HNY

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The riding boots are tucked in a closet, certified riding hat high in the laundry room, askew on the top shelf of that one Igloo coolers-infested area; the crop hangs next to the dog’s leash and jogging stuffs by the front door–forever slipping to just where the door opens, creating blockage, and after each fall  it’s hung back up, no questions asked, no logic examined; the jodhpurs are tightly folded in a drawer and that faintly-red stripe along my spine? Still glows, a (faintly) disturbing red stain. I didn’t get right back on after soaring (ungracefully–and totally my own fault) to the sand, but my excuses were x-rays, a month of painkillers, and I have a kid who needs his mom intact. When my son is a bit older, I’ll return–hopefully getting right back on one of my own, a rescue I will greet daily (whether to ride, stroll or simply chat with).

Treating a Gentle Barn giant to a carrot.

Treating a Gentle Barn giant to a carrot.

If you haven’t visited Gentle Barn you might consider doing so this year, either at their website, on Facebook, or in person. Every story posted about each of their rescues is a success story, or one in the making. Hope thrives on GB’s oddly beautiful property in Santa Clarita, and there’s more: proof of hope lives there, and love, and who doesn’t need hope and love?

2015: Let’s rock, with the intent to gallop. And indulge in sweet treats, such as: carrots, exercise, ocean, learning and love. And here is a penguin (my son named him Iceberg–no gentle giant, but will do for now–plus, he doesn’t need food–and he makes us smile): Happy. New. Year.
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About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, activist, fortunate.
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