Once upon a time there was an aspiring author (me). She really wanted to be a good writer and as such, she agonized over her pen name. (In other words, I multi-tasked: pen name agony equaled writing procrastination.) But mostly Zuchniak is a last name that sounds more like the name of an obscure medical disease specialist than that of a writer.

As the years passed said this aspiring writer became content with the bone life had thrown at her and started investing into her teaching career. Teaching requires a certain level of creativity and like many would-be authors who came before, the energy to create sapped by the rigors of the classroom. 

One day the aspiring author met another horse lover. They became inseparable and as the years went by they shared as best friends do, though in this case it was power tools. They purchased a table saw, a shop vac, drills, wood, screws and nails and finally a chainsaw together. They bemoaned the lack of colorful tools in South Korea. (Seriously Korea, I want a purple or pink hammer.)

The neighbors watched as the two best friends sawed, weed whacked and burned the farm into shape.  And as everyone knows, power tools lead to horses, and horses lead to round pens and manure spreaders. And thus the first thousand pound baby came home, followed by two more. Between those purchases there was a round pen to build and rebuild... and rebuild.

Anyway, my website name has changed from mr-jordan.net to www.marielr.com to better reflect the changes to my life and blog.

It was a throw down between Captain America, Hulk and Thor. Grandma angled for Beast, hoping that in the future there might be a Beauty. But the outlook for Disney was grim. Gabe is five going on six after all, and while he has never read a comic book, he certainly has his favorite characters in the movies.

But true to the fickle nature of young children, Gabe tossed , Seven Eleven,  into the ring as a long shot. But alas his racing name Choice Blue, has been cast aside. Please welcome Thor to the family. We are debating his size as yet. Is he bigger than Thunder??? Maybe. Either way, Super looks like a pony next to the other too. Poor Superman.

Have you ever fantasized about being a dictator? Me neither.

However, if I were Kim Jung-un, I would seriously consider following in the foot steps of England. He could entrust the North Korean estate to the Republic of Korea in exchange for a x amount of funding for the royal family.

In such a move, he would go from bad guy, to royalty of both North and South Korea. Such an act would protect himself and relations from assassinations, guarantee a place in history for his children, his children's children and s on.  All while maintaining the lifestyle to which he is accustomed, the lifestyle of royalty.

Such an act would allow the South to reintegrate the northern population in stages, perhaps allowing x number to move south each year, while building infrastructure and educating the northern population for full integration... to avoid economic depression, this would take 20 to 30 years. Any sudden change would see the south under huge economic pressures as the Republic of Korea would find itself inundated with what are essentially refugees, a good percentage of which have spent their entire lives in prison cities-- northern prisons are that big. 

Finally, such a move would minimize the impact and rebellion against reunification among Kim Jung-un supporters. Though a percentage would remain loyal to the norther ideology, that percentage would be significantly smaller than were Kim Jung-un to be displaced, imprisoned, exiled or executed.

Obviously, there would be downsides to such a move. Such an act might require that he acquiesce to something akin to house arrest, but leave other relations such as children and perhaps his sister, free to live their lives. Certainly one upside to such a deal would be protection from the threat of assassination. 

My cat Geumbi has passed on, which isn't exactly true , because I faced the end of life decision that all pet owners. The trouble started on Sunday when my cat sitter, Brundha, sent me a message that she didn't want to eat. Brundha told me that she had followed Geumbi around until she finally ate.

I was at the farm taking care of the horses. Even had I been home, I might not of have thought much of it. Geumbi was a perpetually sick cat and didn't always feel good. But I had ways of enticing her. I might mix up her food with warm water, or mash it or both. I had a lysine jelly that helped mask her medicine. The list was long, but I knew my cat and her moods. And sometimes it was just letting her get hungry enough to eat.

But on Monday she didn't anything. And on Monday night, after she tried to eat, she vomited what little she'd eaten. She also retreated to a draw in my wardrobe. I never let her sleep there. In the past she's peed on my clothes but this time I let her. I don't know why, I just did. When I got home from work she had not moved from her spot.

Sometimes, snuggles made her feel a lot better, so I sat down and waited for her to jump into my lap. She didn't and this from a cat who jumps into my lap at every opportunity. I couldn't even pee without her jumping up. As the evening progressed she still didn't want to snuggle and, more importantly, didn't demand her tuna. Bear was beginning to get whine and he is a quiet cat so I opened up the food.

The sound of the can top being popped drew her into the kitchen and she sat in front of her bowl staring at it. Finally she took a bite, but vomited. Sometimes, when she hasn't had her medicine for a while, she gets into a slump. She was on a daily steroid dose along with something to keep her stomach from bothering her. I hated to force her to take her medicine because she was a worried and stressed cat and forcing her to take her medicine her exacerbated her problems. Still, I occasionally had delivered it by syringe and she'd start to feel better once the medicine kicked in. 

This time however, she not only drooled, a normal reaction for cats to bitter medicine, but vomited again. I didn't push the medicine again. 

I'd been worrying about a yoga mat she'd chewed one weekend while I was at the farm. But that had been more than a month ago and she didn't eat stuff so much as chew them. My shoes, anything Styrofoam, twisty ties and anything plastic drove her mad.

The next day, my vet thought she'd eaten something too based on the x-rays. She was dehydrated so she was stabilized with an IV and I had to leave her over night to see if it would pass. But on  Thursday all signs of obstruction were gone despite her not having passed anything. The vet felt she would be fine to go home, but I arranged for her to stay in the hospital one more night. Friday the movers were coming. I was moving back to Yeongju and taking up my old job at the English Center. My time there had been one of my strangest jobs ever, but the horses were in Punggi and I ever wanted to ever get The Thing (horse riding/ESL/ Farm/ whatchamacallit), I needed to in Punggi.

I held Geumbi at the vet's office that Thursday night before the move. She curled up in my lap and snuggled, and when she was relaxed I opened up a can of her favorite food from home. She got really excited. She was hungry I could tell, but three bites and she was done. I had a thought then. I thought, 'it's cancer." Her belly had felt hard, like the overfull belly of an animal who just gobbled all of their food. It hadn't taken on that placid jelly state in weeks. 

But I could no longer think that perhaps she'd eaten more than I suspected or worry that she'd ingested something she shouldn't have.  She hadn't eaten anything substantial since Sunday and the vet had ruled out foreign objects. So i went home thinking she was full because of the IV and the next day she would eat.

I had plans to pick her up after work, then get Bear from the old apartment. I would take them via bus to the new house, and the transition would be better because Geumbie would not have been exposed to the stress of the movers. But my vet had bad news. She'd vomited again that day, wasn't eating. She'd become dehydrated and had to be put back on the IV. Her blood-work wasn't exactly bad, but there was some indication that it might be cancer or liver failure or FIP. She saw something on ultrasound but coudln't be sure if it was a tumor. Geumbi would need to go to a specialist vet and have more tests.

The joy and excitement-- all the good things that could come out of this move-- dissipated. It was like have the life sucked out of me. I thought about how sick and stressed she'd been when I had relocated to Seoul. I thought about how stressed going to the vet made her and how it took days for her to recover. And I thought mostly how long I'd known she was in a general state of discomfort all the time... that her snuggle times with me were the bright spots of her day. How holding her made her feel better for a little bit, but when I put her down and she stopped purring she felt that dull, constant ache strongly.

In the States any number of vets would have recommended putting her to sleep, perhaps long ago, but certainly on that day. But in Korea, the vets offer specialists, tests and scans. They'll import experimental treatment from abroad. I never knew how much easier it was when the vet recommends terminating a pet's life. It's never, ever easy, but it's so much harder when you are offered more tests, more treatment, more, more, more.

But I had promised Geumbi, because I knew she had a certain level of PSTD from all the times she had been at the vet's office. All the times she was sent home with me when she should have stayed in the hospital for observation because the stress of being there was enough to kill her. So I'd promised her after having all her teeth extracted that if the day came that she needed tests and tests, and tests I wouldn't do it to her. I'd let her go.

The thing I didn't know was how much guilt I'd feel. What if I was wrong?What if I'd just taken her to the cancer specialist? What if it was treatable? And then, I remember all the things... I know I made the right decision but I miss her, deeply, terribly and Bear... he loves me but it's not the same. Sometimes I want to hold him to me and other times seeing him makes it all hurt more. He doesn't miss Geumbi. He misses company, but not being hissed at all the time. And he's happy to have me all to himself.

"The horse guy called," Liz said. She looked a bit like a turtle as she spoke, with her neck pulled down tight inside the collar of her winter coat.

"Which horse guy," I asked as I paused next to her.

I'd never say it out loud to her, but on days like this I regret having horses. That's right. Horses. One has manifested into two. The new addition being a gray mare. She too is an ex-racehorse like Superman. She's three going on four. Gabe, Liz's son named her Thundergirl. Can you tell he's six?

"The guy who delivered Thunder. He has a horse for us."

My first response should have, we don't need another horse. Actually, my only response should have been, "no." Instead, I said. "How much is it?"

"Nearly free. 1.8 million won delivered."  Liz said, ducking deeper into her coat.

It's been cold, but on the mountain side the wind just gusts. Now I know why the apple trees are anchored to the ground and there are cement poles every two trees and wire strung every which way.

"Did he send a picture?" I asked.

"I can look it," she said. "But lets go inside the building.

The building in question is an steel apple warehouse. It has two walk in refrigerators that also keep the apples from freezing in the dead of winter. It would have been warmer in one of the walk-ins but at least we were out of the wind.

We pulled up the KRA website that lists all the retired horses and looked for the up info on this particular guy. Finding and buying Thunder taught us a lot about retired racehorses. For one thing, when your putting retired horses on your list as potential prospects, check to see if they're still breathing. There is not joke here. One day in December Liz and I stayed up late looking at all of the retired horses, slowly getting excited about buying one. we started to make a list and then discovered a lot on our list were dead. I've since looked it up and dead horses is just part horse racing. The term breakdown stems from race horses breaking legs on the track and what not. More mares were dead than geldings, but we wanted a mare.

After looking at hundreds of retired horses, excluding the males, excluding the ones with serious injuries and those not breathing, we had only three prospects, one of which stopped racing because she gave birth. Her records showed the vet came out several times because she seemed colicky and then the final record said she'd given birth. I'm sure her owners were shocked to walk into the barn and see a baby in the stall with her before her next race.

Thunder's owners were shocked too. He knew her has Rocking Rouge and he had high hopes for her. She cost 80 million won (about 80,000 USD) as a yearling. Certainly her price wouldn't break any records but still, they had raise her, feed her, train her and all she did was trot. Literally, she left the gate at a trot. Her owner raced her three times and she never cantered.

I haven't done much work with her yet. This has a lot to do with the cold. For one thing, the wind has knocked down our fencing too many times to count. Then there's frozen water and insert long list of farming things that always take longer in the winter. But she knows nothing. And that was the deciding factor in saying no to a third horse.

I mean, eventually there will be a third horse because my friend has been bitten by the horse bug. She just loves them. She loves to feed them, watch them eat, muck their poop. She wants to start a stables which requires three horses, a bathroom and certification of some sort that she can get while riding her own horse. That's great because Super is super and doesn't require a lot of skill to ride.

I credit Warwick Schiller quite a bit for this even though I've never met him. One of the best things that has happened to me, was quitting horses for a while. I came back to it sooooo rusty. And with so much forgotten, I basically went back to the beginning. Interestingly, I'm still at the beginning. If you think of what a horse needs to know as primary colors, then you know you cant get orange for red and blue. This holds true for horses and people and writing. Everything. I suppose the Japanese have always known the value of perfecting one thing at a time. 

Thus the key to solving writers block is doing nothing while doing something else.

here are some many things I've been wanting to post but, unless I do it on the bus between Seoul and Punggi, I can't find the time.  I've taken my laptop with me the last three weekends in a row in hopes of getting a blog post in, but I didn't quite have the will power to put aside much need sleep and drag it out of the bag.

I thought that I might get something done at the farm. ("Very funny Miss Z, " I say to myself.)  Technically I did get a lot of somethings done on Sunday. Super had pulled a board off his hay feeder so I repaired that, then I cut some boards and built one hillside step. More are in the planning. Then I build a tools organizer thingy and put out a load of mulch.

There's a story behind said mulch. My friend and I bout two 400 kilogram bags (about 900lbs each) a year ago. The place loaded them on the truck with a tractor. We don't have a tractor on the farm or anything to do heavy lifting.

"How are we going to get these off?" She said.
"I don't know. I didn't think about that." I said. We chuckled over our two peas and a pod.

After not too much thinking I suggested we tie a rope around on bag and tie the bag to the building. My friend would drive forward and I would watch for signs of breaking the building. Well, on the first try the rope broke. A few more tries later, we had a lot of little pieces of rope. And a few more tries again we had even more pieces of rope. Thankfully we were actually successful...ish.

But the two  bags have been where they landed for over a year. However, we emptied one during Chuseok and that leaves one bag.

Then I took the weed eater, lighter, fire starter, cowboy halter, and training stick to the back. Now if you think about this for a bit you'll probably come up with... nothing you would need all those things for.

Actually, I was multitasking. Since Superman does not eat apples, we let him have the run of the farm during the day. As in not fenced in. All the grasses and clovers are motivation to stay home it seems. Anyway, I knew he was hanging out toward the back and I wanted to weed eat some weeds and burn some of the stuff my friend and I had cleared a few weeks prior. Alas the weed eater wasn't working so I had to settled with setting fire to things. Then I caught up Super, did a little groundwork, took him and all the things back to the front of the farm, a good ten minute walk because I was limping. I hit  my knee with a hammer earlier.

It was just after four pm by then and though I was dying to ride I had feet to do first. This  might require a bit of explanation. Though there are lots of farriers and many have actually learned about the natural barefoot trim. But the concept, though widely accepted its also still controversial in places. And I'm applying that statement to the United States. The idea of not shoeing a thoroughbred... it actually caused a lot of problems at the Bonghwa stables. Well, pretty much everything we did, caused problems. 

"Why are you feeding that horse good grain? He does nothing all week?"

Actually, that last one not only came from the stables but are feed guy kept asking us if we really wanted to feed Super such expensive feed because he's only a pet, sigh.

So I did Super's feet, then groomed him, then saddled and finally went out for a ride. Super has been getting sticky in certain places because he's decided that he wants to go down the apple isles, which with spider webs and trees slapping you in the face aren't exactly fun. Not to mention the shiny tarps that help the apples have good color all around. It's not a matter of Super being scared of them. We've taken care of that in his training. But he can't step on them or knock apples down.

So in training horses you try to make the right thing easy and the wrong thing hard. Apple isles are the wrong thing. So I let him go down and backed him out. And then asked him to go forward. If he turned away from the isle I left him alone. If he went back in I let him got a little further and had him back out a little further.

We rode around the whole farm pretty much, letting him go where he wanted and worked on his backing. He'll back to timbuctoo now and isn't very fond of the apple isles anymore.

And then it was time to put him away, carry six five gallon buckets of water from the pond to the water trough... my watering him is part of why he gets to stay at the farm so I have to fill his trough with a weeks worth of water. Then I put a 60 kilo (120 ish lbs) of hay in his slow feeder, reconnected the electric fence and it was time to catch the 2 and a half hour bus home to Seoul.
 
Below is a picture of Gabe dressed up as captain America trying to put Super up for the night. That was last weekend. As you can see, Super is finally a chunky monkey. (Disclaimer: The comment about monkeys being chunky is in no way intended as a primate stereotype. Some monkeys may or may not be chunky.)

Me: You haven't blogged about anything in ages.
Myself: I know. I have all these ideas when I'm no where near a computer.
I: And what about Donald Trump?
Me: There is just so much I could say.
Myself: No. Just no.
I: That applies not only to Me and Myself but to the whole presidency.
Me: Enough said?
Myself:  Let's change the subject.
I: To what? Horses?
Me: I love horses!!!
Myself: Are three exclamation marks are enough? What ever happened to becoming a writer?
I: What if I try to write and ride at the same time?
Me: No. Just no.

The thing about living abroad is that you're not a citizen, which for the most part is neither here nor there in relationship to the work I do. In relationship to my dream job however, it does matter, because to work abroad you have to have a visa.

Alas there are no visas for The Thing and the existing visas have restrictions on what kind of things holder of the visa can do. There are options: get married or come up with three hundred thousand dollars to invest. I'm not currently seeing anyone, but mostly, if love happens it happens. I wasn't always so contented with single life and I'm not sure what happened. I got older I guess.

All this is to say, The Thing came to a grinding halt before we got going because of visas. My friend was willing to sponsor me through her company, but I love her too much to put her and her company at risk. So instead, I took a job of homeroom teacher for a kindergarten. It's not what I wanted to do and certainly, nothing like any of my previous work. It keeps me busy beyond words. But I like it.

There's this thing. Actually the technical title of the job is "The Thing." Also, I don't know what else to call it. 

The opportunity has been there for a little while. One aspect of the thing is a trip to the United States to pick out some horses for some people Korea which could lead to more trips... not. Of course none of the potential trips stand any chance of happening if I don't do the first thing.

So that's the thing about the thing... it involves a lot of other things (teaching, animals, teaching,  farming, teaching, traveling teaching.) and I'm scared because my pay will be contingent on business variables. If things go well with The Thing, I will make a lot more than I am now. But if things don't go well I'll have to go back to what I'm doing now.

When phrased that way it really doesn't sound all that risky. But as I've mentioned before, I'm something of a neurotic worrier. Nevertheless, I'm going to do try The Thing. Now,  how to tell my boss???