Yesterday was a weird day.
I had cleared my calendars on my phone and computer, even my planner – the only place that the formidable date of this week could be still be found intentionally or unintentionally in my vicinity is on the white board in my room in small print at the very bottom: May 22 through 29th ~ Africa.
A venture that my sister and I have talked about for years, since 2017 in fact, and one that she finally made a reality in 2018, is that we want to ride a hose in every country. I mean it’s no small feat but it’s a great way to get out of our comfort zone, save our pennies and see the world – all between the ears of one of God’s most magical creatures.
Horse people are horse people, we are all obsessed with horses and no matter the cultural or language barriers – we always have a connection. That connection is pretty amazing to see and share. It makes me even more thankful that, when growing up, my mom actually had us start as carriage drivers, move to English and dressage, than western equitation and pleasure, then horse judging and knowledge, then speed events and then rodeo. It’s allows us an opportunity that not even most horse people would be able to do; to do it all with confidence.
Our first stop on the adventure Nicole actually did without me. Jousting horses in Australia. The second stop was the two of us plus two-fifths of our favorite eastern Oregon ranching family, the Johnson’s in the United Kingdom, and the third stop was this year in South Africa on an African horse safari.
Yesterday was the day that we were supposed to have left and I wouldn’t have known if it wasn’t for the fact that we had six other friends that were going to join us. Friends from rodeo, rodeo queening, 4H and our community. Those traitors started posting and while I’m not mad in the slightest, it definitely caught me off guard and had me “feeling some sort of way” as my southern friends would say.
If you had asked me hat I would be doing 80 days before yesterday, I would have gushed about this African Horse Safari and how I was going to be racing horses with wildebeest in just a few short months with my sister and good friends.
COVID-19 has changed all of that. I am in Oregon, looking at moving back to the farm more permanently for the summer, while I wait for the housing market to adjust to the pandemic impacts, and it’s just not where I thought I was going to be both literally and figuratively.
But, let’s look at this from a different angle.
About 80 days ago it was March 1st. Four weeks later, on April 1st, Phoebe was found on a hiking retrial in San Diego at an estimated four weeks old. Eighty days ago, Phoebe the Pandemic Puppy was born.
I think not!
And, now here we are, on the farm, laughing and loving life with this weirdo, spitfire of a puppy that we have NO idea what she is. I mean, honestly she’s like blue heeler meets Belgian Malinois or German Shepherd meets Kelpie but make it mini because she’s barely 13” tall.
God has a purpose, we just have to let him guide us.