Journal Entries

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Shine Bright Like A Diamond

Jewel Cartwright

"Heya, Diamond," Jewel said, slipping the halter onto the sleek black mare's head. She gave her a scratch behind the ear, smiling as the horse leaned into her touch. "Well, you've certainly had a good roll, haven't you? Let's go make you shine."

Jewel led Black Diamond from the paddock, the mare's hooves soft against the grassy earth, leaving faint impressions of where she'd wandered earlier that morning. Despite her dirty coat, Diamond still carried herself with the grace and power of the thoroughbred she was—strong, elegant, and full of energy. Spring had a way of waking everything up, and Black Diamond was no exception.

As they made their way to the stables, Jewel noticed Old Ted walking by, a knowing grin on his face.

"Looks like you've got your work cut out for you there, Jewel," Ted called, tipping his hat in passing. His gaze lingered on the muddy streaks across Diamond's black coat, evidence of the mare's playful morning in the paddock.

Jewel chuckled, pausing to give the mare a once-over herself. "I know. I hate and love early spring," she replied, shaking her head at the challenge ahead. She led Diamond up to the hitching rail outside the stables, tying the mare off securely.

The sun was higher now, casting a warm glow over the ranch. The air was fresh with the scent of grass and damp earth, a reminder that the land was waking up, shedding winter's grasp. It was a season of transitions—not just for the horses but for everything around them.

Jewel grabbed a curry comb and began working it through Black Diamond's coat. The mare stood patiently, flicking her ears at the sound of birds singing nearby. The first few strokes of the comb brought thick clumps of winter hair to the surface, loosening the matted fur. Underneath, the sleek, black shine of Diamond's true coat began to emerge. Jewel smiled as the transformation began, her arm working in steady circles.

"So, you ready to start your season, girl?" Jewel asked softly, her voice rhythmic, matching the movements of her brush. She knew Black Diamond was more than ready. At three years old, the mare was in her prime, a racehorse with speed and intelligence, honed by long months of training. The winter had kept them both indoors more than they liked, but spring was here now, and the races weren't far off.

Diamond snorted in response, tossing her head slightly, as if agreeing with the sentiment. Jewel grinned. This mare had always been one to respond, her energy as electric as it was focused.

After switching to a soft brush, Jewel moved to Diamond's neck, brushing away the remnants of winter. Her coat was coming to life with every stroke, shining brighter with each pass.

The familiar sound of hooves on dirt pulled Jewel's attention toward the round pen. Maggie was working the young mare again, her calm voice carrying on the breeze as she guided the horse through its paces. Jewel watched for a moment, admiring the ease with which Maggie communicated with the horse. The connection was there, the quiet understanding that only years of experience could create.

"I see you're working your magic again, Maggie," Jewel called out, her brush still moving over Diamond's side.

Maggie chuckled, looking up from her work. "Every spring's a new challenge, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Jewel nodded. That's how it was on the ranch. Every horse, every season, brought its own set of trials, but also its own rewards. Black Diamond, in particular, had been a project. From a feisty, unpredictable yearling, she had blossomed into a disciplined racer with a winning streak ahead of her.

"Are you planning to take Diamond to the spring trials?" Maggie asked as she brought the mare to a halt.

"Absolutely," Jewel said, stepping back to admire the now gleaming coat of her mare. "She's ready. We've worked hard all winter. The trials will be a good test before the big races."

Maggie smiled. "She looks fantastic. You've got a real gem there."

Jewel patted Diamond's side. "Thanks. She's special, that's for sure." The mare shifted her weight, her muscles rippling beneath the sleek black coat. It had taken time and patience to get her to this point, but the connection Jewel felt with Black Diamond was undeniable. This season, they were going to make waves.

As she continued grooming, Jewel's mind wandered to the upcoming race schedule. The spring trials would be held at the local track in a few weeks, a chance for horses and trainers alike to shake off the winter rust. But for Black Diamond, it was more than that. This was her time to prove herself, and Jewel had no doubt the mare was up for the challenge.

Finishing the grooming session, Jewel stepped back, admiring her work. Black Diamond's coat was a mirror of the spring sun now, gleaming with health and energy. The winter had been long, but they'd come through it stronger, more prepared for the season ahead.

"Alright, Diamond," Jewel said, giving the mare a final pat. "Let's tack you up and see what you've got."

Jewel headed into the tack room, retrieving Diamond's racing gear. She carefully placed the bridle on the railing and laid the saddle blanket across the mare's back. Sliding into place, she positioned the racing saddle atop the blanket and reached beneath to fasten the girth. With a firm grip, she tightened it before grasping the bridle.

"Here you go, girl," she murmured, her voice filled with excitement.

Jewel untied the mare and gently slipped the halter off, settling the bridle into place. Together, they walked toward the exercise track, where the soft earth awaited them. A light breeze stirred, carrying the fresh scent of blooming flowers and the promise of warmer days ahead. The ranch buzzed with the vibrant energy of spring—new beginnings, fresh challenges, and the exhilarating prospect of what lay ahead.

With Black Diamond's coat gleaming and her muscles primed for action, Jewel couldn't help but feel the anticipation rising. This was their time, the season they had been waiting for.

Happy Trails!

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Hidden Among The Gear

Jewel Cartwright

I've been here my whole life and never really had to deal with snakes—until now, that is.

Today started out as a normal spring day. The morning was still a bit chilly, but you could feel the warmth creeping in, the kind that hints at the long, dry days to come. Alex and I were getting ready for an afternoon ride out to one of the far paddocks to check on the calves and start tagging their ears. It's a routine job, one of those tasks you don't really think too much about.

We went through our usual motions—rounding up the horses we'd ride (Ceniza for Alex, Diego for me) from the nearby paddock. Ceniza, as usual, gave Alex that side-eye he does, like he's sizing him up before deciding he's alright for today. Diego was his usual steady self, standing calm as I slipped the halter over his head.

We headed back toward the barn to get the gear together. Saddles, bridles, tagging equipment—all the things we needed were piled up, waiting in the shed by the tack room. It was there, right by the door, where things took an unexpected turn.

I reached down to grab the old saddle blanket I always use for Diego when something flickered in the corner of my eye—a flash of movement so quick it barely registered. At first, I thought maybe it was just a shadow, or the wind shifting something loose in the shed. But then I saw it—a long, smooth shape curled up under the stack of gear, blending in so well that I hadn't noticed it until it was too late.

A snake.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized what it was. I've seen a few over the years, sure—brown snakes mostly, and a few pythons in the high grass—but never this close, never hidden so neatly among the gear. It was coiled up, still, its body barely visible except for the faint ripple of scales along its back.

I froze, trying to remember everything my parents ever told me about staying calm around snakes. Don't move too quickly. Don't startle it. But in that moment, all those years of growing up here on the land didn't matter. Instinct kicked in, and all I could think about was getting Alex and me the hell out of there before it decided to strike.

"Alex," I said quietly, not daring to take my eyes off the snake. "Step back. Slowly."

He didn't question me—smart kid. He moved just like I told him, slow and steady, his eyes darting to where mine were fixed. He spotted the snake almost instantly, and I could see his whole body tense, but to his credit, he didn't panic. He stood perfectly still, waiting for me to take the lead.

We backed away, inch by inch, until we were far enough that I felt like I could breathe again. Only then did the snake move, slithering out from under the gear and disappearing into the brush just beyond the shed. I let out a shaky breath, realizing how close we'd come to an accident that could've turned the day upside down.

It's funny how something like that can remind you of your place out here. For all the years I've spent on this land, there are still moments when nature reminds you that you're not in control. It's easy to forget, sometimes, that we share this space with creatures who've been here long before us. Snakes, like that one today, don't care about your plans or your routines. They're just doing what they do, hiding among the gear, waiting for the right moment to remind you that they're here too.

After a few deep breaths, we carried on, saddling up Diego and Ceniza like nothing had happened. But I couldn't help glancing around a little more carefully after that. We rode out to the paddock, the sun high overhead, and as we worked, I found myself thinking about the balance we strike out here—between what we know and what we can't control.

It's not the first time I've had a brush with danger on the station, and I'm sure it won't be the last. But it reminded me of something my parents used to say: "This land has its secrets, and it'll keep them hidden until it's ready to show you." Today, I think we got a glimpse of one of those secrets.

Happy Trails!

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Neblinas Arrival

Jewel Cartwright

Bruma Blanca had been nearing her due date for weeks, and I'd been keeping a close watch. The foaling alarm had been set up days ago, and though she'd shown the typical signs of a first pregnancy—restlessness, changes in her eating habits—everything had seemed on track. The vet had come by for regular check-ups, and each time, I felt a bit more at ease.

Still, last night, something told me to stay extra alert. It's hard to explain, but there's a certain feeling you get after years of being around animals—a gut instinct you learn to trust. And sure enough, around 5 a.m., the foaling alarm went off, cutting through the early morning quiet like a shot.

Startled awake, I grabbed my flashlight, threw on my robe, and headed out to the barn with the dogs hot on my heels. The fog was thick, the kind of mist that clings to everything, turning the paddocks into a hazy, dreamlike landscape. I knew Bruma was in trouble before I even reached her stall.

When I got to the barn, I found Bruma already lying down, her sides heaving as she struggled through labor. I'd prepared for this moment, but no amount of planning can really prepare you for seeing your mare in pain. I called her name softly, and she flicked an ear towards me, but her focus was entirely on what was happening inside her body.

I left the dogs outside the stall to keep watch, their soft whines the only sound besides Bruma's heavy breathing. If anyone came by, I knew they'd alert me. Moving into the stall, I crouched beside her, carefully watching her every movement.

At first, everything seemed to be progressing as expected—her contractions were strong, and she was doing what nature intended. But it wasn't long before I noticed that she was straining more than normal. Her sides heaved, her muscles quivered, and she kept shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that might ease her pain.

The knot in my stomach tightened. Something wasn't right. I placed a hand on her neck, whispering softly to calm her, though the anxiety in my own voice probably didn't help much. I'd seen enough foalings to know when things were taking a turn, and this wasn't progressing the way it should.

Trying to keep her and myself calm I quickly dialed the vet. Bruma's breathing had become faster, more labored, and the contractions were intense, but still no sign of the foal. Time slowed down as I waited for the vet to arrive, each minute feeling like an eternity. I could feel that creeping fear—what if help didn't come in time?

When the vet finally pulled up, I felt a rush of relief. She wasted no time, quickly assessing the situation. The foal was positioned awkwardly—breech, which explained Bruma's struggle. The vet worked swiftly and carefully, repositioning the foal while I stayed beside Bruma, whispering soft reassurances, though they felt small against the enormity of what was happening.

The next few minutes felt like hours. Bruma's strength was fading, her body trembling under the strain. For a brief moment, I feared she might not make it. But Bruma, my strong and stubborn girl, didn't give up. She fought with everything she had, and just as the first light of dawn began to filter through the barn's open door, she gave one last mighty push.

And then, there she was. A small, trembling figure, covered in the sheen of birth, but unmistakably alive.

The vet stepped back, a quiet smile on her face, and I finally exhaled. "It's a filly," she said softly. A bay.

Bruma lay still, completely exhausted, while the filly shivered beside her, trying to make sense of her new world. The vet checked Bruma first—her breathing was steady, no signs of tearing, and within minutes the placenta followed naturally. Another wave of relief washed over me. We'd made it.

Then, attention turned to the foal. The vet examined her gently, checking her heart rate and reflexes. The filly was small, but determined, and after a few wobbly attempts, she stood on her spindly legs, swaying but upright. Bruma, despite her exhaustion, reached out to nuzzle her foal, the kind of instinctive, quiet affection that only a mother could give.

It was in that moment, as I watched them together, that I knew what her name would be—Neblina, after the mist that hung over the paddocks that morning. It felt right, fitting. She had arrived in the early hours, shrouded in fog, but now she stood in the light, full of life.

After the vet left, I had stayed in the barn a while longer, watching mother and foal bond. Alex popped in to check on the newborn and myself, quietly taking the dogs back to the house for breakfast. For the first time in hours, I felt the tension leave my body. We'd pulled through, all of us.

---

After a few days in the barn, once both Bruma and Neblina were strong enough, I knew it was time to move them to a paddock. I carefully led them out, feeling a rush of joy as I watched Neblina take her first tentative steps into the fresh air. Bruma followed closely, her protective instincts on full display as she guided her foal into this new world.

The paddock was a welcome change, the grass swaying gently in the breeze. I could see Neblina's curiosity blossoming as she explored, nuzzling the ground and taking in the sights and sounds of the outdoors. Bruma, though still weary, seemed to regain some of her vitality in the open space, grazing contentedly while keeping a watchful eye on her daughter.

In that moment, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment, knowing they were both thriving in their new environment. Watching Neblina and Bruma together reminded me that, even after the struggle, life continues, and there's beauty in every new beginning.

Neblina's start in this world might have been difficult, but there's something about her spirit that tells me she's going to be just fine.

Happy Trails!

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Past and Future

Jewel Cartwright

So, today started off in a way I didn't expect. Grace caught me completely off-guard over our morning coffee. She looked over and asked, "You ever thought about what's going to happen to the station when you're gone?" Morbid, right? Not exactly the kind of question I get from the crew around here. But it's been playing on my mind all day.

What will happen to Southern Lights after me? It's a question I've managed to dodge for years, buried under all the day-to-day work, the horses, and the land. I guess I've always assumed I'd be around for a long, long time—at least long enough to keep the place running. But life doesn't work that way, does it? Eventually, I'll have to let go, and then what? Will the station just go to some stranger or a corporate investor with no soul, who'd bulldoze all the work I've put into it? The idea of that is... unsettling. Southern Lights isn't just land; it's part of me.

If I had kids, maybe things would feel different. I'd like to imagine passing down the station to them, sharing with them everything I've learned about the horses, the land, the sunsets that feel like they belong only to us. But that's not the reality, is it? My relationships have been sparse, just a handful of attempts that never panned out. I guess part of me always thought that someone would stick around eventually, but life has a way of proving otherwise. It's sad, honestly, admitting that, but it's the truth. Sometimes I wonder if I've put too much into this place and not enough into building a life outside of it. But then I think about leaving here and realize there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Southern Lights is more than just a job or a home; it's everything I've poured myself into, my purpose, and my legacy, if I have one. There are so many memories wrapped up in this place—the early mornings, the smell of horses and earth, the silence before dawn. If I close my eyes, I can see every inch of it, from the way the gum trees catch the light to the spots in the paddocks that need mending. It's a part of me, and I'd like to believe it'll keep going, even if I'm not here to see it.

I guess all I can do for now is keep at it, take it one day at a time, and hold onto the hope that Southern Lights will find a way to live on, somehow. Whether it's passed down or just left to the hands of someone who cares, I'd like to think this land will keep telling its story long after I'm gone.

---

The weeks have gone by, and Grace's question is still lingering in my mind. But it's not just the future of the station—it's made me think about my own family history. It's strange—I've always felt so rooted here that I never really thought about where I come from or the people who came before me.

My dad was an only child, and then there's me—an only child as well. On his side, the family line seems to end with me. But my mother... I never really thought to ask if she had siblings, or if there might be more of us out there. I'm not sure why I never questioned it before. Maybe because it felt irrelevant to my life here on the station, or maybe because I always felt rooted enough in what I'd built here.

Now, though, I'm starting to wonder if I really am the last link in the chain. Do I have cousins or other relatives who share my history, my blood? Am I truly alone, or is there a bigger family web I've yet to untangle? I think part of me would find comfort in knowing there's someone out there who might understand what Southern Lights means to me. Someone who could understand the pride, the love, the ache of this place.

It looks like I'll have to do some digging to find answers—see if there are records, traces, or even stories that might bring some clarity. Maybe this search will turn up nothing, or maybe it will change everything. Either way, I think it's time to find out.

---

Today, while scrolling through the internet for pedigree records on some of my horses, I stumbled across a DNA and family tree website. I hadn't done much research on my family since the thought crossed my mind a few weeks ago, mostly because work has kept me so busy. But now, I feel like I can't put it off any longer.

I went ahead and sent off the paperwork they require, and in a few days, they'll be sending me an at-home test kit. Part of me is excited at the thought of finally getting some answers. Another part is nervous, wondering what I might uncover.

I will keep you in the loop when i get the results back.

Happy Trails!

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Halloween Festivities

Date: October 31
Jewel Cartwright

Halloween isn't exactly a typical celebration here at Southern Lights Station. It's always felt like more of an American tradition—pumpkins, costumes, and all that. But this year, I thought, why not give it a try? The idea of hosting a Halloween festival on the station started as a casual thought over breakfast, and before I knew it, we were planning the biggest event we've ever thrown. Not just for the staff, but for the entire community.

Getting everything organized took more planning and determination than I expected, but as I look back on tonight, I can honestly say it was worth every bit of effort. Emma and Alex were right by my side, helping design colorful flyers to hand out around town. They even convinced the general store to put up a poster in the window. Once word got out, excitement started brewing, and I realized we might be in for a bigger turnout than I'd planned. But the more, the merrier, right?

The preparations were a sight to behold. We brought in dozens of pumpkins—some real, some fake—to line the pathways and the barn entrance. Emma and Grace spent hours carving the real ones, turning them into jack-o'-lanterns that glowed with candlelight as the sun dipped below the horizon. I have to admit, I didn't expect much from pumpkin carving, but watching those faces flickering in the dark gave the station an eerie, magical feel.

Costumes were another big part of the night. Grace took the lead on organizing that, encouraging everyone to get creative. She made her own costume—a very impressive witch's outfit complete with a pointy hat and a broom she found in the old storage shed. Emma showed up as a zombie cowgirl, her face painted with so much detail I nearly did a double-take. Alex, to everyone's surprise, went full pirate. Eye patch, hat, even a fake parrot on his shoulder. Seeing the crew in costumes was strange, but the laughter and spirit it brought out were contagious.

We also made sure to stock up on candy, of course. We set up a candy station with buckets overflowing with treats—chocolates, lollipops, caramel apples. There was something incredibly satisfying about watching kids from the community dash over with wide-eyed excitement, filling their little bags with as much as they could carry. And the adults were just as entertained, laughing as they watched their kids race around and try to scare each other with plastic spiders and rubber bats we'd scattered around.

We set up a few games, too. Apple bobbing, a pumpkin toss, and even a mini corn maze we created by arranging hay bales in the big paddock near the barn. Watching families weave their way through it, laughing and stumbling in the dark, was a sight to see. The crew joined in, cheering the kids on and even taking a turn or two through the maze themselves. The laughter echoed through the night, blending with the sounds of horses softly nickering in their stables.

As the evening wore on, the bonfire became the heart of the event. We all gathered around it, the warmth cutting through the cool October air. Grace, ever the storyteller, decided to share a "ghost story" about a wandering spirit that supposedly haunts the old windmill at the far end of the property. She made it up on the spot, her voice low and dramatic, and the kids (and a few adults) listened with wide eyes, casting glances over their shoulders. Even though it was just a story, the flickering firelight and the shadows dancing on everyone's faces made it feel almost real.

And then there were the moments of stillness, the quiet pauses in between the laughter and games. Standing there, watching everyone gathered under the stars, I realized how much a night like this meant—not just to the community, but to me. We work hard here every single day, and nights like this remind me why. Southern Lights isn't just a place to work; it's a home, a place where people come together, where we make memories that go beyond the day-to-day routine of ranch life.

As the night wound down and families headed home, I could feel a deep sense of satisfaction settling over me. I hadn't expected Halloween to mean so much here, but it did. For a few hours, Southern Lights was transformed. It felt alive with a different kind of energy—a mix of joy, laughter, and a little bit of spooky magic.

Maybe we'll make this Halloween festival an annual tradition. Or maybe it'll stay as a one-off, a memory we'll talk about for years to come. Either way, tonight reminded me that sometimes it's worth stepping out of the usual routine and trying something different. This place is more than land, horses, and buildings. It's a living, breathing community. And tonight, Southern Lights shone a little brighter.

Happy Trails!

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Weekend Reflections
(Entry relating to Petals and Trails)

Jewel Cartwright

Sunday Evening

What a weekend! I'm sitting here with a cup of tea, and the house feels so quiet now that Melissa and Sophie have gone home. It's strange – only a couple of days, but it feels like they've been a part of my routine forever. Watching them drive off with Mrs. Stapleton, I felt a pang of something, maybe an old memory of when I was that young, curious, and full of questions about everything.

I hadn't realized how much I'd miss having them around.

They've got that boundless energy that reminds me how new and exciting the world felt back then. From the moment they arrived, they were bursting with ideas – pressing flowers, exploring the property, and even asking questions about Alex. That little "look-alike" comment is still echoing in my mind... Funny how kids pick up on things so easily. But it also made me wonder what the future holds and if there's a truth waiting there that I haven't quite faced.

The flower-pressing project was probably the highlight for all of us. Seeing them get so fascinated by something as simple as flowers reminded me of why I loved it, too. Pressing flowers felt like capturing moments in time, like saving the memory of a place or a season. The girls were so careful with each petal, as if they knew how special those moments were. I found my old album in the attic, and sharing it with them – watching their eyes light up at something from my own childhood – was a memory I'll keep close.

And then there was the ride to the creek. They were so excited about riding the Criollos, though I had to gently steer them away from the stallions. They were both so brave and confident, even trying a swim with the horses! It's funny – I felt like more of a kid than an adult today, wading through the water with them, laughing at the dogs' antics as they chased each other along the creek. Somehow, they reminded me how beautiful this place is, how lucky I am to be surrounded by it every day.

I think what struck me the most was the ease of it all. Despite the small mishaps – Sophie's saddle pad slipping off, Melissa dropping the picnic basket – they handled it with such good spirits, like it was all part of the adventure. Maybe there's something to be learned from that kind of resilience.

I'm left wondering if they feel the same way, if they'll look back on this weekend the way I look back on those summers as a kid, when the whole world felt open and every path was waiting to be explored. If nothing else, I hope they know they're always welcome here, that this place can be a bit of a home for them whenever they need it.

It's quiet now, just the dogs curled up by the door. I think I'll take a walk around the paddocks before bed, just to breathe in the stillness. The flowers we pressed are still drying on the windowsill. Maybe they'll come back next season, and we'll add even more to our collection.

For now, though, I'm grateful for the reminder that life can still surprise me – that sometimes, the smallest hands and simplest joys bring the biggest lessons.

Happy Trails!

[Jewel]

Journal Entry

Those pesky flies!

Jewel Cartwright

The sun was just starting to rise over Southern Lights, casting long, golden rays across the paddocks as Jewel finished mucking out the stalls. She paused, wiping the sweat off her brow, taking a moment to appreciate the quiet beauty of the morning. Everything was calm, the world bathed in a warm, sleepy glow, and for a second, it felt like the start of a perfect day.

And then, it hit her.

Bzzzz.

Just one at first—a single fly, buzzing insistently around her ear. Jewel waved it away, figuring it was just an early riser that would move along. But soon enough, more joined in, forming a relentless, whining swarm. The flies seemed to come from nowhere, zoning in on her like she was the freshest target they'd encountered in days. They circled her face, landed on her arms, and settled on the back of her neck, tickling her skin and making her flinch.

"Those pesky flies!" she muttered, swatting the air with a growing sense of frustration. No matter how much she waved her hand or shook her head, they just kept coming back, stubborn and unyielding.

Ringo, one of her loyal Australian Cattle Dogs, trotted over, looking completely unbothered by the swarm. He sat by her feet, tail wagging, watching her flailing arms with mild curiosity. Jewel tried to focus on her work, hoping Ringo's presence would somehow deter the flies, but they were undeterred, swarming around her like she was some prize worth fighting for.

"Come on, Ringo, help me out here!" Jewel joked, giving his ear a quick scratch. But Ringo just tilted his head, as if to say, This is your problem, not mine.

Jewel grabbed her bucket and pitchfork, hoping a bit of movement would shake them off, but the flies seemed to take that as encouragement. They tightened their formation, buzzing closer, taunting her with their persistence. She hurried out of the stall, swatting at the air, but they followed her like a loyal—if unwelcome—entourage.

Finally, in a fit of desperation, Jewel made a beeline for the garden hose coiled by the tack room. She turned the water on and held the nozzle up, letting a cool spray wash over her, laughing as the water sent the flies scattering. They buzzed around angrily, finally backing off, and Jewel couldn't help but grin with relief.

"There," she said triumphantly to Ringo, who had trotted over and was now standing in the mist, snapping playfully at the droplets. "That should keep 'em away—for a little while, at least."

The two of them stood there, Jewel drenched but feeling triumphant, Ringo happily barking at the water. As she looked around at the ranch coming to life in the morning light, she couldn't help but chuckle. Life on the ranch always had its surprises—both the grand and the tiny, buzzing annoyances. But in some odd way, even these little inconveniences were part of what made the place feel alive.

"Guess you just have to roll with it, huh, Ringo?" Jewel said, giving him a fond pat. Ringo barked in agreement, shaking the water from his fur.

With a deep breath, Jewel headed back to her chores, damp but undaunted. Those pesky flies might try to steal her peace, but they'd never steal her spirit.

Happy Trails!