Category Archives: animals

Secretariat – When a Horse Becomes a Legend

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Gone but not forgotten. “Bronze statue of Secretariat at Claiborne Farm in Kentucky, commemorating the Triple Crown winner’s historic career.”

 

A Tribute to Secretariat: America’s Super Horse

Now that Derby Day has come and gone for another year, I find myself thinking not just about the newest winner, but about the horse who still casts the longest shadow over the sport. Secretariat. Big Red. The legend who didn’t just win races — he redefined what greatness looked like on four legs.

Secretariat wasn’t simply fast. He was the Gretzky or Jordan of the racetrack — the kind of once‑in‑a‑generation athlete whose records don’t just stand; they dare anyone to even try. More than fifty years later, his times in all three Triple Crown races remain untouched. No other horse has come close.

The Making of a Legend

Born on March 30, 1970, Secretariat grew into a 16.2‑hand, 1,175‑pound chestnut with a stride so fluid it looked like he was skimming the ground. His conformation bordered on flawless, and during his three‑year‑old season he powered himself with 15 quarts of oats a day — fuel for the engine that would change racing forever.

In 1973, he became the first Triple Crown winner in 25 years. And he didn’t just win those races — he shattered them. His records in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont Stakes still stand today.

The Belmont That Became a Myth

Even if Secretariat had never run another race, the 1973 Belmont Stakes would have secured his immortality. That day, he didn’t just win the Triple Crown — he obliterated it.

He ran the mile and a half in 2:24 flat, the fastest time ever recorded at that distance. And he won by 31 lengths. The camera literally couldn’t keep the rest of the field in the same frame. It remains one of the most astonishing athletic performances ever captured on film.

A Horse Who Became an American Icon

Secretariat wasn’t just a champion; he was a cultural phenomenon. Magazine covers. Headlines. Crowds who came simply to watch him walk. He was syndicated for millions under the agreement that he would retire after his three‑year‑old season — a decision that allowed him to begin a second career as a sire.

His influence is still everywhere. Nineteen of the twenty expected starters in the 2026 Kentucky Derby trace back to him. His bloodline continues to shape the sport.

He even made ESPN’s list of the 50 Greatest Athletes of the Century — the only non‑human on the list.

The Heart of a Champion

When Secretariat died at age 19 from laminitis, the necropsy revealed something that felt almost poetic: his heart was two and a half times the size of a typical Thoroughbred’s. Not diseased — just extraordinary.

Most racehorses are buried with only their head, heart, and hooves. Secretariat was buried whole at Claiborne Farm in Paris, Kentucky. Because how do you separate a legend into pieces?

The Legacy That Still Gallops On

Secretariat earned over $1.3 million on the track — more than $7.7 million today — and commanded a $70,000 stud fee. But his true legacy isn’t measured in money. It lives in the records that refuse to fall, the bloodlines that still dominate, and the way his Belmont replay can make even a casual viewer feel goosebumps.

For those of us who grew up horse‑crazy, Secretariat wasn’t just a racehorse. He was the embodiment of every dream we ever had about what a horse could be.

He still is.

Big Red forever.

 

 

 

Banner, My Little Helper

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Banner the cat gets ready to start his day with a cup of Joe.

A Day in the Life (With Cats, of Course)

My days are pretty full. A “typical” day — if such a thing exists — might include some housework. Believe it or not, I love cleaning my kitchen. I spend so much time in there that making it sparkle feels like restoring my natural habitat.

Then come the smaller chores: taking out the trash, scooping the kitty litter, doing laundry. Somewhere in there I carve out an hour or two with my resident lap cat, Balboa, to read a chapter or two from whatever book currently has its claws in me.

And of course, I always make time to write. Sometimes it’s a full post, sometimes it’s just a snippet to be polished later. In between all that, I pay bills, run errands, and do the weekly grocery run.

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The Chores I Don’t Love

What I do not enjoy are those little unplanned chores — the ones that ambush you. The smoke alarm starts chirping at 3 a.m. because the battery is dying. The toilet won’t stop running because it needs a new flapper (yes, I replace those too).

But the absolute worst offender?

Changing a light bulb.

The moment I drag out my ladder, all those ridiculous light‑bulb jokes start running through my head.
How many software engineers does it take to screw in a light bulb? None — it’s a hardware problem.
You know the type. How many have you heard?

My Ongoing Feud With the Ladder

So why does such a simple task bother me? One word: ladder. I can trip over my own feet with both of them firmly on the ground. When I use my step stool to reach the top shelf in the kitchen, I hold my breath. It’s only one step, but still…

The older I get, the more convinced I am that the ladder is out to get me. I even upgraded — tossed the old wooden one and bought a heavy‑duty rubber model that could probably support a small elephant. It’s sturdy, reliable, and still absolutely terrifies me.

Enter Banner: Supervisor of All Heights

But not my little helper.

Banner is fascinated. The moment I lock the ladder open, he’s right under my feet. Hmmm… could this be part of why I fear falling? Once the ladder is set, I’m ready to climb — in theory. In reality, I suddenly discover dozens of “urgent” tasks at ground level. Procrastination is an art form, and I am a master.

Banner, however, is not. He inspects each step with great seriousness, climbing all the way to the top. Once there, he surveys the kitchen like a tiny orange foreman. It is now his personal domain, and he is the supervisor of all that happens here. If only he had hands and opposable thumbs.

The Light Bulb Gets Changed… Just Not by Me

Did the light bulb get changed?
Yes. Yes, it did — but not by me or Banner.

My much younger, very kind neighbor came to rescue the old lady in distress. In minutes, the old bulbs were out, the new ones were in, and the crisis was over. As he stepped off the ladder he said, “Nice ladder — where’d you get that? And can I pet the cat?”

And just like that, the job was done.

Derby Day: The Two Minutes That Still Make Me Cry

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🐎 A Horse‑Crazy Girl at Heart

I’ve always been a reader, and like any self‑respecting teenage girl, I was mad for horses. I even managed to own a couple (much to my parents’ dismay), but I loved them, and back then I was a pretty fair horsewoman. Probably not now — but that girl is still in me somewhere.

As a young reader, I devoured every horse book I could get my hands on. The first book I ever owned — not borrowed from the library — was The Snow Filly

As a young reader, I devoured every horse book I could get my hands on. The first book I ever owned — not borrowed from the library — was The Snow Filly. I read it until the cover curled. Then came The Black Stallion series. If I’m remembering correctly (and it was many years ago), that wild black stallion eventually ran in the Kentucky Derby. Fiction, of course, but when you’re a horse‑crazy girl, who cares? Those stories were about heroes — and that’s all I needed.

Somewhere in those pages, my love for the Kentucky Derby was born.

The Magic of Post Time

Now I watch the Derby every year — and today is the day! The first Saturday in May. I’m not glued to the TV for the hats or the pomp or the endless pre‑race chatter. I only care about post time. I usually turn on the TV about 30 minutes before the race, just in time for the moment that still gives me goosebumps:

“Riders up!”

The bugle rings out. The horses leave the paddock in the post parade, heading toward the track and the starting gate. My heart starts pounding, and I try to pick a favorite — but who am I kidding? They’re all my favorites. I’d be a terrible handicapper.

The excitement builds as they load into the gate. Some horses walk in calmly. Others rear, dance, or fight the moment — nervous, anxious, full of fire. Then there’s a beat, a breath, a stillness.

And then they’re off.

The most exciting two minutes in sports is underway.

And I cry. Every single time. It’s just so amazing. If I ever get to go in person, I know I’ll embarrass myself. Who cries at a horse race? Everyone else cheers, but not me — I sob my heart out. Those magnificent horses are running with everything they have, and the thrill never fades.

I just love those two minutes.

Riders Up!

 

May Day: The Traditions, the Mischief, and the Magic of May 1st

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🌼“Kids holding colorful ribbons as they dance around a tall maypole on a sunny May Day, with families watching from the crowd.”

I haven’t revisited May Day for a few years — fifteen, to be exact — but who’s counting. If you’re curious (or just in the mood for a laugh), you can see that original 2011 post here. May Day.

May Day is one of those holidays everyone’s heard of, but almost no one can fully explain — which is probably why it’s so much fun to write about. Depending on who you ask, May 1st is about flowers, bonfires, maypoles, ancient goddesses, or childhood memories of weaving ribbons around a pole without tripping over your classmates. And honestly? All of those answers are right.

🌸 A Holiday Older Than… Well, Almost Everything

May Day goes all the way back to the ancient world. The Romans celebrated Floralia, a weeklong festival honoring Flora, the goddess of youth, spring, and flowers. When they reached the British Isles, their festival collided with the Celtic celebration of Beltane, also held on May 1st — a fire festival marking the start of summer. Over time, the two blended into what we now recognize as May Day.

🌿 “Bringing in the May”

By the medieval period, May Day was the spring holiday across Europe. Villagers would wake up early to gather flowers and greenery — a tradition called “bringing in the May.” They decorated homes, barns, and even livestock with blossoms to welcome the season.

🎀 The Maypole (and the Competition to Have the Tallest One)

At the center of the festivities stood the maypole — usually a tall birch tree pulled into town by flower‑decked oxen. People danced around it holding colorful ribbons, weaving patterns as they went. Some towns even competed to see who could raise the tallest or most impressive pole.

👑 The May Queen

Many villages crowned a May Queen, a young woman chosen to preside over the day’s games, dances, and pageantry. Think of it as the original spring influencer — minus the hashtags.

🔥 Bonfires, Dew, and a Little Magic

In some regions, May Day included bonfires — a holdover from Beltane — and people believed washing your face in May morning dew would bring good luck and beauty for the year ahead. (Honestly, that one might be worth trying.)

🌼 And Then There’s New England…

Here in New England, the Puritans were not fans. When an Anglican merchant erected a maypole at Merry Mount (today’s Quincy) in 1627, the neighboring Puritans chopped it down and shipped him back to England. No sense of whimsy, those folks.

So while the Puritans may have tried to shut the whole thing down (party poopers, the lot of them), May Day survived — flowers, maypoles, mischief and all. And honestly? I think that’s worth celebrating. Even if the only dancing you do is from the coffee maker to the couch.

 

Kitty Shenanigans: The Continuing Saga of Life With Two Cats

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Cat Wrestling to start the day off right. What more can be in store for me?

The Morning Mayhem Begins

What a morning. My two tiny terrors have been in rare form. Usually the day starts the same way: breakfast for both kitties, followed by a full‑speed race around the condo. I try not to be in my recliner when this happens, because it’s one of the main sections of their racetrack. They’re just as likely to launch off my head — leaving tufts of my gray hair behind — as they are to springboard off the back of the chair. It’s truly a dangerous place to sit once they’re wound up.

The Post‑Race “Recovery” Phase

After that comes the recovery phase. Once they’ve burned off that first burst of morning energy, they each find a spot for a quick nap while they wait for me to clean the litter box. They supervise this process closely. As soon as I finish, they each reclaim a box — I’ll spare you the explanation. Then they get their morning treats, and normally I get a little peace to write, read, or even sneak in a nap of my own.

Balboa, Agent of Desktop Chaos

But today? Today they rewrote the script.

It started with Balboa. As soon as he finished breakfast, he came over to my desk to “see what I was doing.” He stretched out across the desktop, looking perfectly relaxed. That was just to lull me into a false sense of security. The moment I moved my hand from mouse to keyboard, a paw shot out like lightning. He grabbed for the mouse. I grabbed back. My typing came to a halt. Balboa was not deterred. His paw moved from mouse to keyboard, and the next thing I knew, I had a whole blog post of kitty gibberish.

This back‑and‑forth went on for a while. I was getting nothing done, and Balboa was delighted with himself. Fortunately, he has a short attention span and eventually wandered off to find some other form of mischief.

Banner vs. The Fitbit: A Rivalry for the Ages

Enter Banner.

My Fitbit was on the charger — and somehow, Banner knew. My Fitbit is his nemesis. He tries to chew it off my arm, he finds it when I hide it in the medicine cabinet during my shower, and no matter which charging station I use, he senses it. He has some sort of sixth sense for wearable technology.

Thus began my efforts to distract a determined agent of chaos. Banner has a much longer attention span than Balboa, and this was turning into a full morning of distraction. Cat 1, Hooman 0. The Fitbit barely survived.

Eventually, I gave up trying to charge it and put it back on my wrist. Banner gave me a tail flip — the feline equivalent of a rude gesture — followed by a disgusted look before wandering off, muttering under his breath the whole way.

Temporary Peace… Probably

Back to my work… I hope.

I quietly snuck the Fitbit back onto the charger. Both cats finally settled down for their morning nap/recharge cycle. And now I wait, wondering what they’ll dream up next.

Tiger Panther box war

Living with cats is like living with tiny, furry project managers — always supervising, never helpful, and absolutely convinced the world revolves around their schedule.

Banner and Balboa would like you to know this post contains affiliate links. If you buy through them, I may earn a small commission — which they insist should go toward treats, toys, or whatever they’ve decided to knock off the counter next.