Prepare for lots of time jumps, okay? This is Witch, after all... She does not suffer delays well and she never explains anything well.

They will never forget you 'til somebody new comes along

Where you been lately? There's a new kid in town

Everybody loves him, don't they?

Now he's holding her, and you're still around

Oh, my, my

There's a new kid in town

Ooh, hoo

Everybody's talking 'bout the new kid in town

Ooh, hoo

Everybody's walking' like the new kid in town

There's a new kid in town

I don't want to hear it

New Kid in Town, The Eagles

It has become clear to me over the last year that some things are only readily apparent in hindsight, no matter how observant of a equine I happen to be. Best you think of me, and my experiences, as the hallmark of all that has happened, no matter what Boomer or Starkey might choose to share with you. It was I who wished for a foal, I who wished to be happy, I who wished for a job for a Jake, and I who must bear the consequences of bringing those wishes to fruition? You didn't think that happily ever after just fell down from the sky, now did you? No! You have to work for it. You have to know what it means. I regret to say that I learned the lesson the hard way, and am willing to bear the indignity of sharing it with you, provided we never speak of it again.

Can you believe that my Starkey thought the story should end with her? No, it was I who all of this in motion, and it is I who must bring it to a close. Don't bother looking around for details or silly little side stories as Boomer is wont to tell you. I have a point, and I aim to make it. Do try to keep up, and hold your questions to the end. I assure you that I know exactly what I'm doing, as if you needed any such assurance.

I cannot deny that I missed his presence when it was gone from me, but I cannot also deny that his insistence at tending to my every whim is somewhat cloying. Does he not have a wife with whom to share the pleasure that is attending to my needs? Did not their God tie them together, create somehow mystically, a unit to share in the chores and pleasures of life? Did not he yammer on ad nauseum about such things until I wanted to bray like a donkey, poor unfortunate souls that they are, and insist that we all knew of his devotion to his wife. They were always together. So, it begs the question. Where on this earth was Samantha?

Of course, the very question is rhetorical. I knew of their marriage, though I was not invited to the church. It was a great slight. Was it not I who initiated their courtship? Was it not I who led them to the proverbial alter? And to be barred by speciesist politics from witnessing the very culmination of all my efforts? No, they most certainly are married. I have heard talk of nothing else for months. One would think the talk would be laid to rest now that the ink is dry on their marriage certificate, but no. It was dry, though just barely. They are still the talk of the family. So truly, there can be no question of it. He has a wife. So where is she? I posited my question to Jake, as he stood before me, presenting me with the saddle in the pasture.

Jake placed the blanket over me, and spoke softly, "You'll have to make due with me, Witch." He continued to tack up.

I huffed. Why was this, exactly? My schedule had been completely disrupted since before their wedding. Let's not even talk about the weeks after their sojourn to Portland. It is too dire to even contemplate, given that I was left in the care of Quinn, such as his care was. My breakfast was late often, by 15 minutes, and my tack was not pristine. Bringing up my concerns now would be of no use to me. Jake was off in his own head again. It is a habit I have put my upmost into divesting him of, though he does have the tendency to drift off on these early morning rides. He's just gotten off work. Boomer, I am well aware, is off lazing about. I have told him that he had best leave my Starkey be, but he has likely woken her, should he be so rude as to not allow her to borrow his bed.

After a time, Jake started to talk. Very few people realized that he talked a lot, just not in groups or where he was easily overheard. I love him, in my heart of hearts, I must admit that, but he never tells you the whole story. I ignore him, mostly. I like the quiet.

In retrospect, I should have paid attention to what he was saying to me. I did not, and thusly, I found out from the dog, though I would never admit it, not even today. The dog strolled up, after my ride, and declared, "I have information." His canine feet were standing upon my lunch.

The subtext was clearly that the mutt had information I did not. I inclined my head regally. The best way to handle him is to let him think I know all and that he could tell me nothing to prove me wrong. That way, he is inclined to tell me everything so to attempt to prove me wrong.

My theory, as always, was successful. Boomer dropped his disgusting, decrepit, blue squeaky in the grass, marring my lunch, and said, "Of course, Starkey and I were the first to know." Drool dripped from the toy, and I knew I would not be eating from that patch of grass.

Were they? I did not care what Boomer fabricated so long as he got to the point. "There is to be baby. I am told it will come in late March." Boomer grinned in his canine, way. Inside, I was overjoyed. I returned to my grass, knowing that I had much to think over.

You see, now, how foolish I was. No. It is clear you do not. Well, perhaps just a bit more elaboration. There may be a dog listening, and I surely would not wish to be unkind to our canine friends, poor unfortunate souls as they are.

You see, my role in this process was integral. It was I who pushed them together in the confines of my stall, I who arranged extra work that they had to do together, I who gave them chance to bond again after that episode I refer to in the recesses of my mind as college. It was I who ensured that this would come to pass. Surely, my mind said, now that the upheaval of the wedding was over, things would go back to normal.

The wedding threw a wrench into any sense of normalcy I had, let me assure you of that fact. While they were living it up in Portland, I was here with Quinn. My brother, fool idiot that Chip is, insists that Quinn is the very best. I tried to get the Vet to arrange a psychological exam for Chip, but the Vet ignored my concerns. I thought about reporting him, but he does give me applesauce in the dispensers quite often. Chip could sort out his own troubles. He was not unconvinced by a wedding he had been excluded from. No! I was! It was a real pity, too, because I had just started to feel that Sam was not a complete buffoon.

Wedding planning had made them all into fools. They talked of seating arrangements, centerpieces, dresses, and reply cards. I was glad to hear about it, though, as I saved them all from making horrible choices. It was the rides that I facilitated that allowed them to clear their heads and make sensible choices that they would not regret later. It was I who made sure that Sam selected spice cake and red velvet for the wedding cake layers. It was I who ensured that she selected a style for her hair that would hold up all day for photographs, after reminding her on a ride how easy it was to topple over. She was slowly learning that I was always right.

Quinn, though, there was no hope for him. One night, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky used the wrong brush to groom me, and neglected to tell me how lovely I am. Can you imagine such a fate? No. It is too horrible. Quinn was not a bad person, just not trained well. He denied me my due. So when they came home form Portland, I was assured within myself that such changes would no longer be needed, or even possible. After all, it was early fall, and the child was not due to arrive until March. What trouble could it possibly bring until then, especially since it was I who ensured his very existence?

I should have not believed that. In retrospect, it was quite foolish. Oh, how wrong I was. The child changed everything. One afternoon, Sam was in the barn, whilst I was minding Starkey. I heard retching, and said to Starkey, "She should really watch for hairballs." The air was thick with the scent of the garden, as the some of the produce was being harvested from the garden, as it was August. Starkey told me that the kitchens were full and the compost heap was growing as things were canned.

The smell of the compost didn't bother me, or Starkey. Starkey wove her body around my forelegs, and replied, "She's got something called morning sickness."

I looked at the sky. It was not morning. Starkey told me that the time of the day didn't make a single bit of difference. Sam would feel better after our ride. I thought of all the ways I could make her feel better. We would take a thundering ride across the playa, and she would breathe deeply, in that way she did, and all would be normal, and all would be well. Sam came out to the pasture, and I made my way towards her. She did not swing up, and she stopped me from heading towards the barn. "Sorry, Witch. We'll go out soon, I promise." Sam said, running her fingers through my mane. It was a little mussed, I noticed, but in a very nice, chic, way.

I was quite let down. Sam read the expression on my face, "I'm really sorry. We'll go out soon. Jake said when he gets up, you'll have a nice ride, huh? I'll tell him you'd like to go to War Drum Flats."

I stomped a hoof, being mindful of my beloved Starkey. I never stomped the hoof she didn't have. It was always important to model the behavior you wanted to see in a foal, and I knew she was a far better horse with three hooves than many horses were with four, or would be with eight. Sam understood my question, "Hey, none of that. It's the baby's fault, okay?" She said that with a smile, as though her disgusting scent, and her tired eyes were something to be happy about. It was disgraceful, but if this baby had taken her from me, I decided that I did not have to like it. It had brought me nothing but trouble today, on a day when my needs should have been top of the pile. I stalked away, hoping that Sam would call after me, saying we could go on a ride after all. Instead, I heard nothing but a soft sigh. War Drum Flats wasn't at all enjoyable, and I was quite perturbed with Jake, who said I was sulking. He said he could not manage another influx of emotionality. I stepped on his foot.

In hindsight, I am not proud of my thought patterns and the resultant behaviors over the next months. I was frequently put out and angry. Do not judge me. As we all must do, I learned. I grew to cope with change. Eventually. It was not an easy process, and I very nearly lost out on some of the best things I will ever know. I sometimes wonder if I would appreciate my mane being tugged on by sticky fingers if I had not once reviled the owner of said fingers.

Months passed. Some days, my breakfast was late, and I wasn't ridden until Jake roused himself from the bed. Those days became more frequent as Sam's quick stride slowed to a choppy waddle. Boomer chastised me when I assert that she looked like a duck, as if that churl has the right to correct anything I say. I threatened his toy. He was more offended than normal. Starkey carried tales of a nursery being set up in the Little House. Was everyone turning into lumps of glue still on the bone around here? Was I the only sensible one left? It appeared that I was, for life was in the proverbial litter box, and no one noticed but me.

I was not happy. Sam appeared and disappeared with paint one week. Jake spent that Sam week being teased by Quinn for not knowing how to put together furniture. I spent the next weeks going on the most sedate rides in the history of my existence, even including the ones when Jake was riding around with a broken leg because he could not bear the indignity of being laid up. Sam had to be careful of the baby, she said. The baby, the baby, the baby. Everyone was talking about this baby, and it wasn't even here. They were all insane. I felt incredibly neglected and unwanted. Had I not made all of this possible? Had I not done everything, and just when things were going my way, I was cut out from the equation, as unwanted and unnoticed as a pair of old boots?

No. I was not happy, especially not when there was a party on my ranch and I was not invited. I was not even acknowledged as the mastermind, the creator, the impetus behind all of it? There were strange people in my barn, and I took great delight in ignoring them all while protesting the fact that attention was not being lavished on me. You don't need to know anything more than that. I can hear you now, begging for details, for the day to day happenings, but they're completely immaterial. That's not at all how life works, not when we stop and think, not really. I won't waste my time on extraneous details. It was a miserable experience, and that's all you need to know. I did very much like the shade of deep purple they selected for the dinner napkins, though.

Now, see here. I am cognizant of the fact that I should have been more supportive. In retrospect, I should have been. It was a hard seven months, believe you me. There were tears. There were temper tantrums, and there were episodes of melancholy followed by that of binge eating. And frankly, those were just my experiences. I had very little insight into what Sam was doing with her time.

It was knowing that it was over that changed everything for me, because I learned to look back on things in a new way. I will never forget the day that I learned what retrospection will do for a girl. It was a day that changed everything. I knew something was up. There were balloons on the door, and Max and Grace had been in and out all morning. Imagine my reaction, when both Sam and Jake came home, and did not even bother to stop and say hello.

They came out later, all quiet smiles, as though their earlier slight . I was rather nonplussed by the bundle Sam was carting around, I must admit. It was a blanket. Then Jake smoothed back the fringe that was very distracting and rather off putting, and I saw her. She was wrinkly, and ugly, and she smelled horribly of people I don't care to ever know, and places I have never been. And yet, I knew that it was over. I knew that it was over, and this was the end. She was the end, and I saw everything in a different light because of that.

I loved her, even then. She was worth it. The emotions that were spilling forth, I admit, turned me into something of a mush. Still, to this day, I can only think of the day I met her as one of the best in my life. In actuality, it probably wasn't all that great, and I probably wasn't at all pleased. You see what I mean about retrospection. It colors everything. Max never mentions her initial reaction to the news anymore, never even considers the idea that she was once less than pleased. We don't talk about retrospection, but it does quite a lot to shape our stories.

The blanket fell from Sam's grasp as she shifted the bundle, whose dark eyes were fixed, though unfocused, on mine. Boomer sat down, showing off, finding the blanket. I've never understood what it meant to find something that everyone could see, but everyone made a huge fuss over Boomer. It was highly unfair. No one made a fuss over me finding my salt lick.

Jake lowered himself, picking up the soft blanket. "What'd you find, Boomer?" He said, "What'd you find?"

Boomer was jumping out of his skin, even though he was physically still. Jake spoke again, "Did you find a blanket? You found a pink blanket! Good boy! That's pink!" He said, as Boomer forgot about his toy and stared, like the blanket it was a gift from God. "Boomer's found a pink blanket. Good boy, Boomer!"

"That's rosa?" He breathed at me. His doggy breath stank, but I could see what the realization meant to him. Rather than ignoring him as I did most of his inane questions, I replied.

"Clearly, it is not blue, Dog." Softening, I nosed the dog, "Yes. It's pink." It was only later I learned what pink would come to mean to Boomer. In later years, he would take to wearing pink, to hauling a pink pillow into his bed, to following Louise around as she played Princess in the brightest pink tutu on he planet. On that day, though, I saw none of this. I didn't know that Starkey would declare Louise's laundry hamper the warmest place she had ever found, and refuse to leave it on a regular basis. I knew none of this, then.

All I saw was a family. I saw happiness that I nearly had missed out on. I saw joy, and even though I did not know what it meant, I knew this. I had gotten exactly what I had wished for. I had everything and almost missed it because I had forgotten to look for it, to see in circumstances I still consider less than ideal. I had wished for a foal, and I got Starkey. I wished that Jake would get a job that would allow him to say here, and I got Boomer, he of German accents and drool. I had wished for a baby, thinking that a baby meant commitment and happiness. Louise, I would learn, didn't mean any of those things. She has her own meaning and there's no such thing as a happily ever after provided by a baby. After all, they don't sleep for the first year of their life, or so I would later be told. However, This isn't her story. It's mine, and I must come to my point before I bore myself to death talking about a person you've only met in passing. Perhaps, you might do as I did not, and think about how a situation will appear in a year or two when you are in the midst. Think about how you will think about it then, now, and see if you can't change your perceptions.

Sometimes, you wish for something, only to realize you've gotten it, just not in the way you'd expected. Sometimes, you even end up with things you would have never expected, but still find that your life was incomplete without it. Arthur Wyatt is one such example. Arthur's a few years away in this point of the story, though, so I should probably just assure you that all is, and will be, well. There's nothing more you need to know. After all, don't you all wish to know what the future will hold? Now you do. It's all in your mind. Think about it. You'll see.

She held me spellbound in the night

dancing shadows and firelight

crazy laughter in another room

And there's some rumors going round

someone's underground...

Woo Hoo Witchy Woman

see how high she flies,

Woo Hoo Witchy Woman

she got the moon in her eyes...

Witchy Woman, The Eagles

This is the end. There is no more. Thank you for being a part of this very personal story. What you have just read, in all of the chapters, are snapshots of some life lessons I've learned the hard way over the years, as told to you by mostly fictional animals. Feel free to review with your thoughts and ideas for future improvement. Please?