Thunder and lightening, three in the morning. Eighty five pound dog climbing in bed. Nails clicking back and forth from the other two. I let them out. I let them in. Later, the morning is edgy and tainted, both hot and still. Beau and I ride in the arena. After the warm up walk Beau twitches his head and strikes out with his front hoof at everything all the time. I lurch forward. I butt into the front of the saddle.

There is a place, center of my being. I don't like to go there. It takes all the other parts of me over. It is fusion. It engages, I am strong, focused and I will not give up. My voice is low, stern, loud. I am shouting: Go out into my hand. And I push, plie, squeeze with my lower legs. As Beau's head tosses, I squeeze. Beau stutters, stamps, move a backwards step, take the inside rein and walk a tight circle. Take the other inside rein for the other direction. Then trot and push. Push him on. Ulla's voice is in my ear saying: It is always hard to do, push them forward when there's trouble. You want to hold them back. No, you have to push them forward. I do not feel the connection in the reins but I keep squeezing and playing for his mouth.

We are both wet. Beau's red chest and neck hair matts with sweat. Under my arms to my waist, down my back, my tee shirt is wet. Usually we are moving forward at a steady pace.

We walk out the arena and head for the county road gate. Careful, careful over the rocks Beau. I open the gate, do not close it, too tired for a new kind of frustration. We walk down the road. Loosen my shoulders, follow with my elbows, feel his mouth. The sun is hot, glares on the gravel. There is dust in the air. Feel his mouth. Notice if my shoulders move.

Padding feet. Beau's ears prick. I turn, catch black border collie falling in place at our side. Farther back, big black lab. We are all together. Don't worry Beau. And then the turn up the driveway. Crushed gravel. Let him nibble the reins out of my hands. Stretch his neck down.

Pile his saddle, the shims, soaking wet pad, adorondeck chair off the front porch. Peel his blue medicine boots off his front legs, the black off his back. As the bridle comes off, slip the purple halter on and lead him to the back corner of the house.

What's this? He pulls back as I wrap the the lead around the metal tee-post behind the new little lilacs. The hose unravels as I turn on mostly warm, a little cold. Water sprays out and Beau settles in as I spray him inch by inch.

Horse flies as big as my thumb come searching the horse, the water. We go down to Beau's stall where I buckle his light blue netting over his wettness. The fly mask with the red border. And he runs and prances. He rolls in the dirt, stands to gallop and buck.

For me, stripping the soggy clothes, I lower into the luke warm hot tub used last night. I have a full mason jar of water sparkling between my hands. My eyes close.

In this hot tub last night we talked about death Tony. You don't want to keep loosing ability, not to be able to do more and more. For me, at this age, death has more than one face. so far, not my own face. I don't see death in the mirror. I see it in the clouds and watch it cover the mountains, sinking lower and lower until we are both in the fog. I hear my own voice tumbling down, out of the fog. and I am calling, calling the horses. Tonight you and I sit up to our necks in hot water. There are no stars tonight. There is no wind. At least we made it I say. Tony at least we finally got to move here.