The drought in the southwest corner of Colorado is killing wild horses Marvel bolted from the shade of towering golden-crowned cottonwoods, his coat a metallic pearl, fingers of light lacing his mane to a bleached pumpkin color. The two-year-old stallion stood blinking his blue eyes in shock not only at…

The repercussions of oppression — Mother One Sixteen. Babied, the last of four. Sired by an itinerant jack of all trades, inventor, a charmer. Raised by a convent-trained mother with no means. Lithe Aphrodite, sapphire eyes, auburn waves. Naïve, a virgin, an innocent in a time devoid of social media. He was handsome, connected. …

What if my writing is mostly a money-losing proposition? — First, consider the source. The writing is fairly entertaining, though the veterinary blood and guts turn some people off. Second, I am basically social medial adverse, computer incompetent, and tech unsavvy, and I choose to remain that way. Third, we live remotely and I have too many animals and too…

Where am I going with this? — Dr. Josie Tate, a veterinarian in a small town in southwest Colorado, leaves a tumultuous relationship behind. While recovering from a catastrophic horse-riding accident, Josie searches for her missing horse, testifies in a court case against a menacing animal abuser, and contemplates her dream of owning a sanctuary for wild…

Colorado Tears, the sequel to Colorado Blood — The Archuleta County emergency SUV slid to a stop where a guy wearing loose jeans held up by a curling cowboy belt and a flannel shirt waved from the side of the turnout at the Willow Draw trailhead. A huge black and gray dog sat woodenly at his side, ears…

The loss of life gave focus to mine — Eight years old, standing in the driveway. Holding on to my mother's Sunday skirt. Watching blood drip onto her arm from the still black puppy in her arms. Across the street, my dad knocked on the veterinarian’s door. The door opened, and I could hear the laughter of children…

Chapter One: Collision in Willow Draw — The middle finger of Josie’s left hand twitched and pulled a furrow in the dirt. Tiny tan puffs curled away, mini dust devils that collapsed and settled back to earth. Moments later Josie’s left eye cracked open but only a tawny, powdery dirt hillside with hunks of broken sandstone and…

And why I am beginning again — Number five. Snow. At 8000 feet in the curve of the continental divide, I am watching it snow once again, flakes floating downward at first, then blowing sideways as the drifts mount. We have nine inches of hard, icy base, and as much as two feet of powder on top…

How youthful rebellion and pandemic isolation relate — I don’t remember what they were talking about and I probably didn’t understand my parents’ conversation anyway, but I remember what I said: “Well, that’s crap.” Tires screeched on the pavement and the car swerved to the curb. …