Arkansas river pipeline (Diamond pipeline) post by my wife

I wish I had the President’s phone number, I would like to ask him and his wife if they care as much as I do, about the fate of their children and their grandchildren. I just found out tonight that the Diamond pipeline is going under and around the Arkansas river along with 500 watersheds! This can’t be allowed! Everyone knows that eventually that pipeline will break and kill everything, including us! Why are we risking our drinking water? We won’t be able to drink it, I stand with my brothers and sisters in North Dakota who are fighting this same battle, this pipeline will be the death of us all! The pipeline companies think by hiding it under the river we will never know where it leaks, and put the blame elsewhere. Pipelines have leaked and polluted the waterways, beaches and oceans, and the death of fish and birds. So why is the government continuing to allow what we know is wrong? Being self sufficient is one thing, being self destructive is another. I am ready to stand up for what is right for my children, grandchildren, friends and citizens, will you join me? I’ll stand in front of a earth mover to stop this! God help us all, Sammi Jo Moye

HI,, my name is Wildoats. I’m a horse so they tell me.

I’d like to tell you a story about how I came to be in book called “Saddle Spur” and John’s best pal. My story began when I was just a foal (young colt).  I wasn’t even weaned yet  from my mother’s milk when she was taken off to war, what ever that is.  I was locked up in a round pen with other newborn foals, their mothers went to war also. One day the human that fed us didn’t secure the gate properly and we escaped. I didn’t know what the others were going to do, but I saw the direction my mother had taken when she left me. I was going to find her. My legs were still a little wobbly, but I was determined. I knew she went in the direction of that bright object in the morning sky. There were fences I couldn’t jump over so I followed the wide dirt path my mother did. I found plenty of water near the path, but none of the food appealed to me. Whenever any human came along, I would run and hide, afraid they would take me back.

On the third day, cold, wet white stuff came from the sky and blocked my detection of the morning sun. I wasn’t sure if I was going in the right direction or not. The water that had been plentiful was now frozen solid. I couldn’t get at it. My hunger was getting worse also, I was about ready to give up and just lie down when I heard the braying of mules. They would have water and food, so I cut across a large barren field heading toward some buildings. I didn’t care if I was penned up again, just as long as I was warm, fed, and my thirst quenched. The buildings were all closed up except one small door. Taking a deep breath, fearing the unknown, I poked my head into the door. The smell of the mules, hay and other familiar scents greeted me. This was like home. Weak, cold and tired, I entered the dwelling. I instantly felt warmer getting out of the wind, even my meager coat wasn’t enough to prevent me from getting cold.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a trough with the frozen top cracked up, allowing me to drink the water. Two wooden rails prevented me from going into the barn any farther, but I could reach the water and used my muzzle to push aside the floating solid part and drink my fill. Once my thirst was quenched, I looked around for something to eat. Some hay from above littered the floor. I munched that, then a familiar smell led me over to several bags of oats, one was open. I dug right in eating as much as I could. Full, I laid down and slept for the first time since my mother was taken away.

 “What do we have here?” Was the first time I heard John’s voice. He came in as I struggled to rise. My legs were wobbly and unsteady. “Don’t be afraid, I will not harm you.”

John made his way past me without coming close, allowing me the open door to flee if I wanted. He then carried the oat bags through another door into another room. I went out the door but turned around, putting my head back inside out of the cold wind. John brought a metal container with some oats, sitting it on the floor near the other door he went in and out of. John then climbed over the rails and soon fresh hay was raining down from above to the area where I slept last night. Afterwards, I could hear John doing the same, throwing hay into the mules’ stalls. When John left by another door, I went back inside.

Later John returned but made no effort to come in where I was, instead, he leaned on the rail and talked to me. For some reason, his voice had a friendly, calming effect on me.

“What should I call you?” he asked, looking at me as he thought. “How about Wildoats, you are wild and love oats.” I never answered him then. I didn’t know how.

Each day for the next month or so, he came daily to talk to me and give me some oats. Not once did he ever try to close me in or put a rope on me. When the weather warmed, John came less for me, instead took the mules out. Since I was free to come and go, I soon started following him just so I could hear his voice. Later his touch.

This is Wildoats, the blogger said I will have to wait until the next blog to tell the rest of my story. Tune in and learn.


Get out and vote, you will decide our Nations future.


flagDiscussing politics is not my style. In fact, I hate it. I can remain silent no longer.

Just to be clear, I am not endorsing any of this year’s presidential candidates. Each of them has their pros and cons. For one in particular, I believe that the cons far out way the positives.

Inviting a foreign country to hack into American computers and commit espionage, and then backtracking a day later to say it was a joke, a sarcastic remark is not someone who is responsible enough to lead this country.

Someone who mocks people with disabilities, makes demeaning comments about women, obsesses over one of those comments and then tweets about it at three in the morning lacks the ability to assure the rights of all Americans. Even Gold Star parents have not been immune to these disparaging remarks.

A person who blurts comments without checking facts, who doesn’t…

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A Writer’s prerogative to change

dd785-lit2bcut Most writers feel that their books needs changing even after editing. I am one of those. Do you think it is right to go back and change something even after it is published knowing the reader will get confused if one bought the original and another bought the revised edition. Chances are they will not know it unless they are in the same circle and start discussing the book. For almost twenty years I spent writing and rewriting the original Lightning in the Tunnel series. Still, when I published it, I was not happy with it. It started out three books and ended up being ten. Now that I am off writing a western, this is my third rewrite of the story, for some reason the first series came to mind and I was thinking about what I didn’t like about it. My wife pointed out that it was not totally realistic in one aspect. A bunch of women would never get along and share one man. That was the center piece of the story besides having to survive in a post nuclear world. I guess I need to go back once again but I am hesitate to do so again. I’ll keep on working on Saddle Spur and feature “Wildoats” his horse more who has become the co-star of the book.

Does any other writer agree or disagree with me on changing a book after it is published?

Talk back, I’m listening.