A WORLD TO DISCOVER: When I Was Not Myself

A WORLD TO DISCOVER: When I Was Not Myself: When I Was Not Myself There is beauty in my soul And kindness in my heart A sadness for mistakes I made When I was not myself...

When I Was Not Myself

When I Was Not Myself

There is beauty in my soul

And kindness in my heart

A sadness for mistakes I made

When I was not myself

It's easy to go astray

And lose oneself

When you follow not your spirit

Or the whispers in your head

The desire not to hurt

Or disappoint can overwhelm

The pressure to fit in and the need to belong

Can blind you, so you cannot see

Those who seek only faults

I do not seek to judge

Those I once called friend

For I know not their pain

Or what is in their hearts

Nor could I have sought the answers

When I was not myself

I honor all the memories

Of those that I have lost

For even in my anguish

I learned a lot.

To listen to the whispers

And the screaming of my spirit

Even when it sees those things I wish weren’t so

I am grateful to those who stayed

When I was lost in the dark

It can’t have been easy

But you helped me find my way

As I walk toward the light

And listen to my soul

As it takes the splendor in

And I become myself

I’ll remember those days of dark despair

When the world closed in

A few scars will remain upon my heart

From lessons I have learned

When I was not myself

I’ll not judge myself

For those mistakes I made

Nor flog my spirit bloody

But take them as lessons learned

For sometimes you cannot go back

As I travel on my path

Through the deep dark woods

And muddy black bogs of loss

As I make my way back

Into the beauty that I am

The darkness and despair

The loneliness and sorrow

Will be a memory of the days

When I was not myself

Marta Moran Bishop © 2015

THE AMAZING VOICE-OVER ARTIST DON COLASURD JR. JOINS US ON BOOKS AND BARDS 02/14 by Red River Radio | Books Podcasts

THE AMAZING VOICE-OVER ARTIST DON COLASURD JR. JOINS US ON BOOKS AND BARDS 02/14 by Red River Radio | Books Podcasts

Today, Don Colasurd Jr. the narrator and producer of my book Dinky: The Nurse Mare’s Foal will be my guest. Don is a professional
narrator, voice over artist, who maintains his own production studio.

He is dedicate to improving his craft, today we
will discuss the business of voice over, narration, and give away some copies
of the audio book Dinky: The Nurse Mare’s Foal, to some callers. There will
also be a chance to win either an audio, kindle, or a signed copy of Dinky’s
story to those who listen to the podcast.

To win a signed copy of one of my audio books, leave a comment and follow my blog.

The Between Times

Currently available in audio book

The Choosing

Wee Three: A Mother's Love in Verse

Hidden Realms

A Poet's Journey: Emotions

A Poet's Journey: Sunlight and Shadows

A Walk Through Nature

.

From: The Between Times

The petite girl’s raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, covering her face and arms. Her golden brown fingers deftly wove the glamour into the cloth. By touch alone, her small, delicate hands sewed the light of the between times into the fabric.

When she wove, the small, dark room with its concrete floor disappeared, and Jewell forgot it. She became a part of the tapestry itself, losing herself and becoming one with it. The magical silver light wove itself in and out of the tapestry, as it channeled its way through her.

Little could be seen in the small basement room at this time of the day, which made it safe for her to open the curtain and let in the faint predawn light.

Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/pkqlgz8

Perchance if someone did look in, all they would see is the dim red light of the smoldering coals in the stove waiting to be stoked.

Because of the prophecy, it was against the law to be awake and out of bed during the between times. Nonetheless, Jewell could only put the finishing touches into her tapestries at this time of day, for this dim light held a luminosity all its own. This heavenly light could not be understood, only felt. Even outside, little could be seen at this time of the day—only a fraction of the sky, if one looked up. The sun had not yet begun its journey over the horizon.

Jewell spent a portion of each day sitting at her loom weaving. Her tapestries came to life from somewhere deep inside herself. The picture or design was pulled from the very air into the cloth without thought or purpose. The colors took on a reality of their own. Each hue she picked up in her slender fingers performed its own task in the scene that unfolded. All had their own destination in the overall design. None seemed accidental; all had their place.

If someone was watching, he might see a glimmering silver light spill from the window above her head. As it touched her hair, a chorus of colors played through her hair.  From her head, the light moved through her body to her fingers and into the tapestry. This splendid light lit her from within. As it flowed out of her fingers, it became the thread she used. It was the precise material that made up the universe. Its essence was virtually undetectable, unless you knew how to channel it. Her birth rite was the ability to sew the radiant silver light of the between times into cloth.

The bewitching, faint light worked its way into all of her tapestries. Each time, the blaze of the light added something unique to them. It gave them a beauty beyond words and more. That more could only be detected by Jewell and the wearer of the fabric, for each piece held magic of its own woven into the splendor of the cloth.

The small black cat threaded its way in and out of her legs. Almost like a familiar, it became a part of her, aiding her as it danced. They became one being as they pulled in the power and glory that existed in the mystical universe and made it one with their souls.

“Sable, we have finished,” Jewell said. “Father will be able to take two textiles to market with him tonight. I believe these are the most powerful and beautiful of all the pieces we have ever made,” she told the little cat.

Sable jumped on her lap, and they sat for a moment. Jewell hummed a small tune, and the cat purred. Their voices harmonized together, and the song they made ushered in the dawn. Before she began each day, Jewell drew the curtain that she’d made out of one of her tapestries aside and let in the predawn light. Sometimes she opened the window to let in a bit of fresh air. The air could not be called clean, as full of soot as it was, but at least it rid the small room of its dank, musky odors—the smells trapped in a closed room from cooking, coal burning, candles, and human bodies.

When the dawn lit the morning sky, she would close their one small window. That window gave her the only glimpse of life outside her room. Through it, she could see a tiny bit of the world that lay just outside their small, gloomy basement. There was not much to see, only a bit of sky covered with the clouds that raced each other across the sky. There were times she could make out a corner of the building, if she stretched her neck and peered out of the corner of the tiny window. Most days she just enjoyed the slight breeze that moved through the room from the open window.

This brief time in the early morning, when she opened the window, became the only other time in her day when Jewell had contact with the outside world. Without that little window, she would have nothing but the one-half hour in the courtyard the law allowed her each day. She spent that period gathering water and washing their clothing. Not a minute remained to view the world around her.

With the growing light, Sable jumped from her lap, and Jewell stood and stretched. Her small frame shuddered from the chill that seeped through her body. So long had she sat motionless that the cold of the concrete floor and the stone walls had gotten into her bones.

The day has begun, she thought, as she pulled the tapestry closed. It is time to light the fire, get Father’s breakfast, and pack his lunch.

Even through the tapestry that covered their one small window, she could see the smoke and soot already filling the street. “I wonder how the moon and the light of dawn are able to find their way through the heavy haze. The ash from the factories and the soot from the coal stoves fills the air, till the sky is black as night,” Jewell told Sable.

“It is father’s short day at the factory, Sable. He gets so tired from working so many hours. I wish I could help him by working in the garden or going to the market.”

I wonder if he considers Sunday short, she thought. Even though he spends eight hours that day in the church, still, he is at home earlier.

“I wonder what church is like, Sable. Did you know they do not allow women in church? Father told me, unlike the days when mother lived, they don’t teach women to read or to think anymore. I wonder why these men Father, talks about consider women too stupid to learn. He said they consider women the spawn of evil and not worth redemption.”

THE TRIP - From: Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal

Terrified for my life, I was flung to the floor and against the walls so many times by the movement of this box I was trapped in. I was afraid to try standing again, so I cowered in the corner. On the floor of the trailer was a bed of soiled straw. I lay there watching the sunlight crawl across the dirty brown walls. The shadows from the sun hitting the bars in the window looked like enormous fingers coming to get me as they crept across the walls of the trailer.

Available on Amazon:

http://tinyurl.com/l9ofr6x

No longer was I able to see the grass, the sky, or Mother. I lay there trembling and alone with no one to love or cuddle me—just this large space all around me that smelled of old manure, urine, fear, and death. Some of the smell was my own fright. 

The stench was so strong it made me sick. Where were they taking me? Without Mother to protect, nuzzle, and teach me, how would I survive? I felt so helpless.

My misery and my deep need to belong and feel loved were so strong, the solitude of my mind wandered back to the same questions. What would happen to me? Who would teach me? Would I get a chance to live as she promised? “Remember her words,” I told myself.

“Hold your head up, son, you must be strong.”

With every fiber of my being, I held on to her voice in my mind. It helped to ease the apprehension, the hunger, and the throbbing from my bruises.

The movement of this box stopped. When they opened the door, I was crouching in the back corner of the trailer like a weakling.

One of the men held a bucket in his hand and the other a rope. The smell coming from the bucket made my stomach rumble. Even through my fright and the fury I smelled on these men, my stomach growled. There was no place to escape from even the dirtiest of these men.

Both of them were dirty, unshaven, and wearing blue jeans and sweat stained t-shirts. Joe’s whole face was covered in hair. I could barely see his eyes through all the hair as he crouched down beside me. The other man once again put the rope around my neck and held my head in a forceful grip. Without so much as a kind word, the man called Joe stuck his fingers into the pail and forced them into my mouth. Not even the nasty taste of his grubby fingers stopped me from tasting the flavor of the milky stuff.

Hungrily I found myself sucking his dirty fingers. Several times the exercise was repeated. I sensed the resentment in these men even as they pushed my head down into the bucket. Famished, I drank greedily.

Impatiently the men pulled the bucket away from me and carried it out the door. Still hungry, I whimpered.

The man who put the rope around my neck complained as he slammed the door, “Stupid junk foal. I don’t know why we always get stuck with this job, do you, Joe?”

The way he said junk foal made me cringe. It sounded as if he was talking about a piece of garbage. Holding my head up even in my dread, I let my mother’s words again run through my mind. “Remember, do not pay any attention if you hear the words junk foal. These are words used by ignorant humans.” For a little while, letting her voice play in my mind helped ease my panic.

THE FAIR: From Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal.

Available on Amazon.com

Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal is available in Paperback and eBook and soon in audio.

The heat came in waves one morning like nothing I had ever experienced before. Dolores came in and put our halters on us. Her excitement made me nervous. Then as she led us out of the barn, I saw it right in front of us. Waiting like an ogre, its doors open as if to swallow us, stood one of those nasty trailers. Although I could see there was hay on the floor for us to eat, it still stunk of fear, gasoline, and oil.

“This is a terrible sign, Lucky.” I said. “It’s an extremely distressing sign. Where are we going? Why do they have to make us leave our home? I don’t feel ready for more changes, do you?” He was used to my constant worry and questions, so I got no answer. “Please, don’t make us leave, we’re just beginning to feel a little safe,” I begged as I planted my hooves in front of the ramp. It was no use. They were bigger than me, and up the ramp I went.

Inside the trailer, it was even hotter. All told there were five of us—three horses, Lucky, and me—crammed into this sweat box. We were all nervous. All of us were brought to the stable by these same women a couple of months earlier. Each of us had begun to feel a measure of security in our surroundings after the trauma of losing our families. Unsure and troubled again, we waited for the fabric of our lives to be ripped apart once more.

The women had treated us kindly and genuinely seemed to care for us. They didn’t know my belly was always hungry. Nor did they understand that we had a crawly feeling inside of us.  It was probably some of those bad bugs my mother warned me about.

They were kind women. They didn’t know that the corrupt woman who owned the stable couldn’t be bothered with us. When she came around to look us over, we could tell she was ruthless. To her it didn’t matter if we survived and grew up strong. I didn’t think the nice women knew she was evil or that we had these crawly things inside of us. They tried their best to treat us kindly with love and to teach us how to be adoptable. They just didn’t know enough about horses, and they listened to the bad woman instead of trying to learn to speak horse.

Fortunately, the trip was short. Outside the trailer, it was extremely loud. There were the sounds of other horses, farm animals, music, and all sorts of other strange noises. Some of them were so deafening they made us all jumpy. The smell of grass, machinery, and humans permeated the air. We could hardly hear the sound of our own breathing over the calls of one human to another, the banging of hammers, and metal against metal. Standing and waiting in the sweltering heat of the trailer, we could barely breathe in the stifling air.

“The women are putting up portable fencing and a tent,” one of the bigger horses who could see through the window told us. “The tent is probably so they can be out of the sun during the day.”

At last we were led off the trailer one by one. Sweat dripping from us, Lucky and I were the last to leave the trailer. They led the two of us into an extremely small enclosure standing next to the tent.

At first we enjoyed looking around at all the different things going on. The thrill soon passed, as there was no escape from the sun. Humans continued to stream by viewing, poking, and prodding us in the enclosure. Some of the little children were horrid. “Cute horsey,” or “Cute pony, Mama,” they said as they poked us again and again while their parents laughed. It was the hottest day I could ever remember. From just after dawn till sunset, we stood in that pen. I began to wonder if we were to spend our lives in this small space without room for either of us to lie down, move around, or get out of the sun.

Where would Lucky and I go if it rained? Still, we wished for rain to cool us down. We felt trapped and wondered how we could have a nap. The space was too little and the noise and constant parade of strange humans too great.

“Lucky, what’s happened to the nice women? Why did they do this to us? Do you think we’ll be adopted?”

He didn’t answer me. He was afraid. Both of us were miserable. We didn’t know what would happen. Maybe, if we were truly blessed, we would meet our forever families here at the fair. Was it possible? We wondered.

Available on Amazon.com

Dinky's Quest is available in Hardcover, Paperback, eBook, and in Audio for ages 3 to 8.

Favorite Authors and Books I read in 2014

As an author and poet, I decided to list my top favorite authors that I read their work in 2014. Equally it would probably be unfair not to list at least a few of my favorites of their work. All of these books can be found at least on Amazon, though many of them at bookstores everywhere. Some are currently only available in eBook, others in Hardcover, Paperback, Audio, as well as Ebook.

Some of these books I reread this year after having enjoyed them so much previous years, so they were included in this list.

Some authors I believe I would love all that they have written even though I have not as yet read everything of theirs. Many on this list I have loved all of their work, but I only included those that were my favorites of the ones I have read this year, even if it was in the rereading. As my tastes in books are varied, so is my list.

The authors are listed alphabetically by first name, this in no way is meant to say I prefer that author to one further down on the list.

I hope some find this list interesting, please forgive the lack of pictures, but there are too many for this post.

I can highly recommend all of these books for your own enjoyment or for gifts for the holidays.

Amanda Thrasher – The Ghost of the Whispering Willows & her Fairy in the Mushroom Patch series

Ben Woodard – The Boy who flew with Eagles and his Shakertown Series

Beth Hoffman – Saving CeeCee Honeycutt and Looking For Me

Claire Cook – Must Love Dogs, Must Love Dogs (New Leash on LIfe) and Best Made Plans

Dellani Oakes – Indian Summer, Lone Wolf, Shakazhan, Conduct Unbecoming and Ninja Tattoo

Doreen Cox – Adventures in Mother-Sitting

Ellen Dye – Ending Up and Three’s the Charm

Franki deMerle – Dragonfly Dreams and Five Flowers.
Helen Carey – The Lavender Road series

Jack London – Call of the Wild and White Fang

James Rollins – His Sigma Force series
James Strauss - The Boy
Jane Austin - Pride and Prejudice

Jan Romes - Married to Maggie
Jd Holiday - Spy Games

Joseph Wallace – Diamond Ruby

Julie Hughes – Griffin Boy and Griffin Cryer

Karen Vance Hammond – Shoe Marks

Karen Vaughan – Dead On Arrival, Daytona Dead, and Dead Comic Standing

Kevin Swarbrick – Louie Has Landed Series (very steamy)
Leyla Atke - Charm: The Amazing Story of a Little Black Cat

MacKenzie Brown – Lost Boys and The Shifting, though I have a feeling I will like the rest of his books too.

Margaret Koch – The entire Barb Stark series especially Catalyst and Camp Soul

Maria Savva – Haunted, Time to Tell, and Coincidences

Miranda Phillips Walker – The Well Meaning Killer

Miriam Davidson – The Intercessor and Sand, Sea, and Meadow Muffins

Helle Gade – Nocturnal Embers

Robert W. Walker – The entire Instinct Series, Decory Series, Children of Salem, The Cannoneers, Annie's War, and Red Path.

Saket Suryesh – Rescued Poems and Death of a Soldier

Sammy Sutton – Darkening Danger, King Solomon’s Journey, and Hidden Mountain

Sherrill S. Cannon – Finger Paint Masterpiece and Gimmie Jimmie

Stuart Ross McCallum – Beyond My Control: One Man’s Struggle with Epilepsy, Seizure Surgery, and Beyond.

Suzanne Collins – MockingJay and Hunger Games

Virginia Lee – Dagon’s Blood

SPY GAMES BY JD HOLIDAY IS A GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING.

When I first met J D Holiday it was like meeting an old friend. She is a thrilling writer, illustrator, host of her own blog radio show, featuring Story-time for children.

J D 's goal is to promote the love of reading, while helping children to overcome bullying and other issues they have growing up. She avidly promotes other authors and is always a friend, with a heart of gold.

Author and illustrator J.D. Holiday is the host of The Authors' Words & It's Story Time on Book Garden Radio at Blog Talk Radio: an international children's Reading Story Radio Show for children. She has three children's books out: Janoose the Goose, The Spy Game, and a chapter book for six to eight year olds, THE GREAT SNOWBALL ESCAPADE. JD has had a chapbook of her short stories called, Trespasses published in 1994 and she has had short stories printed in literary magazines and numerous articles about writing and publishing published. 
www.blogtalkradio.com/bgr & www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio
Her site is: jdholiday.blogspot.com

The Spy Game:
Eddie would love to have a puppy to play with. A puppy would pull on a rope, catch a ball and lick your face. But his Uncle brings Eddie an older dog named after a famous spy. 
What can you do with an old dog? It probably could not learn new tricks, and the only thing this dog did was stare. It's what they find to do together that makes them the best of friends!

Thank you J D for joining me and sharing this marvelous book with us.

You can buy Spy Games on Amazon.com, Barnes&Noble.com, Smashwords.com and wherever books are sold.

Introduction to Nurse Mares and Nurse Mare Foals. (Why Dinky was Born)

Dinky's First Year
http://www.amazon.com/Dinky-Nurse-Marta-Moran-Bishop-ebook/dp/B00B06KVIO/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1417652862&sr=1-3&keywords=marta+moran+bishop

The elite of the horse world are the high-dollar mares. They are show animals or racing animals, bringing high dollars for their foals because they have a history of excellence and winning. For them, time is money and it's important that the mare be kept busy birthing instead of spending weeks nursing her offspring. That job is given to a nurse mare.

Much like the old-time wet nurse employed by wealthy mothers throughout history, the nurse mare is of uncertain or unimportant bloodlines and incapable of bringing substantial income to her owner. In order to nurse the important foal, she must have recently given birth and produce the necessary milk. The question is: What becomes of the nurse mare's foal?

By many called a “junk foal,” this unfortunate newborn is considered a necessary evil, a disposable byproduct. The cost of trying to nurse this foal until it is weaned is high, so often the “junk foal” is killed outright and disposed of. Sometimes it's shipped off to auction and bought by manufacturers who use its hide to make expensive bags or shoes. Whatever its fate, the nurse mare's foal is considered an unimportant nuisance.

The nurse mare’s foal is usually taken from its mother anytime from one day to a week after birth instead of the ten to twelve weeks that foals commonly nurse. The times vary, depending on when the high-dollar mare foals. Generally the nurse mare is shipped off to the farm to nurture and foster the high-priced foal.

The horse industry benefits from this barbaric practice because the high-dollar mare gets back in shape more quickly, so she can show well and invite more offers for her offspring. While some stables allow the mare three to four weeks to recuperate after giving birth, many are sent to the stallion for rebreeding within seven to ten days of giving birth.

There are Equine Rescue Leagues that have spent their time, energy, and money to help the rejected foals. Without them, more of these small lives would be lost. Most of the rescuers are knowledgeable, but there are a few well-intentioned people who want to save the newborns without any knowledge of horses. In some cases these organizations succeed almost by accident, and in others they make matters worse for the animals in their care. Unfortunately these groups sometimes rely on unscrupulous people, self-proclaimed experts who have their own hidden agendas.

The lucky foal is adopted by people who know and love horses or who go out of their way to learn the needs and care of this fragile baby animal. Too many are adopted by men and women who know little or nothing about horses, let alone the unique care these foals require, and the new owners soon become overwhelmed. As a result, some foals are bought and sold several times before they reach maturity. Others die from lack of proper nutrition and proper parasite control. The nurse mare's foal unfortunate enough to fall into the wrong hands usually grows up with multiple deformities and bone development problems. Some have social development issues, never learning how to be a horse or understanding the role of a horse with a human companion.

This book is the story of one nurse mare's foal and its fight for survival.

Marta Moran Bishop and Toni Boyle

Based Upon A True Story (From Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal)

http://www.amazon.com/Dinky-Nurse-Marta-Moran-Bishop-ebook/dp/B00B06KVIO/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1416789324&sr=1-3&keywords=marta+moran+bishop

The men didn’t lift me this time—not like they did when they threw me into the box. Instead, they put that same dirty rope they used before around my neck. Downward they pulled me into what seemed like an overwhelmingly large crowd of humans.

A male human took my rope and led me into a small yard where the smells were better. The smell of death was gone; in its place was the clean smell of farm life. In front of the barn stood a woman in a billowing red skirt, “Dinky little thing isn’t he? He sure smells terrible,” she said to the man.

I heard other animals calling, “Who are you?”

Still fearful and unsteady, I held my head up high and called back, “I am beautiful and strong. My mother told me so.”

So loud were the humans, I could barely hear their replies, but I thought I heard them laughing at me. That made me sad.

The man leading me wore blue from head to toe. Deeper into the dark barn he led me. Finally he pushed me into a small room with little patience for my unsteady legs or for the bruises that covered my body from falling.

In the dim light of the room, I heard a voice, “Hi. My name is Lucky. What’s your name?”

Afraid, tired, and hungry, I asked, “I don’t know, Lucky. How do you get a name?”

“Oh, sooner or later they’ll call you something. Then you’ll know your name,” he said.

“Then I guess my name is Dinky, because that’s what they called me.” I couldn’t manage anything more. Before looking around the room, I went over and drank some of the water in the pail. “I’m hungry.”

“There will be nothing more till morning,” Lucky said, licking my wounds and comforting me while I cried. We snuggled close and slept. Each time I woke up weeping, he calmed me down and reassured me.

Cock-a-doodle-doo filled the room. It was the strangest sound I ever heard. “What’s that noise, Lucky?”

“It’s called Mac Rooster, and he’s greeting the dawn and telling everyone it’s time to get up. We’ll get our breakfast soon now. It always comes after Mac Rooster calls,” Lucky said.

Lucky wasn’t my mother, nor was he an adult horse. He was too young to teach me manners or the ways of the herd, yet he’d been here longer and knew things I could learn. He was bigger than me and brown. With him near, I felt a measure of safety. Each day at the farm shortly after Mac Rooster called, they brought us our breakfast. For a while they only brought us the milky stuff, but soon the humans began putting hay and grain in our room along with our pail of milk.

“Dinky, I overheard the humans talking. Soon they won’t give us the bucket. If you don't learn to eat hay and grain, you’ll die.”

So each day I tried to chew it, but it didn’t seem natural. “Lucky, are you sure it’s normal for us to eat this when we’re so young?”

He just grunted and went on eating. Sure enough, the next morning the humans put only water in our bucket. Gone was the milky stuff.

Our room was old and smelled of other horses even through the thin layer of new shavings on the floor. That morning we woke to rain. It came down exceptionally hard, so instead of taking us out into the little yard, they tied us up inside the barn.

“Lucky, this is horrible just standing here unable to move around. Even being in the little room is better. I like it best when they put us out into the little yard, don’t you?”

 “Yes, Dinky, but I heard the woman say if we get sick we will be worth nothing, and they will have wasted their time and money on us. So we have to stay in here if it’s raining,” Lucky answered.

“I guess we are fortunate not to be on the cross ties. See those chains hanging over there on the wall, Dinky? Ole Jack told me, they are called cross ties and humans hook the chains one on each side of a horses halter. Then the horse must stand still, held between them, unable to move around much at all. We are too little for halters, so they tie us up instead.”

“I don’t think I would like cross ties Lucky. It is bad enough having a rope around my neck and tied to the post. Why do you suppose the rope is tied so high? I feel like my neck is being stretched off my head.”

“Me too Dinky, I don’t know why the rope is up so high though. I think it would be worse though to be on the cross ties.”

“What are halters Lucky?”

“I don’t know, Dinky, all I understood was they are something that covers the face. It doesn’t sound nice at all.”

Each day I learned a little more about life on the farm. “Dinky, don’t try to socialize with the chickens. They’re snobs and only like to talk amongst themselves. Besides Ole Jack told me they were just big gossips anyway.”

I wondered if there was something more to it, but I didn’t think Lucky would know. Maybe if I was here long enough, the chickens would talk to me, I thought as the woman led us out to the little yard.

“Hi, young’uns. How’s it going?” a strange looking little light-brown fellow with horns on his head and whiskers on his chin yelled from across the fence.

“There’s Ole Jack now,” Lucky said. “We better go over and talk to him, or else there’ll be too much ruckus, and they might not let us stay out in the sun today, Dinky.

“Howdy, Ole Jack. Where have you been?” Lucky asked as he trotted over to the fence.

“They lent me to another farm for breeding. Woo hoot, did I have a grand time, little ones. Who’s your buddy, Lucky?” Ole Jack asked.

“This is my new friend, Dinky.”

“Is he okay? Looks a little skinny and wobbly to me, Lucky.”

“Yah, Ole Jack, Dinky is still recovering from the trip and losing his mother.”

“Ah, another nurse mare’s foal, eh, Lucky? Hi, Dinky, welcome to the farm. I advise you not to get too comfortable here.”

“Why’s that, Ole Jack? And what’s breeding?” I asked shyly.

“Well, your mothers were bred to a stallion, and you were born. Your mothers were nurse mares. Unfortunately, a nurse mare is only useful for the milk she produces, which is why you were taken away from her. Her milk was needed to feed another horse’s foal. You two are just a byproduct of the breeding.

“Nurse mare foals have no real purpose. You’re not much use here on the farm. Chickens give eggs, goats and cows give milk, but the humans here think they can make a little money by selling you. Likely you’ll both end up at the meat market or the tanners. There are a whole group of humans here today. Likely as not, one of them will buy you, if not now then next time.”

“Does that mean I’ll never see my mother again?” I asked.

“I expect you won’t, Dinky,” Ole Jack said.

I started to cry. At least I understood why we were separated, though it didn’t make the separation any easier.

“Now don’t cry, youngster,” Ole Jack tried to console me. “It’s just the way of the world.”

I tried to think of something else instead. “What’s a tanner, Ole Jack?” I asked, because he seemed to know a lot.

“I don’t want to frighten you two, but a tanner is where they take the hide off your back and make bags and shoes for humans to wear.”

“But what does that mean? How could they take my hide without me dying? I don’t think it’s possible to live without it. What are bags and shoes anyway?” I asked.

“Dinky, calm down. I said I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s true. You’d die if they took your hide. Bags are what humans carry things around in, and shoes go on their feet.” Ole Jack answered.

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to have my hide taken to make bags or shoes, and I certainly don’t want to be eaten,” I said tartly.

“You sure are a sassy little fellow aren’t you? Maybe that will help you survive. Sometimes, you nurse mare foals find homes. You might become one of the privileged ones, but I recommend you don’t count on it. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, little ones. You won’t stay here long.”