The Crone of Cottonmouth County

Author's details

Date registered: September 6, 2012

Latest posts

  1. Retirement, Day 4: Crone visits hay barn with camera — October 16, 2015
  2. Lady of leisure — October 14, 2015
  3. Cattle bum me out — May 9, 2014
  4. Infestation du jour — April 18, 2014
  5. Pus-colored entities — April 17, 2014

Most commented posts

  1. Spinster aunt morphs into crone — 57 comments
  2. Blogging all my nowhere posts to nobody — 51 comments
  3. Crone holds forth on the horrors of re-riderdom — 38 comments
  4. Crone predicts own existential funk — 35 comments
  5. Crone flummoxed by feral cat — 31 comments

Author's posts listings

Apr 23

Crone sits in ugly tack, remains in denial about horse’s fatness

It was windy the day the butt-fugly treeless endurance saddle arrived. This meant that test-riding it on Pearl (see Figure 1), my recently recommissioned Arabian endurance prospect, would be out of the question. Pearl objects on principle to wind, and, of late, to saddles. Yes, it has dawned on me that these contingencies might be …

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Apr 22

Je ne suis pas une cat blogger!

In this crappy iPhone foto of yesterday’s duskular arboreal cat fight, Smudge, the black cat, stalks Roger (in the highlighted circle). A pity I couldn’t capture the immediately subsequent sworling vortex of yowling fur; the violent spectacle horrified me such that I was rendered uncamerable.

Apr 21

Sunday cat blogging

Well, just when the whole animal situation here at Dreadful Acres was starting to function like a well-oiled machine, boom! A cat incident. I should point out that, although I am a crone, my familiarity with cats is but fragmentary. This is counter-intuitive, I realize, but rest assured I am working assiduously to bring my …

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Apr 09

Post-Traumatic Snake Disorder

Last week, as is my daily habit, I took my dogs on a little nature hike around the rancho. A jolly, carefree crone left the bunkhouse that day, but a broken woman returned. Why? Well, we don’t call it Dreadful Acres for nothing. I allude, of course, to another close encounter of the venomous kind …

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Apr 05

Crone rides for 37 seconds

Man, I always thought it might come to this, and sure enough, it has. I have to complete an endurance ride on a loony Arabian to win a bet. The situation could not be more rife with potentially hilarious hijinx. For example, I don’t know jack about endurance. In fact, I can barely endure getting …

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Mar 18

Field notes from the Equine Behavioral Studies Dept.

Stella. March 2009.

My young grey mare Pearl looks like a little porcelain unicorn, but she has fearsome intellective powers, which powers she unfortunately inclines toward the service of evil. Her practical jokes include bucking me off, terrorizing the other mares, throwing her feed pan in the air, kicking down stall boards, and, the latest addition to her …

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Mar 03

Deep subject

It’s here! My Katadyn water filter is here! And not a moment too soon. I was getting a little thirsty. Surely you’ve been transfixed — you’re only human, after all — with my ongoing water troubles. You will no doubt recall that I am in the process of switching my water source from rainwater collection …

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Feb 28

Crone tries on old blaming hat

Hey, if you’re a disenfranchised Blamer, you might be interested to know that I’ve got a new post up at IBTP. It’s sort of, but not really, about “Makers,” that documentary on the women’s movement they showed on PBS the other night. I am considering jumping back into the blaming fray permanently. You can take …

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Feb 26

Of Fitbits and horse spits

The object in the photo is my recent Fitbit. If you aren’t familiar with the self-tracking craze that’s sweeping the nation, and I sincerely hope you aren’t, the word “Fitbit” will mean nothing to you. I regret to say that Fitbit is a little electronic pedometer that you put in your pocket, whereupon it tracks …

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Feb 24

The Fresh New Arcadian Horror

Decades before I ever thought I’d hang up my Les Paul and repair to the countryside to cultivate my eccentric reclusiveness, my college pal Leslie dropped out of society. She bagged her life of nonstop excitement and glamorous adventure in Chicago and biffed off to Bumfuck, Kentucky to raise endangered farm animals. I’m sayin, Kentucky. …

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