Hoof or Gold

Y’all know i desperately wanted to go to the Wyoming School of Horseshoeing. I was devastated when covid destroyed my plans and that i didn’t get a chance to do it before we had to leave to go back to Texas. Well, one door and one window later. I found a course i can start as soon as next week! It’s not horseshoeing on a bison farm but its natural barefoot trimming with mustang/wild horses hooves as the main model. Living in Wyoming i also realised that i might not be as sold on horse shoes as i am on barefoot ponies. Each has its place but i get excited at the prospect of trimming rather than hammering in the shoes with big ol’ nails. That’s gotta mean something.
And maybe thats why Wyoming horse shoeing didn’t workout, because it wasn’t meant to.

However, we’ll see how i fare with this course and whether or not i think barefoot trimming could be for me. Never know — maybe this could be a career one day or at least a bit of pocket money.

cowhand classic at the chuckwagon


It was a cold morning as I remember it. The snow outside had settled but the wind was a brutal son of a bitch, carrying ice and desert snow along the highway in heavy waves. Wrecks began to build along Interstate-80 between Cheyenne and Laramie as they so often do when the weather has gone all to hell. Happy Jack Road was a winding column of black ice, with no one upon it as happy as the road itself. Thanksgiving passed with the regular hitches and full bellies. The Cornish hens tasted phenomenal and I’ve never had a bad thing to say about garlic butter biscuits.
 The Sunday before returning to work was a sad day as it so often is. No more late sleeping, back to the bump and grind to someone else’s lousy rhythm in an office high in the sky. That’s the day I’m telling you about.

When I pulled myself outta bed I stretched lazily, trying to unbuckle the sodding nerve trapped somewhere in my neck between my shoulder and my metal ear. I didn’t prosper in my attempt, the infernal thing is plaguing me still. Jack had started the coffee pot as soon as he roused and the smell, though I don’t drink the stuff, was welcoming. He usually always gets up before me. I’m lazy as a retired bloodhound truth be known and weekends are for sleeping. We sat for a while in front of the tv while I tried to catch up on my knitting projects and Jack nursed his Arbuckle’s. It was probably King of the Hill we were watching or some form of Disney Imagineering documentary. Regular old pair of boots we are, and antisocial.

The night before we’d discussed trying to grab breakfast at the Chuckwagon, a local mom and pop place on the outskirts of town with peculiar working hours, to which we struggle to abide. Several times we’ve endeavored to go for lunch or dinner only to find it closed before seeing hide or hair of 2pm in the afternoon. However, it being the Lord’s Day to laugh, it was open around 7am ready for the church rush. Thus we ventured into the snow and got the car out of the garage, hungry as London paupers.
It’s a great place for a writer camp with a cup of coffee, if they drink it, or an unsweet ice tea in my case; to write the next bestseller about some fella with a hitch in his step and an ugly wife that feeds the cows in her birthday suit during the dead of winter. The place has character and a cozy little ambience about it. I wish it was open more often and that I had the freedom to go and write at a favorite table as a first name basis regular, however, unless I become a full time paid writer within the next few months I don’t see it happening. Never say never and never say die… unless you put it in a poem.

I ordered the cowhand classic breakfast with scrambled eggs, a griddle loved pancake and seasoned hash browns with a tall iced tea full of ice. Now the bacon was almost a little too sweet for me personally but it’s tough to compare to the Jalapeno bacon I cook at home. The eggs and the pancake were nevertheless on point. We sat at our table talking about buffalo Bill and what errands we needed to run that day – I probably mentioned Calamity Jane too as I’m apt to do. We got excited about our upcoming travels and a potential get away to Deadwood in the spring. About us were good o’l boys reminiscing about girls they loved and hardworking sons moving into the family business, they hovered over their coffee mugs like gummy vultures trying to chew a tough steak. I half expected Craig Johnson to walk on in and sit by the window. He didn’t.

A few authors say that if you wait for conditions to be prime before you write, you’ll never say a word. I guess I’m the lonesome exception. I truly struggle to write at home unless I am alone. I can write for 8 hours a day at work and feel accomplished and know I’ve done well. Whereas if I stay home, not only do I have distractions and things I feel must get done, but it’s harder to get into the mindset. At work I write to drown out the everyday office scenario but I need to buck up. I have to set aside a little time each week to force myself to also write at home whether I’m with Jack or not. After all that’ll be where I write my other novels if ever one sells. Having said that, as long as something is written I shan’t complain.

I hope December finds you well my friends.
Be HAPPY.
Be Great.
Create.

Your keeper, 
Bella.

old bow leg

Well, as you can see I found a home in Wyoming. A place that is enough to possibly persuade me to stop running one day. If Wyoming were an ocean I would spend my life trying to drink it, whether the salt would burn and poison me would be trivial. Though even New England where the sea was close — I found myself missing the sea because it was so cramp and full of tourists. It was never like those cold nights alone on Sand Bay beach. Thousands of miles from me now and years of memories past.
Here there is no ocean or tall ships, there is only waves and waves of empty prairie. And for now I shall have to get my oceanic fix when I fly home to Denmark or you know.. if I ever get lucky enough to take a holiday to Saint Vincent where the sea is blue and the sand is whiter than I am.

I could never choose what I loved most or what I wanted to do. And so I told the world to go fuck itself.
I’ll do it all.
And I have.

I’ve sailed with pirates and commodores. Ive ridden horses on the Texas front and I’ve been the clown I was born to be. These days I find myself in a strange state of mind. A happiness wrapped in dark melancholy that is oddly comforting.
I have a job that pays me and will fund every dream from now. I have the west and I find my dreams coming true even weekly. But when you are a part of so many things that make your heart pump a million, there is always something missing.
Today is not a day that I will sail. Nor is tomorrow. But there will be a day when I see the sea and we’ll kiss like we always do.

I don’t know what kind of believer I am, but I know things do happen. And one thing that happened most recently, something that shook me to my core, was that I met a horse.. a horse that captured me like a sail from a mast holding the wind. An old man whom I call Old Bowleg. Im sure local photographers have an actual name for him, but I gave him this one.
A majestic horse that has seen war with half his ear chewed from its cartilage and a leg bent all out of shape. Yet still he stands as tall as the trees at the bottom of a valley. Still he knows the favorable wind and it flows through his mane. If there was a god — he walks this earth with a bowleg. Now that is something I can believe in.
He was a painting. He was an old chieftain without his tribe. I believe that he had been run off from his mares by a younger suitor. So out there on top of the mountain I found him. Between the reeds and the straw. This beautiful animal, stronger than any man I’ve ever seen, and his faith never wavered in all his years regardless of the fact that his leg struggled beneath him. It didn’t matter because he could fly.


If I had had the time to sit and talk with him a while I would have, but alas it was not be this time. If he Is still alive when the summer comes I shall look for him and maybe I am destined to look for him for an eternity. If that is the way, so be it. But how grateful I am to have seen him even for a moment, it seemed but a second. He was what I always dreamed a true American mustang must be. What America was and can be again. Thats unfair. America is a wonderful place, but the politics — the never fucking ending political bullshit is nonsense. And so I don’t think about it. I think about what I see and what I feel.

And that horse, that day — he took something from me and since I saw him I haven’t been able to stop feeling like I wanted to run back. I don’t relate to people. Thats not my business. Animals, its always the animals. They have me in a vice. Bowleg gave me something… a vision. I will remember him as my spirit horse — the one who taught me that though I have been pained and wounded it doesn’t have to stop me. It doesn’t have to define me. As long as I remember.
Remember. Remember. Remember.
To as true to you as you can be.
It doesn’t matter what Agatha did or what Johnson said. Riley can go fuck himself. What matters today and tomorrow is what you are.

No one can take that from me. And no one can take it from you.
Wopila!

chasing the american mustang *take one*

As i said before, i’ve always wanted to photograph the american wild horses whether it was in Nevada or Wyoming, wherever.
I never thought in a million years i would live either place. I feel pretty lucky and i feel incredibly far away from home at the same time. For thats a very rare feeling, usually I don’t think much about how far from Denmark or England I am, but this time I really knocked distance out of the park.

This weekend we took a drive around to see if we could catch some glimpses of wild horses near us here in Laramie, and there are quite a few. I’ve been looking for them since we got here and finally I’ve started being able to piece some kind of pattern together. If i felt like getting my ass shot and risk trespassing i would’ve gotten a lot closer to them than i did. But this is only the beginning of another old dream i thought would never happen and yet here we are. You and me — on my little blog.


Ironic really, i’m the type of person who doesn’t believe dreams come true but a lot, if not most, of mine have so far. When hell comes knocking for me, he’s got some real shit in store of me. I can count on it, but for now i’ll enjoy the fruits of my labor of this dreaming business. It feels like after all these years of moving, travelling, homesickness and struggle are starting to pay off. And it’s lovely to see Jack back in his natural habitat. The Plains.

Now that my full time job is starting tomorrow i’m pretty excited about looking into purchasing a new lens for wildlife photography because theres critters everywhere around here. Everywhere. And it also means i can finally start putting some money away to go to the school of horseshoeing in 2020. Lots of things are coming together.. I just have to get the first day over with which for me is the biggest hurdle because its scary and uncomfortable and daunting. Is it the weekend yet?

On this trip alone we came across prairie dogs, bald eagles, red hawks, resting pronghorns and three or four different herds of horses on the hillside a little too far away. Whereas in New Hampshire I felt lucky if I saw a plastic bag fluttering around in the wind like a ballerina — but not really because pollution sucks balls. New Hampshire was beautiful, but this is another world.

This is where we belong right now. On the plains with this beauty. Dappled in utter perfection somewhere on Sheep Mountain.


One day, on these lonesome prairies so high in the sky, i’d like have a homestead with my own herd of wild mustangs that just drift over hundreds of acres. And have a couple of retired draft horses too … because damn i love draft horses.

Thanks for reading. I hope for us all that the weekend comes quicker than a woman during foreplay, unless she’s got a headache — in which case. Good luck friend, I do not envy you.

All Trails Lead to Laramie **vlog**

It took me forever and I’m glad its over so I can get a million of my other things done.. like writing my books.
I hope you all enjoy the fruits of my efforts. Feel free to ask and comment below!
Tell me what would be on your bucket list and where you would go.