The Guardian Part 1

This story is by Joan M. French-Warner, a friend and fellow writer. I am sharing this story with you, reader, because the cause she is advocating is a worthy one. This story will be in three parts, so check back on Tuesday and Friday for the next installments.

the guardian copy


’Twas the night before auction

And all through the pens

The horses were restless

Separated from friends

Being the oldest

I had to act brave

I said to the herd

We’ll surely be saved

They mocked me and snorted

You’re such a lame brain

You know we’ll all perish

Kill-buyers will reign

Firmly planting my feet

I flung my head high

And staunchly protested

I won’t say good-bye

Then someone took notice

Could take only two

And that person rescued

Old Dodger and Slew

Old Dodger, that’s me

And Slew, my best friend

Let me tell you about us

From beginning to end


A Magnificent Place

A Dream

We stumbled from the horse transport trailer and looked out over eleven acres of wild grasses under a canopy of eucalyptus and oak trees. A babbling brook added serenity to the peaceful, healing site for sick horses. Here, we have been promised a forever home with the best of care—plenty of good food, clean water, and medical attention.

We will be exercised and groomed every day, never again hauled from barn to barn, or back yard to back yard.

Cruel and devastating treatment behind us, we can luxuriate in our new surroundings, recuperate from our wounds, heal from disease, and enjoy the camaraderie of like companions.

A magnificent place and forever home.

A dream . . . rapidly turned to nightmare.


The stench

The flies

The cruelty of neglect

My name is Dodger. I’m a thirty-four-year-old Quarter Horse—that’s a hundred and two in people years. They nicknamed me The Guardian, mostly because I’m the oldest horse here. But I also notice all the activities of the ranch, and am aware of my herd’s needs. I know who’s sick, who should have shoes, and who has special dietary requirements.

Until recently, I suffered the unimaginable anguish of animal hoarding. Actually, most of our life here hasn’t been easy for me or my companions.

Rescued from the Kill-buyer, I hardly recognized myself—a fragile skeleton on four legs held together with a paper-thin layer of skin. I shuffled when I tried to walk, barely able to move due to the excruciating pain of laminitis. It’s a painful inflammatory condition of tissues that bond the hoof wall to the bone in the hoof.

My teeth were so rotten most of them had to be pulled. Eating alfalfa and grain became impossible. I lost even more weight.

Relief at being freed didn’t last long. I had been saved by an animal hoarder. Shoved into a small pen with other horse-mates, we stood in our own urine and feces day after day. Waste, flies and too much grain caused me to have several health ailments.

Constant seepage from my eyes streaked my face with gunk. Flies swarmed to hide their eggs in this warm, soggy mess, causing summer sores. They also chewed the tips of my ears, which are already too small for my head. I’m cursed with teddy-bear ears which humans think are cute. But I digress.

Cushings Disease affected my health in many ways. It is a dysfunction of the pituitary gland often found in older horses. It caused me to drink lots of water, the results of which certainly didn’t help the condition of my pen.

My coat, once black and shiny sleek, became dull, thick, and fell out in clumps. The hair on my legs—shaggy and caked with muck. My mane and tail—thick and matted.

I smelled really b-a-d!

No one seemed to care. No vet visits. No one gave me attention, other than to toss alfalfa into my pen each day. My head hung low. I sighed often. I became a spectacle to be stared at; a symbol of neglect to elicit human sympathy.

Gradually I lost my self—that indomitable spirit within me overflowing with life. Gone. You could see it in my eyes. Life and light—vanished.

To be continued…


All donations to MASH go directly to the feed and care of the animals. You can donate securely online through PayPal, or by mail to:


PO Box 1133

Mira Loma, CA 91752

Stabity Stabity

Stabity stabity, poke, swish.

I like to catch a gnome, delish!

Fry them up with tasty fish

Then serve ‘em in a plastic dish.


As dictated to A.L. Sant by London Silverlight.

Throwback Thursday

Oh what the heck, I’ll post a day early so I can remind you of my book, Tilted Tales under the guise of the pop culture phenomenon, throwback Thursday. Cheers!


Inner Magic

Every living being carries magic at its core,

Even those who never did a mystic thing before.


Don’t commit to memory shifty lines of magic spells.

Don’t mix yourself a brew of sense-offending smells.


The magic that I mean takes so little skill to cast.

Bet my worldly fortune that you’ve used it in the past.


It doesn’t take a wizard to figure what this means:

Loving is a power that is written in your genes.




tilted tales cover <————-Click me!!!!!!

Buy me.

The Adventurous booger

The Adventurous Booger

by A.L. Sant

adventurous booger

There once was a blob who lived up a nose

Who wanted to roam beyond fingers and toes.

Trapped in the nose-cave of a young boy

Who managed to thwart his every slip ploy,

Our noble green booger oft tried to sneak out,

But then the boy snuffled him back up his snout.

Our booger would dream of seeing the sun,

Of making new friends and having some fun.

But every trek down would end in a sniff,

His brief glace of freedom, hardly a whiff.

Frustrated, tired, and fearing defeat,

He tried one last move before his retreat.

The booger reached up to the hairs overhead,

And gave one a yank ‘till it hung by a thread.

The boy sucked in air, once, and then twice,

And the booger pulled hard, this time more precise.

The boy held his breath, then shouted “Aachoooo!”

That finally did it! The booger was through!

He sailed through the air like a bird in the sky.

He knew he could do it, if given a try!

Finally free, and finally airborne

The view was much better than he would have sworn.

He landed inside an old lady’s eye

Who greeted the boy as he passed right by.

The booger saluted his new goopy friends,

Who clung to the sides of her thick reading lens.

The green booger then lived happily after,

Outside his nose cave, among friends and laughter.

More Glass Than Wall

published advert


I’m very happy to announce a dear friend’s accomplishment; More Glass Than Wall, the second book of poetry by Judie Mare. This is an amazing journey across the globe, one poem at a time. It is in full color, and is filled with vibrant photos of Mare’s travels. Ever been to Chitchen Itza? Or England? How about Egypt? I had the enormous pleasure of helping with the formatting on this book. It felt as if I had traveled alongside her, though I have never stepped foot outside the USA, and I don’t even have a passport.

If you click on the image above, it will lead you to if you are interested in purchasing it. Before you get sticker shock, be aware that this book is an 8×10 (so not a normal sized paperback) and is in full color. Printing costs on color books are significantly more expensive than black and white. That being said, the book is listed at $21.00.  I encourage you to take a peek inside. Once you get a glimpse, I know you will love it as much as I do.

On a side note, Timmy Tommy Tum is getting it’s final polish and I will be announcing the release soon.

Until then, happy reading!

The First

Dear Uncle Sam,

                            I’ve had it, you’re fired!

Your excuses and rants are long over-tired.

Pay yourself first and screw over our soldiers

Then offer a pat to yourself on the shoulders?!

What have you done to the land that I love?

You gave our amendments a cliff-hanger shove.

The right to assemble is gagged by permits

And the right to bear arms is headed for quits.

Searching of homes kills our fur-kin

And appeals of wrong entry go to the bin.

Get ready, set, bail. What can you afford?

Innocent ’till proven, yet locked with ill-horde.

You set the limits on a president’s term

Yet keep your own seat until you’re infirm.

What can I do? I hold but one vote

A flick of your tongue could see overwrote.

My trust, hope and faith are loosing their place

‘Cause the red, white and blue has on a neck brace.

I send you these words with a heart that’s sincere,

A sentiment you would belittle and smear.

It may all mean nothing at the end of the day,

But while I still have the First, I still have my say.