Letting Go, Mending, Learning

Tuesday, December 09, 2025

Several weeks ago, after leaving my sales job in a large retail department store, I turned my attention back to a long list of needs waiting at home. I contracted for a new roof, got long-overdue electrical repairs done, and—perhaps in the biggest emotional task of all—helped my beloved donkey, Pimmy, transition to her new home.

Fortunately, that new home is nearby and I visit often, which softens the bittersweetness. Pimmy is a “special needs” pet, living with Cushing’s disease and Type II diabetes. Over the past year, I carefully managed her diet, and she lost nearly 200 pounds. She now looks bright, alert, and almost youthful again.

Her “new person” is a retired nurse—gentle, steady, and knowledgeable—who understands Pimmy’s conditions and is both vigilant and deeply caring. Pimmy now wears a grazing mask and spends her days roaming a generous pasture with her new buddy, an aging Arab gelding. The regular movement is doing wonders: she’s walking more freely, her energy has lifted, and her coat is turning fluffier and shinier, as if she’s growing into a chapter all her own.

Meanwhile, life with my two horses has kept me just as busy. With Pimmy settled, I turned to repairing fencing, cleaning the barn, and making a few improvements to the horses’ living space—projects that had been quietly waiting for months. Horses have a way of creating their own to-do lists, and mine certainly did.

Rosie, who is sturdy but sometimes finds trouble, managed to develop a hoof abscess. It needed soaking, wrapping, and all the fussing Rosie insists on not enjoying. And Sunny—sweet, distractible Sunny—somehow scraped a surprising patch of fur off her face. No dramatic story, just the everyday mysteries of horse life. Between meds, bandages, and gentle reassurance, they’ve needed both hands-on treatment and the simple comfort of my presence.

All this work has kept me grounded, but I’ve also become aware of another familiar pattern: the slow return to isolation whenever I stay home long enough. It’s not that I don’t love being here—keeping the property in shape, caring for the animals, tending to the endless little realities of country life. I do. Yet after a while, I begin to miss the hums of human life. Conversations. Laughter. The ordinary noises people make while going about their day.

So, I decided to rebalance things. For this Christmas season, I’m taking a part-time job at a fast-moving retail discount store. A few short shifts each week will give me a little of the outside world again—energy, chatter, and a constantly changing flow of faces. And, for reasons I can’t entirely explain, I have a growing curiosity about retail as an industry. Now that I’ve learned how a traditional department store operates, I’ve also wanted to understand how the bulk discount retailers run their show. My new seasonal role will give me a chance to find out.

What I’ll ultimately do with my expanding retail knowledge is anybody’s guess—mine included. Maybe it will simply satisfy my curiosity. Maybe it will help me better understand the rhythms of modern commerce. Or perhaps it’s just another way of staying engaged with a world that keeps shifting under our feet.

For now, it’s enough that this will get me out among people again—listening, learning, and feeling connected—while still allowing me to come home to the animals and land that make up the heart of my days.

— Diana

Pimmy’s New Beginning

Sunday, November 30, 2025

My middle-aged donkey, Pimmy, may soon be living in a new home. It’s bittersweet to even write that, because the past year with her has been so intense, so emotional, and so full of learning.

Pimmy’s health crisis last year took me completely by surprise. I was unfamiliar with Cushing’s disease in equines, let alone equine Type II diabetes. By the time I understood how sick she truly was, she needed to be hospitalized in an equine ICU—days of specialized care, IVs, monitoring, and the kind of worry that settles in your bones.

When she finally came home, it was with lifelong medical needs: daily medication, careful feeding, and the responsibility of helping her lose nearly 100 pounds. At first her treatment routine was twice a day, and eventually it shifted to once daily, but the vigilance and devotion never lessened.

Through it all, Pimmy remained sweet and willing—devoted to “her horses,” Rosie and Sunny, even when I had to separate her from them so she wouldn’t overeat. They stayed close, calling to each other over the fence, a small reminder of their bond. I became unexpectedly proficient at mixing medications and administering them to a donkey who had her own opinions about anything that didn’t involve hay. And each time I walked toward the barn, she greeted me with hopeful, hungry brays—touching, funny, and a bit heartbreaking.

But she adapted, and so did I. Over the year, Pimmy lost the weight she needed to lose. She looks wonderful—bright-eyed, balanced, and healthy. Somewhere along the way, this stubborn little donkey transformed into “my big puppy,” easy to handle, affectionate, and smart as all get-out.

Through her recovery, my biggest worry remained her future. Donkeys, when well cared for, can live forty years or more. At my age, I know I won’t be here for the whole arc of her life. Rehoming her has weighed heavily on me. Anyone responsible for Pimmy would need to understand the realities of a “special-needs” donkey—the monitoring, the daily medication, the vigilance around weight. Not everyone can take that on. But for the right person, the reward would be immense. Pimmy, in my fully biased opinion, is one of the sweetest donkeys on the planet.

And then, early in Thanksgiving week, something unexpected happened.

A nearby neighbor, Alison—someone I only vaguely knew, though I knew she was a horseperson—texted me out of the blue asking if she and her husband could come talk. After so many years living near each other, I had no idea what she might want.

They arrived and told me their old horse had recently died, leaving their remaining elderly gelding lonely and unsettled. Softly, and very respectfully, they asked whether they might “borrow” my donkey for a few weeks as a companion until they found another horse.

Because they’re experienced with horses, they already understood the essentials of Pimmy’s care. They played with her, scratched her in all her favorite places, and fell for her immediately. And without much hesitation, we made an agreement: Pimmy would go to their place as a companion. If they loved her—and if they could manage her medical needs—she could stay permanently.

A remarkable part of this is that Alison, besides being a lifelong horsewoman, is a recently retired nurse. She understands chronic conditions; she’s comfortable with medications and observant about details. She asked the right questions, noticed everything, and handled Pimmy with a calm confidence that reassured me instantly.

Yesterday, Alison returned with several friends who were excited to meet Pimmy.

We all escorted Pimmy, who wore a grazing muzzle, as we had to walk across a pasture, to meet the elderly gelding. Those two hit it off right away. And, everyone adored Pimmy—her sweetness, her curiosity, her gentleness. I watched her step into this new circle of people and animals and felt the full bittersweetness of those moments.

Letting go of a beloved companion is never easy. She has been part of my daily rhythm, part of my barnyard family. But alongside the ache, I could feel something else—relief, gratitude, and a genuine joy. I could see clearly that Pimmy was stepping into a home where she would be appreciated, understood, and deeply cared for.

It felt like the universe whispering, Here. This is the right place. This is the right time.

That it’s Thanksgiving season, too, has me feeling a special mixture of gratitude and humility. Gratitude that Pimmy is healthy and happy, that the right people appeared at precisely the right moment, and that she will be cherished in her new home. And, humility in realizing that letting go—when it’s done with love—is also an act of giving care.

Pimmy will always be an essential part of my story. But now she belongs to a new one, and that’s bringing me a quiet, hopeful peace.

(Note: The photos, “moments of transition,” were captured by our friend, Susie.)

— Diana

Edging Into Fall

Tuesday, September 02, 2025

Central Oregon is tipping toward fall. I feel it in my bones—and deeper still, in the barn. Mornings exhale a first breath of chill. My dogs pause at the door, alert to change. The horses lift their noses as though frost itself is sliding down from the Cascades. And yet, my mind lingers in summer, reluctant to let go of those long, elastic evenings when the light stretches far enough for one more fence mended, one more wander taken.

The beauty is undeniable—aspens flashing their golden coins, birds perched on high wires against a paler sky. But beauty whispers its reminders: winter is coming. Fence lines, troughs, de-icers, hay stacked high, hoses drained—chores press forward. While I think about what must be done, the horses toss their manes and prance, delighted with the crisp air. Pimmy, my donkey, on a weight-loss diet, asks only that her supper comes on time.

It is I alone arguing with the clock. September’s sunsets are deceiving, convincing me there is always time for just one more thing—until the light folds suddenly into a quick blue that belongs only to fall. Soon an official time change will bring its own confusion. My animals, untroubled by calendars or clocks, know only the tugs of hunger and the promises of dawn and dusk.

And still…fall offers pleasant solaces. A heavier quilt pulled to the chin. Warm mugs replacing thin glasses of ice. A jacket tossed into the car, because you never know. These days contract, yes, but in their shortening remind me to choose with intention; perhaps this is autumn’s hidden gift.

Dear Friends, stepping into the season—grieving summer’s length, seeking peace in earlier darkness, and grateful for small comforts that soften the tilt.

— Diana

Pimmy’s Check-Up

Saturday, March 08, 2025

Yesterday, to my surprise, Pimmy loaded herself into the horse trailer. She’s teaching me more about donkeys now than when she was constantly among the horses. These days, separated from the horses (for dietary needs), Pimmy seems more like my big dog than an equine.

This time, while encouraging her to load into the trailer, I allowed her to resist loading. I gave her plenty of time to think things over, and suddenly, she voluntarily popped into the trailer.

That’s the thing about a donkey. It doesn’t just follow orders and isn’t just stubborn; it needs to evaluate the possibilities before deciding on an action. It’s taken me over a dozen years with Pimmy to learn this, and yesterday, I felt proud of myself for finally being a bit smarter.

The header photo shows Pimmy getting a physical yesterday. The doc says Pimmy’s vital signs are fine, and her weight is lower. Those are good. The most quickly assessable bloodwork was excellent. We must wait for more bloodwork results to learn if her Cushing’s Disease remains under control and if her glucose level is corrected.

Yesterday, too, she received routine inoculations, and the veterinarian floated Pimmy’s teeth. Then, the slightly drunk donkey needed time to recover from the floating anesthetic, so I left to fill my rig’s tank at a gas station. By the time I returned, Pimmy was awake enough to hear me calling and came to me. She loaded into the trailer relatively quickly, and we left for home.

If her glucose has reached a normal range, I will reduce her meds from twice daily to once daily–a welcome relief. Pimmy’s doctor has ordered an additional ingredient, Vitamin E, for the regimen.

Pimmy is a sweet, smart, and delightful being. Through these months, I’ve not enjoyed treating her illness or separating her from her beloved horses. By now, however, knowing this donkey more personally, I much better appreciate her.

Dear Friends: The horses will get floats and inoculations in two weeks. Diana

Hauling Along

Friday, March 07, 2025

Despite the apparent recklessness of America’s newly installed leadership, the volatile stock market swings that unsettle me, the widespread neglect of climate action, concerns over healthcare, and the moral uncertainties within the judiciary—despite all of it—I must remain grounded in the activities of my daily life, carrying on as usual, unless (or until) those sorts of conditions force me to adapt.

In reality, I’m already adapting by prioritizing savings. My grocery choices are more deliberate and budget-conscious, my online shopping has dropped significantly, and instead of cycling back into the department store where I work part-time, my paychecks are making it home.

Much like during the “Days of Covid,” I can stay grounded and engaged on my small property, tending to the land and my animals. There’s always plenty to keep me active, allowing most of those bigger worries to fade into the background.

Today, I face the challenge of working with my donkey, Pimmy, as she heads to the equine vet for a blood draw to check her insulin levels and overall health. The first hurdle will be getting her into the horse trailer—she tends to resist loading unless one of her horses is already inside. To make the process smoother, I’ll keep her breakfast light, ensuring she’s hungry enough to be tempted by a bag of hay waiting in the trailer. The next hurdle will be to reload her after our vet visit, but on that end, someone will be available to help.

Otherwise, this day off from my part-time job will be routine tasks—feeding the animals, tidying up around the barn, and tackling some organizing (or reorganizing) inside the house. To prevent a tendency to dwell on political and economic concerns, I’ll stick to my to-do list and focus on getting things done.

Dear Friends: Confusion clashes with our sense of order, inviting a “bumpy ride.” Diana

New Day Challenges

Saturday, February 01, 2025

I must clock in at my part-time job by 8:30 this morning. That means I’m out of bed ultra early today and on watch for the first light before heading outside to feed my horses.

Yesterday, my short working hours prevented me from coming home to feed the horses at midday. I’d have done it anyway, on unpaid time, but the store is short on employees, and nobody was available to cover my time away.

Throughout my shift, I worried about missing that feeding and felt guilty.

Equines are large outside, but their stomachs aren’t because they’re grazing animals. Horses aren’t built for big meals but are designed for consistent food to trickle through their systems. A horse’s empty stomach invites colic (and other debilitating possibilities). Domesticated horses, fed regularly and having the needed trickle, can stay healthy without grazing.

I am tense and unhappy if my horses miss a feeding.

Fortunately, they are healthy and were excited to see their hay arriving last night. Today, I will feed them before leaving for work, and my shorter working hours will allow for appropriate horse-tending.

Dear Friends: I need to get moving; you have a wonderful day. Diana

Shifting Weather

Monday, November 18,, 2024

Yesterday, Central Oregon received a ground-covering snowfall in the late evening. That began while I was outside and just starting the routine of feeding my horses. Finally, when I could return to the house, the snowing was heavy. It made for dim sighting and covered my outerwear.

The horses were covered in snow, too. They eat in the open from hay nets hung from tree limbs. They’re not being blanketed because of their thick, fluffy winter coats. Their good coats usually carry them through the season. However, both horses are old, and I closely watch their weights. If my exploring hands start finding a protruding rib or body joint, I will blanket whichever horse it might be, or depending on overall conditions, blanket both.

Pimmy still has the barn to herself. Her hay is in an inside-hanging net; her coat is wintery-thick, and her weight is good.

I’m still leaving my dogs outside while I’m away at my part-time job. The weather will change that, however, when conditions demand keeping them inside. I plan to come home at lunchtime and let the dogs outside while I feed the horses. The dogs will stay inside again when I return to my job.

I really didn’t expect snow on the ground before Thanksgiving. That’s no longer usual as it used to be. Last year, our weather stayed mild until New Year’s Day. Then, conditions suddenly turned cold, and actually “colder than a well-digger’s arse,” staying as such until nearly mid-June.

Dear Friends: Making plans for coping well enough despite complicated conditions. Diana

Outing

Wednesday, October 23, 2024

My donkey Pimmy looks better every day. She’s lost weight, and her Cushing’s Disease has done a number on her coat. What had been a “harsh donkey” coat has softened into a touch-inviting plush velvet.

Yesterday, I introduced Pimmy to a grazing muzzle. I led her on a short walk, but that was inadequate preparation for her to follow her horse friends freely and comfortably. I would be riding horseback that afternoon, and experience has taught that Pimmy would follow her horses but also nonstop try to rub off the muzzle. She needed more practice in the muzzle, so she stayed home. As her friends passed by en route to the horse trailer, Pimmy objected noisily.

My friend Anna and I had an enjoyable ride. She was on Rosie, and I was on Sunni, with my dogs running alongside. The horses hadn’t been ridden for a while and started off slightly jiggy. Anna rides beautifully, and soon, Rosie was moving quietly. My Sunni is easy to get along with, and her walk quickly became pleasant.

I’ve been too busy with various demands to work enough with the horses. That must change because great horses deserve proper exercise. I will make time to lunge and ride them and also work with Pimmy.

A surprise visitor arrived while I was out in the evening darkness to give the horses a last feeding. I wasn’t pleased about the happy visitor—my dog, Chase! After making yet another escape!

Dear Friends: On horseback and the dogs running alongside…a super outing. Diana

Wild Horse

Thursday, June 27, 2024

Early yesterday, I was walking to the barn and saw a horse nearby free and grazing. Because of her color, I thought at first she was one of mine. I didn’t see familiar markings and realized she was a stray. As I approached, she trotted away; I moved toward her, and she moved on.

I hurried to grab a halter and lead rope, found a carrot, and went onto the quiet street that fronts my property. I saw her again; this time, she moved away more quickly and disappeared among the junipers. I phoned as many neighbors as possible for someone available to help hunt for her. Johnny down at the corner said her owner was searching the neighborhood, and they’d be right over. John across the street said he’d hurry out and help.

As I learned, that mare was a five-year-old formerly wild horse, adopted two weeks previously and not yet halter-broke. We became a group and actively tracked her; her trainer on horseback, her caretaker driving a powerful all-terrain vehicle, John and I riding in a golf cart, and Johnny on foot. After an hour or so, I had to give up.

I needed to attend to a worrisome break in my horse fencing. Its cause was Sunni’s frequent episodes of butt-scratching with her entire weight pressuring the fence fabric. I was hammering away when a strange vehicle came onto my property, its driver saying my horse was loose. Knowing that was incorrect, I looked to where she pointed. That mare had returned, drawn to be near my horses.

Just then a searcher showed up, and the mare, sensitized now to being sought, galloped off, and fortunately, away from the busy street, toward areas of trees and brush. I didn’t rejoin the trackers for having to keep repairing my fence.

Before having to leave for work, the last I saw of the chase was a searching group, still confounded. After work, I called the mare’s caretaker, who said they had contacted Kate Beardsley, our local expert on everything horse, including lost horse tracking. Around 7 p.m., Kate’s team rounded up the mare as she trotted eastward along the highway. By 8 p.m., the mare was captured, corralled, and home safely.

Today’s header photo makes it obvious that the young mare is drop-dead gorgeous. She’s worth all the attention, is smart, and is a fabulous prospect for the right person.

Dear Friends: I did manage to resecure my fence against Sunni’s scratching. Diana

What’s Smarts?

Wednesday, May 08, 2024

Today is World Donkey Day, celebrating that most worthwhile companion animal and hard worker if you know how to train one. Over the years, I’ve attempted, and always in vain, to train my donkey, Pimmy. Instead, she’s taught me. I finally understood that a donkey is very different from a horse.

They’re closely related. Donkeys and horses share many distinct physical and behavioral characteristics but are very different to train. Unfortunately, donkeys are stereotyped as stubborn but are very intelligent and typically more cautious than horses.

Donkeys don’t particularly trust new things, which makes training them difficult. Horses basically are willing to do what’s asked, but not a donkey. A donkey needs to comprehend why it’s doing something. Otherwise, it participates unwillingly and escapes training situations as soon as possible.

I learned all that by wanting Pimmy to learn to pull a cart. Cart training began with me using a long lead rope and guiding haltered Pimmy to walk in circles. She refused to walk in useless circles; she never “got it.” Finally, I gave up.

To be truthful, “our problem” more was mine. I lacked the patience to keep Pimmy going until she became more accepting. That taught me that “if you can” when training a donkey is highly related to a trainer’s patience.

Pimmy is bonded to her horses, is loyal, and follows them everywhere. She’s also very alert and protective. Our donkey is a wonderful pet.

Dear Friends: Voting on World Donkey Day for lots more years with sweet Pimmy. Diana