Bev has started a new project for readers of Romances. We're still in the infant stage (gooochy-goo!), but we're hoping it can grow into something interesting.
Bev's idea was to provide for readers a network of resources. Recommended authors, info on how to start up a blog, hosting resources, perhaps a community blog for those who want to talk but don't necessarily want to start up their own blog. One area we probably won't go into is graded reviews, promotions, or author/industry news.
You can check it out here.
Right now it's only a message board as we try to pull together what people want. Let us know.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Kristie made me (And Cindy)
It's all their fault.
1. FIRST NAME? Heh, heh. Tough question, actually. I'm so complex ;) In Real Life name starts with an S and rhymes with, well, let's not give away too much.... Blogger name, Suisan, I chose because it's close to Shushan (which means 'Lily' in Persian, and I always liked that name), and it's kind of almost close to a town name that means something to me. (And then after I thought I was being Oh, So Creative I remembered that it's the name of a Scottish Heroine from an Arnette Lamb book. Dim bulb.)
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? IRL I've got the name my grandfather would have named my mother if his mother-in-law hadn't vetoed the name as sounding too foreign, or in her words, "Choctaw." (Why Choctaw? No idea. But to her anything Armenian, Persian, or Turkish, was "that Choctaw stuff.") So I guess I'm named for my mother or for my grandfather.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? A few days ago when I realized that if I went to go see a horse I know in Georgia, then I'd probably start crying and embarrass myself. So I started crying here. Odd.
4. WHAT IS ON YOUR DESKTOP BACKGROUND? A King Kong vs. Godzilla movie poster which my husband puts on MY COMPUTER everytime he uses it. I used to change it back to Cap'n Jack Sparrow, or various horsey pictures friends have sent me, but now I'm too lazy to bother with it. I sort of never see my desktop background anyway.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Coppa.
6. KIDS? Three.
7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Yes. What idiot answers this question, "No."?
8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL ? Yeah, kinda sorta. I mean I have the blog, but somehow I don't think of it as a "JOURNAL," but I don't know why I resist that word.
9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Who, me? Sarcastic? I'm sure I don't know what you mean.
10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes.
11. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Ummmmm. Yeah, but the person with me at the top of the jump would have to be someone very calm, not a hyped up dude with long hair and an attitude. If I could be really calm and quiet with my eyes closed for about a minute before I jumped, I'd do it.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Don't ask me to choose. Well, hot cereal's easy: McCann's Irish Oatmeal.
13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES? Huh? I'm a preppy at heart--loafers with no socks. In all weather. (I don't wear wide wale courdoroy pants, bermuda shorts, or pink polo shirts. But the sockless shoes remain.)
14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes. I think. Most of the time.
15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Maple Walnut or Coffee Heath Bar Crunch
16. SHOE SIZE? 7 wide? 8? 8.5? Who knows--it's always a new shoe size depending on heel height and manufacturer. How does anyone buy shoes online?
17. RED OR PINK? Red
18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I procrastinate until I get myself into stupid trouble when it comes to paperwork. I hate that I can't get a handle on it when I've identified it as a problem.
19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My aunt. She had flaws as dark and wide as veins of black on a turquoise stone, but she loved me perfectly.
20. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Jeans and black loafers
21. LAST THING YOU ATE? Coffee, strawberries and Wheat Thins. Odd breakfast.
22. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Rain.
23 IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Periwinkle blue
24. FAVORITE SMELL? A combination of leather + roses + lime. Never quite found a perfume which has this in the right balance, but I'm still looking.
25. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? A fellow politician.
26. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Eyes--are they listening eyes? Or are they watching eyes? After eyes, hands--the knuckles and backs of the fingers. Ooooohoooh. Tingly.
27. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Um, if taking it off of Kristie's blog, sitting on it for a few days and then taking it off of Cindy's blog counts, then, yes, I like both of them.
28. FAVORITE DRINK? HOT coffee with thick cream. But I'm such a slave to caffeine I'll drink it warmish with lo-fat milk, but it's not the same. Coffee laced with sambucca is nice too. (OK, anything licorice works, really.)
29. FAVORITE SPORT? Is speed knitting a sport?
30. HAIR COLOR? Dark brown with a few bright white hairs which I'm oddly proud of. My hairdresser finds me "brave." (It's six hairs--good thing bravery is so easy to come by.)
31. EYE COLOR? Brown, almost black
32. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, but I used to. I prefer contacts, but the upkeep annoys me--and they're expensive too.
33. FAVORITE FOOD? Carmelized onions.
34. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Happy Ending.
35. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? The Ten Commandments. Quick! I've got to go watch something else to get the taste out of my mouth.
36. COLOUR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Orangey-red boucle sweater, actually.
37. SUMMER OR WINTER? Fall
38. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs
39. FAVORITE DESSERT? Don't make me choose! Oh, alright....Coffee creme brulee, raspberry cheescake where the raspberries are *really* tart, my own apple pie made with heavy cream so the apples melt into applesauce, Peach pie (I make a good one), bread pudding, I'm sorry, I was supposed to pick one? Can't do it.
40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Too many to keep track of--right now focusing on The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Jay Fowler.
41. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don't have one.
42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? No TV last night. Reading a budget report and a math curriculum comparative analysis. Both superbly depressing. Should have watched Top Chef instead.
43. FAVORITE SOUNDS? Any grazing animal munching hay. Penny whistle.
44. ROLLING STONE OR BEATLES? Beatles.
45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Soviet Armenia in terms of miles travelled. Circus in terms of cultures sampled.
46. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I can speak in full sentences.
47. WHEN AND WHERE WERE YOU BORN? June 1967 in Boston, MA
48.WHY DID YOU ANSWER THIS SURVEY OF YOURSELF? Because I am a talented, witty, engaging, and fascinating person and wanted to share with the world.
1. FIRST NAME? Heh, heh. Tough question, actually. I'm so complex ;) In Real Life name starts with an S and rhymes with, well, let's not give away too much.... Blogger name, Suisan, I chose because it's close to Shushan (which means 'Lily' in Persian, and I always liked that name), and it's kind of almost close to a town name that means something to me. (And then after I thought I was being Oh, So Creative I remembered that it's the name of a Scottish Heroine from an Arnette Lamb book. Dim bulb.)
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? IRL I've got the name my grandfather would have named my mother if his mother-in-law hadn't vetoed the name as sounding too foreign, or in her words, "Choctaw." (Why Choctaw? No idea. But to her anything Armenian, Persian, or Turkish, was "that Choctaw stuff.") So I guess I'm named for my mother or for my grandfather.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? A few days ago when I realized that if I went to go see a horse I know in Georgia, then I'd probably start crying and embarrass myself. So I started crying here. Odd.
4. WHAT IS ON YOUR DESKTOP BACKGROUND? A King Kong vs. Godzilla movie poster which my husband puts on MY COMPUTER everytime he uses it. I used to change it back to Cap'n Jack Sparrow, or various horsey pictures friends have sent me, but now I'm too lazy to bother with it. I sort of never see my desktop background anyway.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Coppa.
6. KIDS? Three.
7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Yes. What idiot answers this question, "No."?
8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL ? Yeah, kinda sorta. I mean I have the blog, but somehow I don't think of it as a "JOURNAL," but I don't know why I resist that word.
9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Who, me? Sarcastic? I'm sure I don't know what you mean.
10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes.
11. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Ummmmm. Yeah, but the person with me at the top of the jump would have to be someone very calm, not a hyped up dude with long hair and an attitude. If I could be really calm and quiet with my eyes closed for about a minute before I jumped, I'd do it.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Don't ask me to choose. Well, hot cereal's easy: McCann's Irish Oatmeal.
13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES? Huh? I'm a preppy at heart--loafers with no socks. In all weather. (I don't wear wide wale courdoroy pants, bermuda shorts, or pink polo shirts. But the sockless shoes remain.)
14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes. I think. Most of the time.
15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Maple Walnut or Coffee Heath Bar Crunch
16. SHOE SIZE? 7 wide? 8? 8.5? Who knows--it's always a new shoe size depending on heel height and manufacturer. How does anyone buy shoes online?
17. RED OR PINK? Red
18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I procrastinate until I get myself into stupid trouble when it comes to paperwork. I hate that I can't get a handle on it when I've identified it as a problem.
19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My aunt. She had flaws as dark and wide as veins of black on a turquoise stone, but she loved me perfectly.
20. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Jeans and black loafers
21. LAST THING YOU ATE? Coffee, strawberries and Wheat Thins. Odd breakfast.
22. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Rain.
23 IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Periwinkle blue
24. FAVORITE SMELL? A combination of leather + roses + lime. Never quite found a perfume which has this in the right balance, but I'm still looking.
25. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? A fellow politician.
26. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Eyes--are they listening eyes? Or are they watching eyes? After eyes, hands--the knuckles and backs of the fingers. Ooooohoooh. Tingly.
27. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Um, if taking it off of Kristie's blog, sitting on it for a few days and then taking it off of Cindy's blog counts, then, yes, I like both of them.
28. FAVORITE DRINK? HOT coffee with thick cream. But I'm such a slave to caffeine I'll drink it warmish with lo-fat milk, but it's not the same. Coffee laced with sambucca is nice too. (OK, anything licorice works, really.)
29. FAVORITE SPORT? Is speed knitting a sport?
30. HAIR COLOR? Dark brown with a few bright white hairs which I'm oddly proud of. My hairdresser finds me "brave." (It's six hairs--good thing bravery is so easy to come by.)
31. EYE COLOR? Brown, almost black
32. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, but I used to. I prefer contacts, but the upkeep annoys me--and they're expensive too.
33. FAVORITE FOOD? Carmelized onions.
34. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Happy Ending.
35. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? The Ten Commandments. Quick! I've got to go watch something else to get the taste out of my mouth.
36. COLOUR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Orangey-red boucle sweater, actually.
37. SUMMER OR WINTER? Fall
38. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs
39. FAVORITE DESSERT? Don't make me choose! Oh, alright....Coffee creme brulee, raspberry cheescake where the raspberries are *really* tart, my own apple pie made with heavy cream so the apples melt into applesauce, Peach pie (I make a good one), bread pudding, I'm sorry, I was supposed to pick one? Can't do it.
40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Too many to keep track of--right now focusing on The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Jay Fowler.
41. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don't have one.
42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? No TV last night. Reading a budget report and a math curriculum comparative analysis. Both superbly depressing. Should have watched Top Chef instead.
43. FAVORITE SOUNDS? Any grazing animal munching hay. Penny whistle.
44. ROLLING STONE OR BEATLES? Beatles.
45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Soviet Armenia in terms of miles travelled. Circus in terms of cultures sampled.
46. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I can speak in full sentences.
47. WHEN AND WHERE WERE YOU BORN? June 1967 in Boston, MA
48.WHY DID YOU ANSWER THIS SURVEY OF YOURSELF? Because I am a talented, witty, engaging, and fascinating person and wanted to share with the world.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Veterinary story
Doug wants us to post stories relating to medecine (and he adds in veterinary as a further option). So here's mine--perhaps only slightly related to Veterinary Practice. For all the stories of young horses born in the early morning, or fresh stallions picking fights with mirrors, or horses hung up on fences, this story wanted to be written today, and so here it is. On a second reading, I'm not sure it has anything at all to do with Doug's contest, but there you go.
My aunt had a large Arabian horse breeding farm when I was younger. She focused on older bloodlines, and along the way purchased or leased many older horses. First, their ancestors were "close up" in the pedigree, and second, older breeding stock, due to fertility rates, tend to be a less expensive option. The result of this though was that in the few years that I lived on the property, I had to assist in a number of euthanasias.
Her barn was made up of an old two-story gambrel roofed structure. Off the side was a long aisle she added on in the 1970s. The aisle housed her "Stallion Row." Here were at least ten stallions along the left hand side. To the right were stalls which opened out to paddocks in the back. For the most part they were empty during the day, as the horses would basically hang out in the fresh air. But the stallions were on a pasture rotation wherein every two or three hours a stallion would be led in from his turn out past his cohorts.
It depended on the stallion, of course, but for the most part, each stallion in his stall used this opportunity to rush the door, scream, stamp his feet, and generally display his magnificence to that puny piece of trash daring to walk through HIS territory. (Almost all of it was posturing. I once witnessed a young stallion bust through his unlatched door during one of these tirades, and I've never seen a more confused looking horse as he tried to scurry back home into the safety of his stall.) You'd lead a horse in: much screaming and thundering. You'd lead a new horse out: even more screaming and thundering. And then they'd all settle down to munch hay for a few hours. But it was deafening for a solid twenty minutes.
Up in the old barn my aunt had an aged stallion who was never healthy enough to breed anyone. He was fully white, with a long wavy mane which dripped past his nose. He was going blind, so as you came into his stall he would roll his head to the side and tuck his nose towards his shoulder so he could focus on you. At this movement, his mane would fall almost to his knee. He was small and calm. I never heard him scream, not even to the mares who walked past his window. His teeth had been ground down so long before that he could no longer eat hay, but existed on various alfalfa mashes, traces of which stained his chin and neck a muddy green. His soles had dropped before he ever came to the farm, and his hooves were polished like glass on the underside. With this change, he had lost all traction, so he could only move in a slow shuffling manner, and if he lied down, he had some difficulty getting to his feet. So Karada spent his days warming his back in the paddock just outside his door, drooling green saliva onto his knees, or shuffling around the edges of his stall, looking for the two barn cats which lived with him. About once a week we would try to clean him up, and he seemed to tolerate it, if not fully enjoy the attention. He was a little too proud to be affectionate.
The summer he was 33 he slowly went downhill. But it was hard to tell with him until he quite suddenly, which is the way with older horses, took a significant turn for the worse. He developed "Sand Colic," which is a condition where the horse, eating dirt or sand, fills his belly with grit and is unable to digest food. We started dosing him with Metamucil, which added further smears of bright orange to his chest and chin. Then he stopped walking, and his legs swelled up to hot thick cylinders--you could barely see one front knee.
Our vet had lived on the property while she had been attending veterinary school, and so knew the horses well. We all decided that this horse was never going to "tell" us when he was in pain, and that he was not going to get better. The day came to put him down.
I'd already been through this a number of times, and I would go on to attend more euthanasias after Karada's. In general, you need to get the horse outside the barn if you can, make him comfortable, and give him a lethal injection. The horses don't thrash or carry on, so it's not dangerous to euthanize indoors, but you do need the horse outside once you make this decision. Getting the backhoe to the horse if the horse is inside a 10'x10' stall is a nasty business. Karada's paddock wasn't appropriate due to fencing and gates, so we walked Karada down stallion row.
One stallion, a young one, "chumphed" at him. His neighbor was an older stallion, who squealed once and kicked the wall he shared with the young stallion. Apparently, this means in horse language, "Be still. Karada's passing." Because it took almost a full half hour to shuffle this aged white old man down the aisle into the sun, and not a single horse made a noise the entire time.
I never saw it happen again.
Outside we tried to convince Karada to lie down, but he wouldn't. But he was so small and weak that we eventually levered him to the ground by slowly bending one leg and then another, supporting his weight along his neck and shoulder so as not to bruise him as he went down. And still he wanted to get up, so I sat against his back, leaned over his shoulder and stroked his neck. (For a strong horse, a vital horse, this never would have worked to keep him down, but Karada accepted the signal and stopped trying to roll to his feet.) I was not expecting this, but in this way, I knew the instant he died.
The vet started the injection as soon as we had him down, and I had been stroking his neck. Long stroke from the poll to the shoulder, sweeping under his coarse mane. Pat, pat at the shoulder. Then back to the poll for a long stroke to the shoulder, sweeping under his coarse mane.
On my third sweep under his mane, I patted his shoulder. And then it was meat under my hand. Not his neck, not his hide, but pat, pat on a Sunday Roast to make sure the rosemary and pepper clings to the surface. I stroked again, and knew before I started the path down his neck that he was gone.
I've helped horses into this world, and I've helped them out. For some there was panic or pain, for some just a quiet passing as rain dripped on the roof. But I've never before or since felt death happen in the instant between the end of the first pat and the contact of the second.
I didn't know Karada very well when he was alive. He just lived in that little run-in stall near the stairs. I'm not even sure if I saw a picture of him that I would recognize him, but once he died he stayed with me. He shuffles into my dreams from time to time--usually to tell me that something important is about to happen. I do know that the stallions knew exactly why we walked him past their doors, and I do know that in whatever way they could, they offered him some respect as he passed.
My aunt had a large Arabian horse breeding farm when I was younger. She focused on older bloodlines, and along the way purchased or leased many older horses. First, their ancestors were "close up" in the pedigree, and second, older breeding stock, due to fertility rates, tend to be a less expensive option. The result of this though was that in the few years that I lived on the property, I had to assist in a number of euthanasias.
Her barn was made up of an old two-story gambrel roofed structure. Off the side was a long aisle she added on in the 1970s. The aisle housed her "Stallion Row." Here were at least ten stallions along the left hand side. To the right were stalls which opened out to paddocks in the back. For the most part they were empty during the day, as the horses would basically hang out in the fresh air. But the stallions were on a pasture rotation wherein every two or three hours a stallion would be led in from his turn out past his cohorts.
It depended on the stallion, of course, but for the most part, each stallion in his stall used this opportunity to rush the door, scream, stamp his feet, and generally display his magnificence to that puny piece of trash daring to walk through HIS territory. (Almost all of it was posturing. I once witnessed a young stallion bust through his unlatched door during one of these tirades, and I've never seen a more confused looking horse as he tried to scurry back home into the safety of his stall.) You'd lead a horse in: much screaming and thundering. You'd lead a new horse out: even more screaming and thundering. And then they'd all settle down to munch hay for a few hours. But it was deafening for a solid twenty minutes.
Up in the old barn my aunt had an aged stallion who was never healthy enough to breed anyone. He was fully white, with a long wavy mane which dripped past his nose. He was going blind, so as you came into his stall he would roll his head to the side and tuck his nose towards his shoulder so he could focus on you. At this movement, his mane would fall almost to his knee. He was small and calm. I never heard him scream, not even to the mares who walked past his window. His teeth had been ground down so long before that he could no longer eat hay, but existed on various alfalfa mashes, traces of which stained his chin and neck a muddy green. His soles had dropped before he ever came to the farm, and his hooves were polished like glass on the underside. With this change, he had lost all traction, so he could only move in a slow shuffling manner, and if he lied down, he had some difficulty getting to his feet. So Karada spent his days warming his back in the paddock just outside his door, drooling green saliva onto his knees, or shuffling around the edges of his stall, looking for the two barn cats which lived with him. About once a week we would try to clean him up, and he seemed to tolerate it, if not fully enjoy the attention. He was a little too proud to be affectionate.
The summer he was 33 he slowly went downhill. But it was hard to tell with him until he quite suddenly, which is the way with older horses, took a significant turn for the worse. He developed "Sand Colic," which is a condition where the horse, eating dirt or sand, fills his belly with grit and is unable to digest food. We started dosing him with Metamucil, which added further smears of bright orange to his chest and chin. Then he stopped walking, and his legs swelled up to hot thick cylinders--you could barely see one front knee.
Our vet had lived on the property while she had been attending veterinary school, and so knew the horses well. We all decided that this horse was never going to "tell" us when he was in pain, and that he was not going to get better. The day came to put him down.
I'd already been through this a number of times, and I would go on to attend more euthanasias after Karada's. In general, you need to get the horse outside the barn if you can, make him comfortable, and give him a lethal injection. The horses don't thrash or carry on, so it's not dangerous to euthanize indoors, but you do need the horse outside once you make this decision. Getting the backhoe to the horse if the horse is inside a 10'x10' stall is a nasty business. Karada's paddock wasn't appropriate due to fencing and gates, so we walked Karada down stallion row.
One stallion, a young one, "chumphed" at him. His neighbor was an older stallion, who squealed once and kicked the wall he shared with the young stallion. Apparently, this means in horse language, "Be still. Karada's passing." Because it took almost a full half hour to shuffle this aged white old man down the aisle into the sun, and not a single horse made a noise the entire time.
I never saw it happen again.
Outside we tried to convince Karada to lie down, but he wouldn't. But he was so small and weak that we eventually levered him to the ground by slowly bending one leg and then another, supporting his weight along his neck and shoulder so as not to bruise him as he went down. And still he wanted to get up, so I sat against his back, leaned over his shoulder and stroked his neck. (For a strong horse, a vital horse, this never would have worked to keep him down, but Karada accepted the signal and stopped trying to roll to his feet.) I was not expecting this, but in this way, I knew the instant he died.
The vet started the injection as soon as we had him down, and I had been stroking his neck. Long stroke from the poll to the shoulder, sweeping under his coarse mane. Pat, pat at the shoulder. Then back to the poll for a long stroke to the shoulder, sweeping under his coarse mane.
On my third sweep under his mane, I patted his shoulder. And then it was meat under my hand. Not his neck, not his hide, but pat, pat on a Sunday Roast to make sure the rosemary and pepper clings to the surface. I stroked again, and knew before I started the path down his neck that he was gone.
I've helped horses into this world, and I've helped them out. For some there was panic or pain, for some just a quiet passing as rain dripped on the roof. But I've never before or since felt death happen in the instant between the end of the first pat and the contact of the second.
I didn't know Karada very well when he was alive. He just lived in that little run-in stall near the stairs. I'm not even sure if I saw a picture of him that I would recognize him, but once he died he stayed with me. He shuffles into my dreams from time to time--usually to tell me that something important is about to happen. I do know that the stallions knew exactly why we walked him past their doors, and I do know that in whatever way they could, they offered him some respect as he passed.
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