I was born loving horses but didn’t have one of my own till I was forty-five years old. That’s a long time to wait for a dream to come true. After more than twenty years and two bad accidents, my active involvement with horses came to an end. I scratch my phantom horse itch by writing stories about them. It’s a lot less dangerous and almost as much fun.
If you haven’t met Tom the Wonder Horse yet, read about him—and Cricket, his evil twin—right here.
Charley’s Horse has been republished with a few corrections and a brilliant new cover. It’s a coming-of-age story about a horse-loving girl shipped off to summer riding camp while her parents thrash out their divorce. The problem? She’s never even sat on a horse!
Look for Charley’s Horse on Amazon.com in both the Kindle and print editions.
Tom was an amazing horse. The only time I ever saw him afraid was in a town parade with the bagpipes playing right behind him. Otherwise, his reaction to scary things happening was to sigh. Deeply.
November in Australia’s Blue Mountains, 1994. Stinking hot. Bushfire weather.
Tom the Wonder Horse was nineteen. He was probably the oldest gelding ever to cross the Pacific, but leaving him in Australia was unthinkable. In fact, if we couldn’t take Tom, I wasn’t going either.
Diana and I were waiting for Frappuccinos at our local Starbucks when I saw this ad stapled to the bulletin board: Charlie Granite, 10 y.o. registered quarter horse, 15.1 hh, chestnut w flaxen mane and tail.
Early summer in the Berkshires, with hay ready to cut and the smell of meadowsweet in the air. It was the perfect day for a carriage drive.
My black pony Cricket certainly loves a challenge. He’s very smart and has always been somewhat underemployed.
When we moved back to the U.S. from Australia, Tom came, too. People are surprised that we flew him back, but you don’t leave family behind.