One a day, plus iron

So yesterday I had my mare of sixteen years put down. It was very sad, but she had cancer and wasn’t going to get any better, only worse. And in her kitchen, the-morning-of (horse deaths are frequently scheduled because of logistics and backhoes and stuff), my dear friend asked me when we got to the good times. (Y’know, because it sucks to put your horse of sixteen years down and I’m miserably unhappy and snotting all over her kitchen and clearly this is not the good times that she signed up for.)

( I do go on... )