Categories
Horse Play

Here’s to Skipper … and Ozzy

Monday morning, I received news of the deaths of two wonderful horses the day before. Skipper, a 25-year-old faithful foxhunting veteran, had a heart attack in the hunt field, doing what he loved. Ozzy, an awesome young event horse, broke his neck in a pasture accident.

Categories
Horse Play

Searching for a sign

I was told this afternoon that my recent musings here have seemed like I’m searching for something, some kind of sign. And then, on the way home, there it was, the sign. Ironically, it’s a sign viewed by thousands of travellers each day, for whom it undoubtedly has a far different meaning than it did for me.

Categories
Political Rants

Blue is Back … maybe

“Blue is Back!” That was the Kentucky Democratic Party chairman’s message to a throng of thousands celebrating election victory Tuesday night. As well as taking back the governor’s office, Democrats claimed several other statewide offices: attorney general, auditor, and treasurer. The newly elected treasurer said that he recently told a voter that this is a good year to be a Democrat, and the response was “Young man, any year is a good year to be a Democrat.” While agreeing with that sentiment, I also feel that this is definitely a good year, and it looks like we’re on a roll for next year to be just as good. So is blue really back?

Categories
Horse Play

St. Hubert: Savior or loser?

I may be risking eternal damnation for this egregious breach of faith. But I need to ponder a question which has frequently bothered me in the past, because it became personal this weekend. I have long been amused by the tendency of believers who have suffered some tragic mishap to thank the deity of their choice that it was not worse. “It’s too bad the still exploded and killed Grampa, but thank God a few gallons of shine survived.” Why does the Almighty always get the credit for the good parts, but not the blame for the bad? If he was really intervening, why couldn’t he save the whole still instead of just a couple of gallons? Saturday, as Crossbo and I galloped through the woods with a freshly-blessed St. Hubert’s medal hanging around my neck, a catastrophe occurred which left me wondering whether there was any mojo in that medal at all.