My favorite books and TV from 2024

It’s time for my annual, spoiler-free recommendation list, where I pretend to be an influencer and tell you all the things I want to influence you into reading or watching. Some of these are 2024 releases and some of these are decades old but all of these are media that I consumed and was excited enough about it that I wanted to share!

The best things I read

I read 56 new (to me) books in 2024! I’m so happy to be back in the swing of reading regularly and to have read seven 5-star books this year. 

Pony Confidential by Christina Lynch

My favorite book of 2024, this book is like if Black Beauty was a sassy shetland pony. This book isn’t the most realistic, but it’s bursting with heart and charm and was just the best read. 

Maus by Art Spiegelman

On the other end of the spectrum, I finally read Maus, thanks to my pals Maria and Rachel talking about it at dinner one night (and special shout-out to Maria for inviting me to her book club discussion!). I’m not big on WW2 fiction and I’ve never wanted to read a graphic novel so I wasn’t convinced this book would be for me. However, as you know if you talked to me at all in the month of September, I could not shut up about this incredible book. At its core, this is a character-driven biography and a story about people doing their best and their worst. It made me smile, it made me cry, it made me think. This is the one book on this list I insist you read.  

Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt

This was a buzzy book last year and for good reason! The story follows a widow's unlikely friendship with a giant Pacific octopus reluctantly residing at the local aquarium and her journey to learn what happened to her deceased son. Exactly what I want from literary fiction.

Girls and their Horses by Eliza Jane Brazier

Also popular among the equestrian community and frankly, a fun and fast read. One of my wheelhouses for books is “wealthy women behaving badly and acting angsty” and when you add horses and murder to the mix you really can’t miss. 

Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl

A second WW2 book?? And a philosophy book? No one can ever say I don’t leave my comfort zone. Psychiatrist Viktor Frankl's memoir fascinated me with its descriptions of life in Nazi death camps and lessons for spiritual survival. Reading his perspective as a psychiatrist during the Holocaust offered entirely new perspectives and gave me some hope for humanity. 

Happy Place by Emily Henry

I’ve always enjoyed Emily Henry’s rom com books but Happy Place has been my favorite. I remember aggressively turning the pages because I HAD to know where these crazy kids were going next. 

Carrie Soto is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid

I think I had Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Daisy Jones and the Six on my list last year and probably enjoyed Carrie Soto even more. I’m not usually big on sports stories and especially not tennis but this was a staunch exception. Also falls a bit into my “wealthy women behaving badly and acting angsty” wheelhouse.

The best things I watched

Unlike my book of reading, I only had one five star watch this year, The Bear. Everything else listed here was good, but didn’t make me ravenous for more. 

“The Bear” (s1-3)

In a year of good not great movies and TV, I finally got around to watching The Bear and it fully lived up to the hype. I’d put it off because I heard a lot of people describe it as tense and anxious, which it is, but it’s also warm and encouraging and makes me give a shit about people in shitting situations. Season 2 especially was by far the best thing I watched this year. Hulu.

“The Franchise” (s1)

This little half hour HBO workplace comedy follows a team of people working on a fictional Marvel (called something else) movie. It’s clever and fun and according to the subreddit for PAs in Hollywood, painfully accurate. Great show if you’re a media nerd. HBO.

“XMen 97” (s1)

This one surprised me because I don’t really care for animated content (aesthetically) and I don’t really care about the XMen but this show had a surprising amount of heart. The fact that it’s animated to look like a late 90s cartoon is also just millennial engagement bait and you know what, it worked. Disney+.

“Bodkin” (S1)

Will Forte is an American podcaster in Ireland who gets tangled up with small town mystery, crime, and the supernatural. I watched this over the summer but it’s so autumnal it hurts. Not especially scary or dark, but definitely spooky enough to be the perfect October binge. Netflix.

“Animal Control” (s2)

I love animals, I love workplace comedies, and I love Joel McHale. This is the least serious, lowest brow rec on this list, but we all need a popcorn watch every once in a while and I can guarantee you’re not going to have a bad time watching this sitcom. Hulu. 

Honorable mentions

Honorable mentions for competition shows where no one cries and makes a fuss and instead it’s just people doing a thing and having fun:

• “Blown Away:” Glassblowing competition on Netflix

• “Only Connect:” Impossibly difficult trivia on YouTube

• “Taskmaster:” Hilariously absurd physical and mental puzzles on YouTube

6 lessons from one year of horse ownership

I took my first riding lesson in March 1999— approximately 25 years, 2 months, and 2 billion ounces of blood, sweat, and tears ago. This experience put me in the horse shopping position of very much not my first rodeo in the middle of what is technically my first rodeo. As I navigated starting over in Chattanooga, my first year as a horse owner has been somehow easier and harder than expected, while being more fun than I could have ever imagined. 

So, what have I learned? Humor me with some very obvious statements that became fully realized for me this year. 

1. A horse is a pet that doesn’t live with you. This has been the most surprising experience. I’m fully responsible for my dogs, but they’re around all the time and easy to manage. I’m fully responsible for Manta…but also not because her daily care is in the (very capable) hands of my incredible barn owners and their staff. Despite having room to keep her at home, the appeal of boarding is not needing to take charge of her daily care, yet I am still sometimes surprised to not be in charge of her daily care.

2. You don’t have to be that smart to own a horse. I technically knew this already because I’ve met horse people (not you though, reader. You’re very smart). But, much like the general fear that I’m not smart enough to travel alone or do my job or buy a house, I thought owning a horse would require more intellectual skill than I possess. (I think this is called imposter syndrome). While horse shopping I spent a fair amount of time reading about horse anatomy and biology because what if I’m expected to know the name of all the bones? (I’m not).

It turns out that I know a thing or two about horses and what I don’t know I ask and then I do know. I guess what I’m saying is that any idiot can buy a horse and it’s not that hard as long as you know the right people and ask the right questions. Once again, imposter syndrome was wrong (I will learn nothing from this and continue to feel like an imposter). 

3. Horses don’t know who owns them because horses can’t read. I’ve leased, loved, and ridden countless horses. I liked some more than others and some liked me more than others. A dim and irrational part of my brain (or heart) thought that Manta would immediately love me best of all and we would be best friends. Of course I knew that’s foolish; she is both a mare and a mustang, which means that this is her world and I just live in it.

While Manta certainly likes me, I don’t think she likes me more than Zoe ever liked me, which is fair because Zoe and I spent nearly every day together for 3 years. And neither Zoe nor Manta have a concept of whose name is on the papers. In hindsight, I’m glad to know that Zoe or Geronimo or Sparky or any horse I’ve ever loved would have cared if I’d been the one paying board. 

4. I get to know Manta for as long as I want (and luck will permit). Manta is never going to be sold from under me. I won’t move on to another horse and leave her behind. If I move across the country, she’ll come with me. She won’t live forever, but she’ll spend the rest of her life with me, which means we have so much more time together than I’ve ever spent with one horse. For someone who has always been good at bouncing around from horse to horse, the vastness of the journey ahead of me is overwhelmingly exciting. 

5. I will never be 22 again. There was a wonderful time in my life when everything revolved around horses. School and work took a backseat to riding. I had no other hobbies and very few other friends. My reward for a small, passionate world was being the best rider I’ve ever been. I could canter a jump course with no tack, I could school 4th level movements every week, I galloped fearlessly and joyfully. When I moved to Nebraska the day after my 26th birthday, I took this opportunity to find other hobbies and see what else could bring me joy. I rode weekly instead of daily and found a love for running, painting, and photography.

Now I’m back to a near-daily horse habit but it’s not the center of my life. I’m a serious rider, but not an obsessive one. Work keeps me from riding as much as I’d like but even then, sometimes I go to the barn just to groom and hand graze. I don’t get annoyed when Tim asks me to go hiking with him on a weekend morning instead of going to the barn. As a result, Manta isn’t as far along as she could be; her progress is upward and consistent, but slow. The teen in me is screaming to hurry up and get Manta ready for shows, but the adult in me feels so much more balance and peace in this life.

6. I just really love ponies. This one I knew before this year, but I’m constantly reminded of it now that I’m back to a regular horsey life. Being in the barn is so great. Horse friends are so great. Riding, talking about horses, thinking about horses, reading about horses, it’s still as fun and interesting to me today as it was 25 years ago. 

I am so lucky to have horses around. I am so lucky to have friends and family who understand why I have to put so much of myself into horses. I have worked like hell to get here, but I wouldn’t be living this happy life without a whole lot of love and the right kind of luck. Happy one year, Manta, and thank you for being you. 

My favorite books, TV, and movies of 2023

If you’re looking to add to your 2024 reading or watchlist, here are my spoiler-free recommendations based on everything I consumed for the first time in 2023!

Books

2023 was my second year keeping track of books I read and I’m proud to say I beat last year’s total by just a few, finishing the year with 51 new books under my belt. Here are my 5 favorite books of the year, in no particular order:

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin (fiction)

This book has been on several “must read” lists lately and I have to admit, it’s worth the hype. The storytelling was well-paced, the characters were engaging, and the plot is still living in my head, almost a year after reading it. It really does live up to expectations and I highly recommend it to anyone. 

The Guest by Emma Cline (fiction)

To be fair, I love Emma Cline, so I was pretty biased in favor of this book. Once again, her morose prose lays on a thick layer of female angst that’s exactly up my alley. 

Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld (fiction)

Probably the least well-written of this list, but I had a ton of fun reading this book. The main character is essentially Liz Lemon and since 30 Rock is one of my very favorite shows, I was highly inclined to buy into this rom-com story. If you’re looking for a fun beach read, this is the book for you.

Body Language: Writers on Identity, Physicality, and Making Space for Ourselves edited by  Nicole Chung and Matt Ortile (nonfiction)

Moving to nonfiction, I read this book for a local book club and really enjoyed exploring a diverse range of essays about body image, health, and ableism. I was forced to consider perspectives I’ve never once thought of and walked away more empathetic for others and my own body. 

They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib (nonfiction)

Calling a book powerfully written has become a cliche but there truly is no other way to describe my second nonfiction pick of the year. Abdurraqib is undeniably the most talented author on this list in the way he weaves music into raw essays on race, class, religion, and humanity. If this book doesn’t make you stop and think, nothing will. 

Honorable mentions:

• Our Numbered Days by Neil Hilborn (poetry)

• Fishbowl by Bradley Somer (fiction)

• In the Middle Are the Horsemen by Tik Maynard (nonfiction)

• Anxious People by Fredrik Backman (fiction)

TV and Movies

This year I watched 29 seasons of shows for the first time and 12 new (to me) movies. I’m glad I also read all those books or I would worry I’m spending too much time in front of the television haha. In my typical fashion, all of my favorite watches this year were comedies, though the extent of the humor varies a ton. Even looking at the honorable mentions, I really stuck with what made me smile. In this economy, who can afford to feel bad at the movies? 

White Lotus, S2

I listed season 1 as an honorable mention and season 2 tidies up everything missing from the first season. The writing is snappy, the characters are compelling, and I had a great time wondering what would happen next.  It’s worth noting that each season is a standalone story, so you don’t need to watch S1 if you want to jump right into the best.

Party Down S1 and S2

I’ve had Party Down on my watchlist for years and I’m so mad at myself that it took me this long to watch it. This show was consistently smart and hilarious and it’s a shame the third season didn’t quite measure up. 

Succession, S4

Not to be that person but I’ve been watching Succession since Day 1 since it was marketed as a show for media nerds. It ended perfectly, with the characters right where I’d like them to be. This show had me on the edge of my seat but always with room to pause for laughs. It’s not for everyone, but it’s definitely for me. 

Barbie

The only movie on my list, and well-deserved. Among my circles, Barbie’s chief criticism is that it’s Feminism 101 and not diving much deeper than that. To which I say, that’s fine, I’ve never had so much fun in Feminism 101. I laughed, I cried, I felt seen and respected. That’s pretty much all I can ask for from a summer movie. Plus, it’s the first female-directed movie to make a billion dollars and I can’t be mad about that!

Honorable mentions

• Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

• Our Flag Means Death S2

• Killing It S2

• True Blood S6 (fight me; the whole show was amazing)

• White Lotus S1

• Party Down S3

That’s all from 2023! Thanks for caring about my opinion and see ya next year

One Month of Manta

When I went to make an Instagram post celebrating one month of Manta, I realized how few pictures I have of her. 

Obviously by "few" I mean "a hundred" but by my standards, I haven't taken that many. I haven't even brought my camera to the barn for a proper photoshoot. Obviously, it's not because I think she's ugly; she's a real life unicorn. 

Actually, I'm in awe. I'm literally so wrapped up in the joy of my moments with her I'm forgetting to document them. This has only ever happened on my wedding day. I'm truly in awe of my beautiful, beautiful pony. 

Awe of her, yes, of course. Watching her personality bloom over the last month, seeing her crawl out of the introversion that she came so wrapped up in and slowly build the confidence of an animal who knows she can relax has been awesome. I'm delighted by how quickly she's gained weight and started developing tiny muscles. 

But even more, I'm in awe of the journey. All these years of waiting and wondering and smiling politely and then waiting some more brought me here, to the start of a new adventure. A continuation of the old one, feeling both completely familiar and terrifyingly new. 

What an exhilarating journey I’m on. While I was debating my purchase, I confessed to my pal Saskia that I worried what people would think of my buying a downhill built, 11 yr old mustang rescue. Aside from the typical platitudes about making decisions for me, not other people's opinions, she gave wonderful insight: 

“You're not buying a horse for the show ring. You're buying for the journey."

Yes that's exactly it (typical Saskia, to be so wise!). I very much want to show again, I love showing. But it's not my reason. My reason is to have a horse friend to hack in fields and play in puddles and hand graze for hours. A horse I can bring along slowly and try new things with. And this mare, who during my test rides braved puddles, thunderstorms, and giant screaming trucks, is certainly the friend for the job. 

For that, for the gift of her friendship and the start of our journey, I'm in awe. 

My nana, the witch

This is the first work of fiction I’ve created in a decade; written for Toastmasters as a speech. I enjoyed writing it so much I wanted to share it here as well! But I must emphasize that this is deeply fictional.

I’ve spent most of my life in the Appalachian foothills in one form or another so while I wouldn’t call myself a true Appalachian, I am a lot closer than most–and I’ll also note that I’m using the northern Appalachian pronunciation, for any purists in the audience. 

Though a rambunctious child, I wasn’t what you’d call brave. Since I was old enough to understand the priest telling us of demons and hellfire, I’d suffered night terrors that left me permanently on edge as I waited for the monsters of the night to appear in my waking life.

This didn’t stop my love for the outdoors, though, and with my brother being more of an indoor cat, I spent a lot of time in the woods alone. 

I came across all sorts of oddities, mostly harmless animal remains and oddly stacked rocks that freaked me out then but now I suspect were just the result of bored teens. So rather than tell you of my misadventures in the wilderness, I’m here to tell you about my nana, the witch.

My nana had the same ash blonde hair as me, though I think hers came from a box as she aged. She was the source of my father’s dominant gift to me--hard gray eyes that don’t miss much. Her graveled smoker’s voice lingered years after quitting and the smell of Marlboros mixed with the lemon soaps she always used remains one of my favorite scents. And around her neck always hung a simple gold locket featuring my brother and me, her only grandchildren.  

We visited her and my Papap often enough that I felt comfortable exploring their property on my own, but not so frequently I could call us close. 

When I was about 7, though, my Nana bridged that gap by casually mentioning, over an exceptionally good plate of spaghetti, that her secret recipe came from witchcraft. 

“Oh, I’m a witch, you know,” she said, without a trace of humor. 

No, I actually did not know, and I stared in shock, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn’t, and my mom shut down that conversation right quick, so I remained silent. 

Later, during bedtime, I broached the subject. “Is Nana an evil witch?” I hadn’t heard of any other sort of witch.

“No, baby girl,” Mom said, “she’s only teasing.” 

I considered. I knew witches were real, because the Church had warned us of them, and why would we be warned about something that wasn’t real? 

But Nana never seemed particularly evil, just clever with domestic things and herbal remedies. And, in that time and place, it was more accepted to turn to ginger or whiskey than tums or sudafed so I never questioned her.

I got my answer--or what I’ll let you decide is an answer--a few months later, when my brother and I went to stay for a weekend. 

Unhappy to be away from my friends and their swimming pools, but pleased to have uninterrupted witch-hunting time, I went to bed eagerly for the first time in years, ready to wait for midnight, the most haunted hour. 

When my baby blue digital watch beeped its hourly call signaling midnight, I slowly creaked into the hall. Then I hesitated, having not thought the plan through beyond this. 

Until I smelled the smoke.

Silent as a nearly 8-yr-old-ghost, I glided outside to see a small fire crackling in the yard. While the gentle August air danced around my bare legs, I marveled at my Nana, her back to me, dressed in a simple white linen dress. 

She stood with her face to the bright moon, lost in her own world, and oblivious to my presence. Dangling from her hand was the ever-present locket, hanging open as the fire caught the gold and made my own image dance back at me. 

Her only movement was a gentle sway, nearly mimicking the slow crackle of the fire. I stood, captivated by moonlight and its old magic for what could have been hours but was surely only minutes. 

Eventually, I felt drawn back to my own bed, a peaceful sleepiness enveloping my tiny body and I collapsed into my first dreamless sleep in years. 

I don’t know if my Nana was a witch. I don’t know why she changed her clothes and started a fire after everyone else had gone to bed and I don’t know why that was the last weekend we stayed over. 

I don’t know if my Nana’s willful neglect of the church inspired my parent’s separation and I don’t know if my persistent passion for all things spooky is her genes running strong in my feral bones. 

But I do know that after that night, I never had another night terror, and that whatever demons had plagued my sleep blew away with the smoke, curling up to the moon while she looked down on those Appalachian trees. 

What they didn’t tell me about missing horses

When I decided to take a break from riding in June, I breathed a sigh of relief after putting my helmet away. My barn wasn’t a great fit; I needed a break and a change. My dog’s rising vet bills made it hard to justify the cost of riding other people’s horses so I knew it was the right thing to do. After all, it would be temporary and I’d be okay without horses. I dedicated myself to training for a triathlon and focused on the long-term dream of buying my own horse. 

Here’s what I didn’t expect.

Most of my friends are through horses, especially the internet and long-distance friends which sustain me while I struggle to make friends in Tennessee. My Twitter and Instagram feeds are largely curated around horses and most of my Facebook friends are people I know through horses. Horses aren’t in my life anymore but they’re still on my screens, staring back at me with their big kissable pony noses. It’s a bummer to look at but I’m also afraid to pull back too much; I can’t lose my friends and I still care about their hooved companions. I don’t want to listen to my horsey podcasts and I can’t stand all the tack ads that plague my feeds. What an unexpected heartache here in limbo.  

I left Pittsburgh, and more importantly, my childhood barn, almost exactly five years ago. It feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago that I was spending nearly every day at the barn, part of a strong community and confident in my passion. When I moved to Nebraska and stopped riding all the time, I explored other hobbies and found joy in hiking, comedy, running, and photography. After a lifetime of one singular focus, it was refreshing to see what else I could do, and I was happy to see I have talents beyond making farm animals prance and jump over brightly colored sticks. Spending five hours a week at the barn instead of 30 helped me explore a different kind of confidence I didn’t know was missing.

But now life has changed again and there are no horses. My mind is confused. Since I was seven years old, there have been horses. Even when I couldn’t ride, there were horses to snuggle or feed or even muck up after. I haven’t touched a horse in six months and I cannot believe how much it hurts. I’m actually baffled by this pain; I am otherwise so happy and fulfilled. 

How can the absence of one hobby have such an impact on my mental health? I knew I relied on my community of barn mates for shared understanding, I didn’t know I’d be lost without them as my north star. I knew I loved the smell of my horse’s neck and that I enjoyed relaxing after work with a bareback hack. I didn’t know that would be irreplaceable. It turns out you cannot replace morning rides with morning runs. I wish someone had told me that. 

When I sleep now, it’s dreams of dressage tests and jump courses long completed, running through them again in the subconscious part of my brain that holds these core components of my being. I dream of shows and lessons. I dream of grooming and hand grazing. Seeing it all run through my head while I sleep is both a gift and a torture. 

Are the people passionate about other sports haunted like this? Perhaps riding really is a sport like nothing else; I cannot imagine this angst for a soccer ball or a gym mat. 

I wish there were more to me than this. I wish I could have temporarily walked away from this expensive, thankless sport that has wrecked my hips and made me cry and somehow given me both everything and nothing. I know now I can be happy pursuing other interests, but I cannot be whole. I have to have horses. 

Horses are coming for me. I’m working hard to buy a horse, make new barn friends, and rebuild my crazy, stupid, horse-centered life. I can see it, blurry down the road, waiting for me in just a few more months. But today, as I avoid all the New Year’s posts about show goals and training tips and winter riding, I just feel like I did when I was seven and had a bad day at school, sitting around waiting for someone to take me to the barn so I can lean on my pony and feel okay again. 

My favorite books: 2022

2022 was the first year I kept track of every book I read (that I read for the first time) and if you’re a reader, I definitely recommend the practice; it was really neat to look back on everything I’ve read and see patterns in what I do and don’t enjoy. This year I read 44 new-to-me books and am here to share my favorites if you’re looking for suggestions for your own 2023 reading list!

7) Carefree Black Girls

Zeba Blay. Nonfiction, essays. A surprise hit for me, this was a perfect balance of media criticism, race theory, sociology, and personal memoir. This book reminded me why I love creative nonfiction and cannot recommend it enough.

6) The Night Circus

Erin Morgenstern. Fiction, fantasy. I enjoyed the lyrical writing and its clever blend of fantasy and reality. I suspect I could read this book multiple times and always catch something new, it was truly an adventure start to finish.

5) Will

Mark Manson and Will Smith. Nonfiction, biography. I have to credit my friend Maria for recommending this book several times before I got around to reading it, but once I did I understood her insistence on it. Will Smith tells a unique story that almost no one else can or could ever tell, and Manson writes about it in a very compelling way.

4) The Witches Are Coming

Lindy West. Nonfiction, essays. I’m generally partial to Lindy West, even when she’s controversial, and this book of her selected essays address many of the social issues and challenges I find most interesting. From feminism to environmentalism to classism, Lindy West may be preaching to the choir, but she’s preaching with great humor and voice.

3) Henry, Himself

Stewart O'Nan. Fiction, realistic fiction. The other half of my book club, my bestie Saskia, selected this book for us to read “because it takes place in Pittsburgh and has a dog on the cover” and it turned out to be the most relaxing book I read all year. Perhaps the most Pittsburgh fiction 'I’ve ever read, it was so fun to see familiar streets and landmarks throughout a wholesome story of an elderly couple enjoying their time together. Perhaps no character is less relatable to me than an elderly man, but somehow I fit right inside Henry’s narration.

2) Laziness does Not Exist

Devon Price. Nonfiction, self-help. If there was one book I could make everyone read, it would be this one. Dr. Price breaks down the roots of our social ideas of laziness in an accessible way that challenged me to rethink my attitudes and ideas about my self-worth.

1) When Women Were Dragons: A Novel

Kelly Barnhill. Fiction, fantasy. I call this fantasy because there are dragons but it’s really a realistic fiction set in a slightly metaphorical reality. Hands down, my favorite book I read this year, I insist you read it. The writing is beautiful, the story is rich, and the experience was cathartic. The author wrote this after Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony and I felt every bit of what she wanted me to feel.

2111 Days with Dog

Friday morning

I left the house early, but not as early as I’d hoped. I gave Tim, Lando, and Obi each a quick kiss and entered Saskia’s address into my phone. Google told me what I already knew and I waited to text her my ETA until a more reasonable hour of the morning. I’ve been taking more solo trips and feel confident making my way. Friday drive. Saturday Pittsburgh. Sunday triathlon. I’m excited and I’m happy. 

November 15, 2016

We’d bandied about the idea of a second dog for a while, someone to absorb some of Obi’s boundless energy and give us each a dog to hold on walks. Plus, all my friends have two dogs. It just felt right. 

I wanted a shelter dog, something with some herding breed in him, just like Obi. I found a shaggy yellow dog online and we went to meet him. The shaggy yellow dog was so traumatized from its recent rescue from a hoarder he wouldn’t leave the kennel. A little embarrassed, the staff asked if we’d be interested in another dog from that group. Lando picked us out that day, not the dog we expected, but undoubtedly the dog we needed. Though less skittish than the shaggy yellow dog, Lando’s fear of the world paralyzed him and I carried him to my car and then into the house. 

In times of Lando worry, he always let me carry him. 

Friday afternoon

I’m driving to Pittsburgh, alternating between horror movie synopsis podcasts and Taylor Swift. I call Tim for company on the drive and he mentions that Lando’s tumor has hardened, but not grown, and the oncologist isn’t concerned. I sigh and chew my lip. I’ve trained so hard for this triathlon and can’t wait to spend the weekend with Sas. I’m going to have a great time and if the vet isn’t worried, I’m not worried. 

November 2016

“Lando ran off” aren’t the words you want to hear 24 hours into bringing your new dog home. He slipped out of his harness and bolted into the suburban wilderness, leading us on an overnight goose chase that twisted Tim’s ankle, exhausted us both, and had me wondering what we’d gotten into. When he was finally captured and brought home the next morning, he smelled like he’d slept in a dead Tauntaun. It was his first bath and not his last escape. Oh, collie. 

Friday evening

Tim and Lando are at the vet now. The tumor is bigger, but he seems mostly normal otherwise. The oncologist can’t be reached but the on-call emergency vet confirms Lando’s vitals to be good.  I swallow my anxiety and reassure Tim that I’ll be home in a few days and we can figure everything out then. Tim is worried and I’m having a harder time believing I’m about to have a fun weekend with friends. Saskia takes me out for ice cream and I promise to call Tim before bed.

October 2017

Lando’s first big camping tip. We meet Andi and Pepper in North Carolina and spend the weekend hiking, exploring, and eating cheese. I can’t believe how brave Lando is around Pepper and Andi, demonstrating once again how far patience, the woods, and cheese can take you in friendship. 

Friday night

Tim is worried. He’s alone and facing more questions than answers and it hurts me to be away. I’m angry at both the timing and the oncologist who won’t answer his phone. I promise Tim I’ll leave Pittsburgh in the morning if Lando isn’t better. I love him and I’m sorry. The words are for everyone. 

September 2018

It’s cold to be camping in the Badlands, but not so bad with all of us in the tent together. Four warm bodies cuddled under blankets are enough against the cold night air. Faintly, we hear coyotes in the distance. Both dogs react simultaneously and in opposite--Obi returns their howls with his own corgi yodels while Lando dives further under the blanket. I laugh at Tim desperately trying to convince Obi not to join the call of the wild while I comfort my 50 lb chicken. Eventually the coyotes leave and we sleep together in a pile, happy and safe. 

Saturday morning

Back to the vet. Lando isn’t keeping down what little he’s eaten and I calmly get in my car to drive home. I make it about an hour into the 500 mile trip before the choking sobs come. I call Aubrey and beg her to tell me funny stories until the tears stop. She does and they do. 

May 2019

I’ve taken up running again and after Obi protested one too many times, Lando was promoted to my official running buddy. Together we circled our neighborhood, city parks, and eventually nearby trails. He never had the same enthusiasm for running some dogs have, but then, I never did either. We ran for fun and to have some alone time and that was more than enough for us.

Saturday afternoon

I stop at a Burger King in West Virginia and when I return with my chicken fries, a butterfly follows me into the car. I roll down all the windows and eat my chicken. 

The butterfly is still there by the time I’m done and no amount of shooing seems to make it want to leave. Its right wing is a little broken, reminding me of Lando’s lost right leg. I stop shooing and keep the windows down with the music up, back on the road with my hitchhiker.

I finally call my mom, knowing that delivering this news will bring more tears. She says all the right things and tells me that I taught Lando what love was, the most beautiful gift anyone could give. Tears stream down my face and the butterfly sits on my leg while I drive. I don’t know how the wind hasn’t carried it away yet but I’m grateful for the company. 

I hang up the phone and sing along to some country music while the butterfly sits on my lap. Lando is with me. I carry the butterfly to a bush at my next stop. Goodbye, friend. 

January 2020

Obi has hurt his leg and we aren’t doing as many family walks. Lando and I spend more time adventuring on our own, him preferring the back of my car to the shotgun seat, but I’m not too offended. I keep my head on a swivel when we’re alone in the woods, but I know Lando is big and loud enough to give others pause. The fact that he’d sooner climb a tree than fight anything is my secret. 

We are anxious together, and doing our best. Sometimes fear sits like a bear on my chest and makes it hard to make my usual jokes. In those moments I lay under a weighted blanket but never alone. Lando likes it under there too. 

Saturday night

Eleven hours later I’m home and finally holding my dog. He didn’t get up to greet me at the door and he didn't look at me when I called his name. I tell Tim we’ll wait out the night and take him to the vet in the morning. We put on our pajamas and carry Lando into our bed. 

But Lando can’t get comfortable. In less than 24 hours the tumor has grown from a fig to a softball and it won’t let him lay his head down to rest. He’s quietly brave and doing his best. 

I swallow the lump in my own throat and tell Tim to call the vet. 

Carefully, I carry Lando to the car and hold him on my lap in the back of the car. Obi takes my usual seat up front. I carry Lando into the vet, I carry him into the room. I carry him. 

August 2021

We all love our new home in Tennessee. No more do we need to drive great distances to visit the mountains. I can see them out my window and Lando is delighted to visit them every day. 

We’ve moved to a vacation spot and our days are designed for fun. He sniffs every rock and chases me down every hill. It is truly a wonderful time to be a dog. The hard work of giving him this life paid off. We are beautiful. 

August 27, 2022

Obi sits loyally with us on the floor, not putting on his usual corgi show for the vet and the tech. He knows. 

I tell the vet of Lando’s bravery, not just tonight, but every day since I carried him from the shelter and into my car. She cries with us as we hold Lando’s head. My happy dog sighs as he’s finally able to lay his head and sleep. 

It’s then that everything hurts. I’ve taken on Lando’s pain. 

Grief is the price we pay for love and it's time to pay for my most loyal friend. I hurt and I don’t speak. 

We drive home, a family of three. I’m sick in the bathroom and take 2 Dramamine to put me to sleep. I’m dreading the morning when I’ll wake up and remember. Go to sleep, I think to myself, you’ll feel worse in the morning. 

But it turns out the remembering wasn’t the worst part. The remembering is where I’ve chosen to linger, savoring memories of a very good boy, a very brave boy who tried his best and did a good job. The remembering is what tells me how it felt to be unconditionally loved and exactly what it felt like when he put his paws on my chest. The remembering is how I can share these stories and a hundred others with you, we find common ground in loving tragically mortal dogs. 

I found peace in thinking about his love, which I felt every day we spent together. I carry it with me. A good boy. 

Existential Eventer seeks a new home

New to Tennessee eventer/dressage rider seeks barn family willing to take in a mildly neurotic, occasionally witty student. Trainer must be patient, friendly, and used to dealing with people who see humor as a coping mechanism. (Please laugh at my jokes; they are all I have). I’ve been previously spoiled by delightful barns, giving me a certain set of standards, in addition to my certain set of skills (which include the uncanny ability to complete a half pass on the wrong lead)

In exchange for taking me in and teaching me how to ride, I promise to be on time in both my payments and arriving for lessons. Trainers who are also anxious millennials with good texting etiquette preferred. If I can buy you beer after I fall off as a way to make it up to you, that's great. If you can buy me beer after I fall off in a particularly embarrassing way, that's even better.

At least one climate-controlled room in the barn is a must, because I'm a fainter who will need to seek refuge in the AC at least once a summer. The good news is I am very self-sufficient in my fainting and almost always get my horse taken care of before hitting the ground, if that tells you anything about who I am as a person.

It's also important that you turn out your horses, have a designated tacking area, and understand that show horses can also be trail horses. Also, I'd like to know who you take lessons from, with bonus points for a barn that regularly attends clinics and extra extra bonus points if your barn regularly hosts clinics so we don't have to travel and learn all in one day.

Despite these three paragraphs of demands, I promise to be a delight to have around the barn. I sweep up after myself, wipe down my tack after every ride, and smile at everyone who comes in the barn. I've worked at barns for most of my life so my instinct is usually to be helpful, considerate, and stay out of the way. I am great at following rules and also great at giving an encouraging word after a bad ride. I'm a sticky rider who does her homework, likes to learn, rarely complains, and mostly just wants to make friends, go to schooling shows, and get from one side of a fence to the other. Triflers need not apply.

Body Awareness with Jennifer Kotylo

“Dressage is a synthesis of two very different skeletons,” began Jennifer Kotylo, kicking off the NDA Body Awareness clinic series. I signed up for the clinic knowing only that Jennifer was an accomplished dressage rider and pilates instructor and hoped that I would learn a little something to help me control my unwieldy body. Turns out, I learned a lot of somethings.

My mother always told me that we were all blessed in our own ways and while that’s certainly true, I suspect I was outright cursed with a lack of grace or coordination. I was blessed with long, strong legs and absolutely no ability to make them do what I’d like them to do in a given moment. 

Sports have been a lifelong nightmare because while I’m more than physically capable of kicking a ball or running over short distances, the disconnect between hand and eyes and coordination means I’m often surprised by what my body is doing since it’s certainly not what I’m trying to do. (Two years ago I managed to knee myself in the face, give myself a black eye, and break my glasses all while reading a book). Indeed, the only reason I don’t look like a duck astride a horse is because I’ve been lucky enough to sit on horses since early childhood, blessing me with muscle memory. 

So naturally, the appeal of combining dressage and body awareness spoke very directly to me and I signed up right away. And, right away, Jennifer’s lecture fascinated me. Jennifer is a USDF bronze, silver, and gold medalist and certified in Eckart Meyner's Balimo work, Core Dynamics Pilates, Equilates, and other movement modalities, making her as interesting to listen to as she is talented in the saddle. 

Jennifer began by pointing out that if, in dressage, we ask our horses to lift their stomachs and lengthen their spines, we as riders must be able to do the same. And while I’ve always strongly believed that I should be as fit as I ask my horse to be (if I’m not fit enough to briskly walk my cross country course, I’m not fit enough to ask my horse to carry me through that course) it’s a whole other ballgame to hold myself to the same suppleness demands to which I hold my horse. Luckily, that’s where Jennifer comes in.

She explained the importance of a straight and supple back in all top athletes. Showing us photos of quarterbacks, soccer players, ice dancers, and dressage riders Jennifer pointed out a notable common thread: a very straight back. If you’d told me without showing the pictures that footballers have excellent posture, even as they’re leaping to catch a ball or tackle an opponent, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. But lo and behold, there they were, as graceful as a very large ballerina. Considering the incredible abuse their bodies suffer, it’s impressive they maintain such strong spinal control, there could be no excuse for me, a low-level dressage rider. Time to get some body awareness.

But next came a different type of body awareness--human anatomy. I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I believe my last anatomy class was sometime around fourth grade. I’m generally only aware of muscles when they hurt or bones when they break and otherwise assume everything is operating as it should in there. But, as Jennifer explained some of our critical pelvic muscles and anatomy, it became clear that really understanding how to control my body means also understanding how my body works. When I ask for a half halt from my seat, what muscles am I using? How do those muscles interact with other muscles? Perhaps most important, what can I do to strengthen those muscles and learn to use them like a fine instrument? These are all questions Jennifer helped us to consider and work through. 

The clinic concluded with some light bodywork of our own. She walked us through gentle exercises to help improve our strength and coordination, including knee circles, ankle rocks, and hip windshields. We swung our arms, loosened our necks, and relieved tightness in our backs and by the end of the clinic, I was disappointed it wasn’t a riding day for me; I felt ready to sit on my horse in perfect balance (at a halt and on a level surface!) If you ever have the opportunity to clinic with Jennifer, or anyone else teaching similar practice, I really can’t recommend it enough!