Month: September 2025

If you are a trainer, owner or anyone who has to feed and care for horses day in and day out you understand that quick glance, that perusal of every paddock, stall or field the minute you walk outside in the morning. Checking to make sure everything is as it should be. That nothing went amiss during the night – during the long hours since the last time you fed and tucked them all in for the evening.

This morning I stepped out… and I couldn’t find Bruno. At first glance he wasn’t there. Prince was standing alone and Bruno was… where? Slight panic comes as I yell inside for my daughter to come help me . I can only imagine he is out behind the hay barn gorging on alfalfa and making himself sick. Was the fence not on? Is it broken somewhere? Did he just slither through regardless of the electric shocks? My mind is quickly addressing each and every scenario.

As she puts on her shirt and shorts (I am in my pj’s and rainboots) I step a little farther away, towards the barn and I see him. In his paddock, in the front corner behind the playhouse. I breathe a sigh of relief and tell my daughter all is well after all.

But this is not the first time, nor will it be the last. Each and every morning is a brand new opportunity for all hell to break loose. Three years ago, on September 13th, 2022 I saw Bruno down through the window of my house. You all know the story, you know how his leg was broken and he spent a full year convalescing.

But that is not the entire story. All is not well that ends well. Three years later Bruno sits in his paddock day after day, doing nothing but eating and occasionally running like hell up and down his paddock as fast as he can go. And you think “wow what a miracle that he can do that!” He can, he does. It is.

I have a deep running anger through my bones about Bruno. I can’t just look at him in his paddock and think “oh I’m so glad I saved him.” I am glad, that isn’t questionable. There was not another choice to be made when I looked into the face of my little girl. Even as I saw his leg dangling and swaying in the trailer. Even as I saw the complete break on the x-ray. I never questioned the choice then.

I question it now. And have, for two years. You might think me heartless but that isn’t what my anger is about. You see, Bruno was and still is an incredibly talented pony. He is smart as a whip and he loves attention. Bruno was our ticket to pony finals, he was the dream I had for my daughter when he was but three years old and she was six. I could see the future and I liked what I saw.

Sure, he hadn’t had much training, not on the ground nor under saddle when I picked him up that late November day in Oklahoma. But as my daughter rode him on the lunge line when we tried him out I just knew that we could make something of the pair of them. He was never perfect. He was wiggly at first, wasn’t sure what a crossrail was. Under the guidance of myself and my daughter’s trainer, we taught him the ropes one crossrail at a time. He learned to go straight. He learned to canter. He learned to jump and he learned how to do a flying lead change. Which he still does, as he’s running like a maniac in his paddock.

And Baby Girl learned with him. She learned to be tough and to persevere. He had a fun trick of ducking his shoulder as he stopped dead causing his rider (and Baby Girl wasn’t the only little girl riding him) to be dumped on the hard ground. He was young. He didn’t like to be cold. We learned that lesson the hard way, at a show where I had JUST body clipped him and it was in the 40’s with icicles hanging from the jump standards. No amount of lunging would make him behave.

There were times he was golden. There were plenty of times when he wasn’t. But I loved him like crazy and so did Baby Girl. Sure, he needed a lot of fine tuning. He needed better manners. But at seven and eight years old Baby Girl was jumping 18″ verticals with him and having a great time. Usually.

And then he broke his leg. And nothing has ever been the same.

We coddled him while he was recovering. Fed him plenty of treats, got him salt licks and toys for his stall and brushed him endlessly. What else were we going to do?

Meanwhile we had to find a new pony for Baby Girl to ride. We leased one for almost a year that just didn’t work out. Then we found Prince. And Prince has turned into a remarkably talented and tolerant guy. Baby Girl loves Prince with her whole heart. Together, they win in the show ring a lot. Together, they explore our property and the property next door bareback. Together they learn what each next step will be. He learned flying lead changes and she is learning how to ask him for them. We started going to Welsh shows, where they excel in the English Pleasure. She is having the time of her life with Prince.

And she no longer looks at Bruno the same way. And my heart breaks.

We tried, we tried to get Bruno back in the show ring. But after a year of coddling his ground manners are awful and he acts as if he was never broke. Most of the time when a person gets on him he starts limping. It’s got to be the added pressure, because he doesn’t limp at any other time. He can’t really jump because his knee doesn’t bend the way it should. He could make a good little western pony. If I had the time and money to go that direction. Maybe he could do dressage. Or pull a cart. He could still have a future.

That is where the anger and frustration come from. My heart was one hundred percent into fixing him, healing him, showing him again. But Baby Girl’s heart is not there anymore. She still loves him, but he is hard. He is a pain in the butt. He basically needs boot camp all over again. And I can’t do it. I am too heavy now to ride him. I don’t have the funds to put him into training somewhere else. I can’t imagine how anyone else would be interested in turning him into what I know he could be. Even if he stopped limping (He doesn’t usually limp with Baby Girl – a small kid – just bigger people).

Our pony finals dream went up in smoke as I shelled out thousands of dollars for Bruno’s surgery and recovery. As I shelled out even more to buy Prince. This is, of course, not something I regret.

What I do regret, is the fact that he no longer has a job or a purpose. It drives me crazy to see this once incredibly promising pony stand in a paddock all day. He’s sweet and he loves attention but he’s also pushy and doesn’t want to be ridden. Baby Girl got on him bareback yesterday and he dumped her off immediately. Twice. In tears she cried that she was done and was putting him away. I think it breaks her heart as well. That this pony she once loved so tremendously no longer wants her to ride him. Or won’t tolerate it, at least.

As a trainer, it’s so frustrating to see him do nothing but get fat. As a mom, it’s heartbreaking that her allegiance has changed. I do understand. Why would she want to ride the hard one when she’s got an easy one that does his job? At some point along the road of recovery she mentally let him go. And I haven’t. And that’s why I’m angry. At myself, at my heart, at my relentless desire to see him perform again in some capacity. At the dream that was crushed on that September morning three years ago.

This is why I haven’t been able to write his story. Because where is the happy ending?

I wish the story wouldn’t end this way. But I’m afraid that it has. He will always have a home with us, and I will always love him. He will be here long after Baby Girl leaves for college. He will still be out there, in his paddock, demanding to be fed. Demanding attention and whinnying at me every time I walk out of the house. I can only hope that someday, I will learn to let go. Of what was, and what could have been and never will be. And that I will accept what was given to me instead – a miracle pony running like crazy on a leg that should never have born weight again.

Bruno deserves that from me. I’m the one who saved him.

I finished writing the book about my parents and sent it off to the publisher. I would say it was a book about my Mom, but it actually turned out to be a love story. Between them. Between me and them. Between Baby Girl and them. It ended up being a story about family, about secrets and love and anger and strength. About the terror and unfairness of losing your parents in the way that I did. About the support my husband and brother gave that held me up when I was about to go under. About figuring out how to manage the intense emotions that sprang up in me and made me feel so very much alone. It wasn’t about sharing my pain with you all – it inadvertently became that. A much needed outlet for all that I felt. I am grateful for the tenderness you all showed me during that endless wave of vulnerability and grief. There are so many of you to thank.

I was lucky, I have a great friend who publishes books and other media all the time and she gave me the name of her publisher, whom I called a year ago and talked to at length about my book and she in turn explained all about getting published. She charges a flat fee and does all the hard work for me… formatting, spine width, layout, editing, cover, and marketing. She walked me through getting accounts with Ingram and Amazon. She told me how to buy an ISBN number. I had to write an author bio and send her a picture of me. I still need to do a dedication. I talk with her each week about the progress the book is making and where in the process it is. It should be done within a month or six weeks.

Exciting news, to be sure. But yet… why do I feel deflated? It took me a year to write that book, to live through the memories and emotions again was particularly tough. For the longest time I couldn’t get past the section where my Dad passed away. I had to stop. Go back. Write a bit more. Stop again. Reading my brother’s obituary of my Dad made my cry all over again. Writing about his last week had me tearing up with my throat closing and feeling very small and alone and inadequate. What if I wasn’t enough for them? Even though I tried so very hard to be everything and anything they needed, I still have doubts.

Writing about the course my Mom’s life took from beginning to end and all the hard times along the way had me screaming silently in anger and pain. She would have hated knowing how it turned out for her. It shouldn’t have ended that way. It should not have been that way.

But it was. And now I’ve done it. It’s going to be “out there” for all the world to read. And that’s a good thing. That’s what I wanted. To share their story, their love and their lives so that it might help someone else going through the same agonizing experience. So that someone out there might feel a little less alone after reading it. A little more justified in their feelings. A little less helpless and weak.

I read that there was a lot of backlash about Bruce Willis’s wife not living in the same house that he does, in order to “better manage his frontotemporal dementia.” I can totally relate. And she said that nobody who hasn’t walked this path gets to judge. She is so right. I would love to send her my book because I truly feel her pain. I would love to read the memoir she wrote. I am so glad that she is speaking out, a person who can truly make something of a difference in this terrible fight. Who would ask for this? Nobody. Who gets to say how any individual family handles it? Nobody except the people in that situation.

I have been ultra quiet lately. Reading a lot. Resting. Thinking. I don’t know if I have another book in me. The writing of that one was so rough and I am depleted. I don’t even feel victorious, even though I probably should. I have been a bit bored. A bit melancholy. Wondering if I deserve all this free time. Wishing for them to be back in my life. Pondering what I should do next.

I am worried. What if I left something important out? Something that I will remember later that was crucial to the story. What if I didn’t depict the anger and pain, the unbearable loss, the grief and the frustration accurately enough? What if nobody can relate to it? What if I did all this for nothing?

The publisher says it’s good. And I should probably believe her.

I really hope that someone out there will read it and think to themselves “wow, these feelings I am having about this situation are authentic and justifiable. I am so glad I read this book.”

That’s all.

And maybe someday I’ll write another book. About a totally different topic. Maybe about all these years I’ve spent teaching riding, maybe about the struggles of raising my Baby Girl, maybe about Bruno – like everyone wants me to. Then again, maybe not. And that’s ok – I accomplished what I set out to do and that is enough.