HELLO FROM CATHERINE

Hi, again. I love this page. It is my place to settle down with good friends and share my day-to-day news. On the surface, it may appear totally focused on me, but behind the scenes, many of you email me with responses, sharing your news. So, in a way, this is only the opening of a conversation that will go on for weeks.

Book news is always fun, but somehow it never seems as personal, even though writing is such a huge part of my life. Because of that life, it has been way too long since I've been in here to update all of you on what's happening in my world, so this will be long. I'm thinking a long letter will fill in where I can't be nowadays, on my bulletin board and doing email replies. So if you aren't a brave soul, quite reading now. If you are one of the countless readers who have written, wanting to know if I'm all right and what's wrong, keep reading.

Good news! Father Jim, our beloved parish priest, is in remission. The cancer responded grandly to the chemotherapy. My thanks to all of you who prayed for his recovery. He isn't out of the woods yet, of course. I think that takes five cancer-free years. But good test results are a great way to begin the long vigil. If you have a loved one who has cancer, and if you are dying inside every day, filled with terror, take heart. Father Jim has beaten the odds. His test results were so good that the doctor is removing his chemo infusion port. The "C" word is no longer always a death sentence. Your loved one has a huge chance of recovering and living to a ripe old age.

This summer our elder son, his wife, and their baby son, Liam, stayed with us for six weeks before they moved to New Zealand. It was during their visit, while playing Super Grandma, that I fell and hurt myself. But even with an injured back, I truly enjoyed getting to be with mom, dad, and baby for such a nice stretch of time. When they left, I was sad, but I quickly got over it. Life doesn't stop when we're feeling sad, and soon, you are so busy that you're feeling happy again.

They left behind their dog, Talili, the litter brother of our Australian shepherd, Buddy. (Pictures of them are on the photo page.) The quarantine for dogs in New Zealand is six weeks, and they just couldn't do that to a young, active dog. As a result, we have our two dogs, Buddy and Kibbles, Talili, our newly adopted furry friend, and Will, our younger son's dog. Yes, you counted right. That is FOUR dogs. We have more canines than humans at our house.

Well, you know how I love dogs. I really don't mind a couple of extras. But Will, the malamute mix, our younger son's dog, and Talili, the Australian shepherd, our older son's dog, don't like each other. This poses a problem, which I solve by playing musical dogs—you know that game, mmusical chairs, where people jump from chair to chair. Well, it's sort of like that, only with dogs. When Will is outside, Talili must be inside, and vice versa. Sounds simple, right? Only it isn't. Buddy, our Australian shepherd, can open unlocked doors, and it seems to be his mission in life to get Will and Talili together. Not a good plan! So in addition to separating dogs, we must make sure all outside doors are locked so Buddy can't facilitate a fight. Well, hello. Going in and out, who remembers to lock the doors every single time? Forgetting has made for some heart-thumping moments. I also had a brain fizzle one night as I was feeding. I got the dogs mixed up, and they all met in the hallway. I yelled so loud that I nearly gave my husband a heart attack, and I startled all the dogs so badly that they ran in different directions, getting into a fight the last thing on their minds.

Did I mention the dog hair? Will, bless his heart, sheds a cupful of fur every time he breathes, I think. I must vacuum once a day, and even then, we have hairballs all over the tile. (Why isn't he bald? Has anyone else noticed that animals can shed enough fur to fill giant-sized garbage bags yet still have a thick coat?) When company comes, I say, "Love me, love my dogs, and don't come here wearing black."

Big sigh. Am I just weird, or is everyone's life this interesting? Because I haven't told you the rest! Our younger son also brought home a horse, and now said horse is in my backyard. Well, not precisely in the yard, but in the woods beyond our lawn area. (Go to photos, and you can see the area at the edge of our back lawn where our new furry friend resides.) He has a nice pen, and he has settled in happily. What is it with me and furry critters? I seem to attract them. When I wake up in the morning, I have a horse that talks love talk to me. (We keep our windows open so we can hear in case a cougar comes to call for dinner, horse the main course.)

The horse's name is Latigo. That is La, with an A sound as in apple, Ti, with an I sound as in it, and Go with a long O, none of the syllables accentuated. A latigo is a cinch on a saddle. Such an ugly name. It sounds like a skin disease. So I insisted that we change the pronunciation to sound Latino , and we call him Luh-tee-go, which is much prettier. My son has now gotten into the habit of the new pronunciation, and all his horse-enthusiast friends correct him. I've heard him explain more than once, "My mom hates the correct pronunciation, so we changed it." Now isn't he a great son?

Latigo loves me because I take him treats. When he sees me coming, he talks to me, and it is so cute. He is such a love.

I also got to meet Bo, our son's buckskin filly. She is a beautiful quarter horse with champion bloodlines, and she injured her front leg. When we went out to see her, she was walking in circles, attached to an automated thing they call a round tree. After her therapy, we were able to meet her. My blouse tails were blowing in the wind, and Bo kept trying to eat them. She nibbled all of my husband's pockets as well. She is soooo darling! Her big brown eyes convey her thoughts, which run along the line of, "Do you have food? You brought me something, right? Where is it? Huh, huh, huh? What are you, stingy or something?"

The Little Remuda Ranch, where she was born and is now staying, is such an interesting place. Horses everywhere. We went to get our older grandson, Joshua, to take him shopping for riding boots, and it was fun to walk around, meeting all the horses. Fran, the leading lady in that story, is wonderful—a slender, pretty cowgirl who adores all of her babies. I will soon go to spend a day with her to research horse ranches and the breeding of champion quarter horses. If you're looking for a fabulous horse, she's your lady.) I saw horses being worked, horses being bathed, horses being brushed, horses being fed, and horses just being loved. Some of them are absolutely beautiful. And there were foals running loose within the fenced ranch proper, following their mothers, who were on leads. I was about to join my husband at a corral, heard hooves striking the earth, and looked up just in time to avoid being run over by twins. They were so precious. They had long whiskers on their noses and even longer legs with knobby knees.

And that is my world. As of today, I have a new horse friend in Latigo's pen. His name is Doc, and my son is hoping to buy him eventually when finances allow. He is so sweet. I just took him apple treats. My goodness. Those jaws are powerful! He could crunch my whole hand. But he's a gentleman, and he very carefully takes the pieces of apple, cautiously avoiding my fingers. He's a sorrel beauty and HUGE. But he's a love. Another horse to make "love talk" noises when I get up at night. It's difficult to put love talk into writing—a feat I must accomplish for my book in progress, which will feature horses. (That book, Tucker Coulter's story, is tentatively titled SUN KISSED.)

Until the next update, picture me with an injured back, hobbling everywhere, and trying to outrun galloping foals. It was so much fun, and I can't wait to return to the Little Remuda Ranch to spend a day with all of those gorgeous animals.

Do you remember Einstein, the tiny squirrel who moved into our house? Well, I doubted I would ever top that story, but now we seem to have a resident skunk. Not inside, thank goodness, but under our house. Now that is a problem. People keep stopping just inside my door and asking, "Do you smell skunk?" It's faint, but it's there, and does anything smell worse? The Terminex man came today, and I almost mentioned it to him. But, then, I thought, "What will he do? Poison it?" So until my husband is here when the terminator comes, we will live in perfect harmony with our odoriferous furry friend. And when it comes time for him to be removed, he will be captured in a live trap. I have it all figured out. I just can't bear for him to be harmed.

Of course, that may mean I won't be able to go anywhere for a week. But with a hurt back, I'm not exactly a social butterfly, anyway, so where's the harm? My husband may suffer more for smelling bad. He won't be able to play golf!

I'll let you know how it turns out. It is my hope that Sir Skunk will decide that four dogs are too much and will find other accommodations without our assistance.

Hugs,

Catherine