I'm trying to be a good employee.  My double-daily fifteen minute breaks are spent running to the bathroom and chugging liquids.. rather than, you know.. blogging.  This makes me boring.

The new job is going great.  I'm still learning and I think my coworkers occasionally slip into gibberish, but I haven't completely fucked anything up yet.  Give me time.

Couple the new job, the holiday, the weather, and my dear, sweet husband having the flu, and I haven't been out to see Archie much lately.  Can we take a moment to commiserate with each other the weakness of men when they're under the weather?

D approves.

Of the few rides I've had lately, here are some notable points:

C and I took a little trail ride to the river.  Archie was actually well-behaved sniffing the tail roots on her mare, which meant he went second.  Her mare was a wee bit spooky and Archie didn't give a shit about anything until he poked himself with a bush.  Then it was about three seconds of horror that I had let something like that happen.

With her mare in the lead, they got to the river first.  Archie and I stopped while they walked forward.  The next thing I know, her mare is spinning backwards.  C sat it damn well.  What's notable about this situation?  I don't think Archie even batted an ear.  Her mare darted behind him and we walked on forward.  He got big pats for having no sense of self-preservation and trusting that an alligator hadn't just darted out of the river.

Meh ears.

Monday, I went straight to the barn from work. This is before the hubs started feeling gross.  This was also the first day that I dared to change into my breeches at work and ducked out the stairwell.  Of course, I left my badge at my desk and had to get someone to take me all the way back up.  Tight pants are awesome.

Anyways, I had some huge desire to do some actual fucking work with the Kid.  The weather was agreeable and I felt like I was actually riding less-potato-esque.  He listened, he spent a few minutes telling me to go fuck myself, and finally we had a few moments of solid forward, contact, leg yields and some baby-shoulder-in.

You know, just packing up my desk.  Cleaning long-nurtured dust bunnies into nonexistence.  Eating the best brownies, ever, considerately made with black beans because vegetarianism versus veganism is hard and better to err on the side of caution.  For reals, I'm gonna get the recipe for these suckers.  Mine probably won't turn out as well because they won't be made with get the fuck out ...er... love.

My last day at my job! I have some of the best coworkers. #blackbeanbrownies #vegan #goingawaygift #newjob #coworker

A photo posted by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Nov 11, 2014 at 5:11am PST

Between shredding documents that I should have never kept and filing things that wanted to be filed two years ago and deleting randomness, I found this.  And this is also the best.

Because sometimes, something like not-divine-intervention happens, and the world agrees that you need a boost.  Because with life comes death, but you never expect it thirty minutes after leaving a hospital room.

Because "the good die young" was just remembered.  And you know what?  Thirty-eight human years is pretty fucking young for lung cancer, too.

Because my husband was able to look at me and smile and say, "No, I still see her walking around."  Because grief is better shared.

Captain America.

/sadpost.  promise i'll have normal snark asap.

First:  weather sucks.  OR and I had plans to have a great pony reunion yesterday, but we got rained out.  While St. Patty's isn't a banker's holiday, my office is on the route of the parade.  Savannah seems to be the drunken epicenter for St. Patty's Day in the southeast.  Had I been able to find parking, I would have had to wade through green-beer toting leprechauns at eight in the morning.  You think I'm kidding.  So, I was given an admin day off.

Like this.  For four days.  For reals.

Second:  I have been spoiled.  It has been so great having OR and the Eventer to ride with, to jump with, to design courses (and assemble...), that I'm having a hard time doing this shit by myself.  Part of me wants to jump every single day, but only baby crossrails at the trot.  The other part of me knows that I need to grow some and work on courses and height and doing things in a reasonable fashion, rather than farting around in the fetal position while my pony launches himself over things. Sooo.  We've been practicing height.  And cantering, but mostly just getting over my fear of that magical second foot.

Whatever day it was (Saturday?), I worked a little bit with three fences in the ring.  L. Williams has been contracted to help me figure out some courses because I am not creative and our ring is tiny.  Anyways, it was this:

Master artist.  You're welcome.

The green was set as a big crossrail and, initially, the blue and red were 18" verticals.  Then I moved them all up to a bigger crossrail and bigger verticals.  Since the standards have wonky holes, 2' comes after 18".  I did a few mini courses of the red to the green around to the blue or the blue to the green up to the red.  As much creativity as I could muster.  And then I moved the blue up to 2'6", because why the fuck not?

Everyone has a story to tell and in blog land, most of us have stumbled upon each other mid-sentence, so-to-speak.

What is the story behind your blogname/url?

I think I win the award for most random and not-horse-related.  I remember when I paid that dude $5 (I think?) for my logo and I was like.. It's a horse blog, called "the Owls Approve."  .....crickets.....

This might be a novel.  Prepare yourself.

D and I got engaged in March of 2010.  In July, 2010, he had finished his Master's program and was doing a two-week preceptorship in Savannah, Georgia.  The only reason he knew Savannah existed was because we went on our first vacation as a couple to the beach here - the weekend of May 20, 2006 - a date I only remember because I was supposed to marry another man that day.  Between that first trip and finishing his education, we had visited the city a handful of times and determined that this was where we wanted to settle.

Whereas D had gone off to college, I had stayed home and attended a crappier, cheaper school.  So when D was offered a position with the company at which he had done his preceptorship, I literally left everything I knew behind to move with him.  There was never a question in my mind about the decision and, instinctively, I knew moving away from our hometown was the only means we had to flourish as a couple.

I gave my various jobs (there were three) two weeks' notice, shoved my crap into the U-haul D's company had rented, put the cats in carriers, the dogs in the back of my Subie, and moved - August 21st, 2010.  It was all very, very quick.  I didn't have time, initially, to be sad about leaving my family, my friends, my barn, my jobs (the one that I hated and the two that I loved), or the little one-bedroom apartment at which I had lived for two years.

D and I rented a two bedroom townhouse in a suburb of Savannah that was surrounded by marshland.  This might be surprising given my lack of religion, but we had not lived together prior.  Slumber party madness, sure.  His and her closets?  Never, ever.

I had already handed out my resume to a ton of veterinary clinics throughout Savannah, but the only one that had responded was the one that I didn't want to work at.  They weren't going to start me until September.  Archie wasn't going to be shipped down until the last weekend of August.

If I haven't described this clearly enough:  I moved away from my hometown to live with my fiance, went from working 80 hours a week to being temporarily unemployed, surrounded by boxes in a city I didn't know.  Oh, and I was planning a wedding.  For six weeks after we moved.  I was super stressed about money, the lack thereof, the wedding, I was lonely (hello, Bones on Netflix), oh, and this was also right after Archie had been diagnosed as anhydrotic and he wasn't responding to the medication - and he was still in Augusta.

Laying in bed next to my future husband in our new apartment, adjusting to his bed, his noises, not having my girls sleeping next to me, I tuned into the sounds outside of our bedroom window.

The first night, after a rain, there were frogs.

The second night, and every night afterwards for a solid week, there was an owl.

Some Native Americans believe that owls are the harbingers of death*.  I, however, found solace in the sound of this creature, who seemed to be the only real welcoming we had to this new city.  It entered my mind:  the owls approve.

Shortly after the wedding, I got my first owl tattoo.  Then the second, and the third.  I rejoice when I hear owls or see owls in flight as I feel it still means that I'm on the right path.  Moving to Savannah was one of the best decisions I ever made.  Archie started sweating almost immediately after stepping off the trailer; the wedding was a small, beautiful affair; I got a better job and then an even better job; we bought a house that we both love; and our marriage is amazing.




*The Choctaw tribe actually has a legend of the moon goddess, Hvashi, riding across the night sky on a giant owl.  Rather than decimating millions (like, giant owl, giant death?), she became the "first wife."

I left work early on Friday Tuesday.  I should say, my department was released an hour early.  By the time I made it to my parking garage, mine was only one of a handful of cars left.  Snowpocalypse 2014!

In preparation for the "icy/snowy winter mix", I'd brought my tack home to clean.  I found out before leaving work on Tuesday that I would have Wednesday off and was looking so forward to laying on the couch and watching Veronica Mars.  After whatever attacked my husband on Sunday night, I needed it.

Cleaning.  I don't mind that my leathers don't match the bulk of the saddle because they match the knee patch.

Mint might be my weakness. Thank you, Hillary!

Is my bridle dying?

Ponykins was brought in and shoved into a stall on Tuesday night, due to the freezing rain.  I vacillated about this and wondered how much anthropomorphizing I was doing; y'alls' northern horses stand in the snow all the time.  But, then, Archie isn't acclimated to cold weather and has such a thin winter coat.

D and I spent the "snow" day around the house, cleaning, sorting, lounging, and periodically checking for the promised snow.  Shocker: no snow.  Today, I got to go in to work late, but I still didn't go to the barn. The high was supposed to be 42, but it was only in the 30s when I left work.  Boo.

What a random day.

The plan had been:  work, give Archie beet pulp, meet husband at gym and go home.

Instead, this happened:

Not pictured:  my skirt, where the lentils from this soup landed.

So I left work early, showered, changed, napped, and went and rode the Kid.  Where this happened:

Blue Horns.

Donkey Ears looks special.

So, I've never put a bonnet on before and I had to lean up his neck to reattach that string thing, like, three times.  Tips accepted.

And then the mane was finished!

To the list of eighteen things that L. Williams and I are already planning to patent (some of which I would share, but y'all might be the thieving sort), I'm going to add the "Sit 'N' Squeeze".

No, this is brilliant, just wait.

It's going to be like riding the bull at the country bar.  Except, not.  In lieu of a nice, normal animal-shaped torso, it's going to be a bosu ball.  And you will straddle this bosu ball, immediately engaging your core.  I might give you stirrups.  I haven't decided yet.  But once you master posting, you'll have to post and squeeze (sensors for this!).  And once you master posting and squeezing, we're gonna make that damn ball move.

Okay, it would probably never appeal to the equestrian crowd.  But those weird gym people who like doing random fads?  Oh, yeah.

I bring this up to talk about my Monday ride.  (You go.. Monday?  I reply that I'll get to yesterday in a minute.)  When I got to the barn, the fellows were working on the water pump.  With machines and stuff.  And it only took me a moment, but I quickly realized that the drilling stuff didn't sway BO from riding, so Archie was running around and screaming his head off.

When I finally caught him, we spent a few minutes lunging on the lead rope, trying to get him to focus on me and my verbal cues.  It wasn't amazing.  He's gotten pretty nasty about kicking out lately, so we've got to spend a day and just work on that.  I wish I had a round pen.  Anyways, I had started grooming him by the time that BO returned from her ride and Archie visibly relaxed upon seeing Skinny Guy.  We had a little discussion that he needs to start preparing himself for separation, because, unfortunately, Skinny Guy won't live forever.. Or I might move the Arch.

I considered him "warmed up" when I mounted, given that he'd been galloping circles around me, so I just walked him a lap before I asked him to start trotting.  And then we spent time doing figure-eights before we ended on jumping the cross rail a few times.  We had to have one discussion when he spooked at a bird and another when he landed from the cross rail cantering and immediately started bucking/crow hopping.  I hate that crap.

But the emphasis of the entire ride, every single stride, was forward.  Sit, squeeze.  Sit, squeeze.  Go, go, go.  Answer is always go.  When you act like a shit, you still have to go.  It was a hard work out and my right hip joint was still unhappy from all the squeezing the day prior.  But, honestly?  One of the best rides we've had and I really felt like I had my "true" Archie beneath me.  He was engaged, he was forward, he was fucking beautiful.

I did good, Mom?  I did good?

And yesterday?  I went to Charleston on business.  I was a grown up.  I sat at my conference.  I ate at a strange restaurant that I found on Yelp.  I chatted with the bartender.  I talked to other strangers.  I discussed lacto-ovo vegetarianism with the new veggie wearing leather kicks (who was also leading the course.. er).  And at the end of the day, I found a place to go to (that no one told me about, but the bartender confirmed) where I could take photos and walk around before I got back in my company-provided vehicle and drove the speed limit the entire way home.  I'll share some of those photos later, but I suck at landscape.  No feel for it.

Pitch black and raining.  Awesome way to start.

Thrilled.

I went to a BBQ because they generally have great salads and sides.  Think about it.

They have carriage horses, too.

Almost home.

Excitement!

I got an email this morning from someone interested in the Canon I put on Craig's List.  I'm sort of sad to see the camera go because D bought it for me as a wedding gift, but I figure the money is more important right now.  Also?  Can't keep everything the man buys me, can I?  (I totally could.)

I might have overwhelmed the lady (who asked if it had a screen on the back and an sd card slot, but is of the age to have newborn nephews) with information.  Like.. the manual.  And the lens I'd consider buying first, with a link.  Oh!  Newsflash!  I'm "her sort of person!"  I guess that means that I'm tapping into all that Type-A that surrounds me and being efficient or something.  Go me.

In talking to someone who is fresh on the photography scene, though, I've realized how far I've come.  I'm not awesome.  I still take shitty photos.  Photography is hard.  And I have to keep at it, keep taking photos, keep making adjustments.  But at least now, I understand what I'm doing to the point that I feel comfortable giving some tips to a newb.  (Is "newb" still a term used?)  If she (freakishly) has any questions about aperature or shutter speed or how to get bokeh, I feel that I will be able to answer them.  (Last night, I took two sets of about ten photos before realizing that I hadn't adjusted my white balance before coming inside and then going outside.  Hello, yellow and blue!)

So I talked to the vet yesterday.

Who completely did not back up my other vet.

And sort of supported the farrier in the cause.  Fucker.

I'm not going to apologize to the farrier for over reacting because, at some point, he disregarded my requests.  If you can't remember what shoes a horse is supposed to wear, you need to write that shit down.  And you need to be prepared for crazy horse-owners to go ballistic.  Because we do.

"My mom is crazy."

What else?

Oh.  So it's rainy and disgusting, so I might not be able to ride tonight  (bareback in a halter?).  But the plan for the next few days:  Saturday:  prepare for trip, drop girls off at boarding, ride, work out, leave BO Archie's beet pulp/alfalfa/SmartPak blend for Sunday and Monday.  Sunday:  leave at the butt crack of dawn (D said... 4:40 am?) for Orlando and have an ABSOLUTE BLAST at Universal.  Monday:  another blast at Universal followed by the Muse concert.  Tuesday:  Start the drive back to Savannah.  Stop at St. Augustine for photos and lunch.  Stop in Jacksonville for THE TACK STORE!  (I hope it doesn't suck.)  Pick up dogs, possibly ride pony if I'm still able to stand, possibly take photos at the Humane Society if we're back in time.  Wednesday:  Still off work!  Spend copious amounts of time napping and riding Archie.  Start boxing shit up.  Photos at the Humane Society.  Meet the housing inspector at 4 pm and prepare myself to climb on the roof and not get my hopes dashed!

"WASH ME, WOMAN!"

Tortugas tanning.  Pinky on the left, Pokey on the right.

In addition to the one chick who's interest in le Ol' Wintec, another person emailed me this morning with all sorts of exclamation marks and giddiness.  And, she wants to drive to me!  (Which makes me super nervous - like my barn is a secret location or something.)

So, yeah, passing along horse tack FTW.  Let's just keep our respective fingers and hooves crossed that someone actually buys this thing.

Because I'm certain y'all give a shit:  I woke up again to rain.  But this time, it was a massive angry storm that knocked out the power for several hours and required me to get dressed and apply my face by light of my iPhone.  The eyeliner is wanky on one eyeball.  It just stops halfway down the lid.  I'm awesome.

Georgia Power working to fix my electricity.

One of the local trailer parks (I told you that this place was weird!) is flooded.

Scarlette, as she is wont to do, lost her shit during the storm.  As soon as the husband left the bedroom, she was in the bed next to me, shaking.  I think Savannah tried to get up in the bed but her old lady joints aren't agreeable.  A million years ago, before my husband and I got married (because we didn't live together until about a month before the wedding), the girls slept with me almost every night.  Scar would sleep curled up at the foot of the bed and Sav'h would sleep next to me, with her spine against mine.  I miss that.

I spent the morning in training:  Maximizing Income and Prioritizing Expenses.  If the diagram from Mint wasn't indicative enough, it was really reinforced that the mass of my money goes to the pony.  We did a little exercise on budgeting, where we had to write down the amount that we made per month and the amount we spent per month.  I was fortunate to have a surplus, but it's a tight one.  So.. that makes me think sad things.  Like cutting back on the SmartPak.  I know he absolutely needs to stay on the OneAC and probably really benefits from the SmartFlex Senior (given how broken he is), but I should probably cut out the SmartHoof and the SmartCalm.  As the days get longer, the increased exercise will hopefully negate the need for the SmartCalm.  Or I'll die.  Either way, I'll be saving money!

All of this is a result of that thing we aren't talking about.  That has subsequently been counter-offered and counter-counter-offered and will have another result at 5 pm tonight. And even though I don't really want to talk about it, I'm still sort of offended that the three people I've told IRL aren't asking all sorts of questions.