It’s tough living with a diva. I wanted three children, wanted badly to put in an order for three redheaded female triplets. I knew that there was also the likelihood that I’d end up with 1, 2, or 3 towheaded boys. The prospect of the latter terrified me. I mean, how and when do you tell little boys about wet dreams? You have to know some about male anatomy, at least more than I know.

I now have a redheaded female. Actually, I now have two. The first was Raudi, and the second was Hrimfara. In fact, I sometimes now look at Hrimmi and do a double-take. She has the same chestnut coat and sorrel mane color as does Raudi. Yesterday, as Hrimmi was checking out the water, Pete observed that she would not drink it unless the temperature was just right, which was why he called her Goldilocks. The frizzy red-gold mane cinched it.

Raudi acts like my world, and as well, everyone else’s world, revolves around her. I have to a large degree shaped her diva personality. If she lived in Iceland and spent her time in a large pasture, with many of her kind, she might not act like she’s a creature of entitlement. For sure, she would not pin her ears back and put herself between me and the others when I make a fuss over them.

It’s only going to get worse because Raudi now has her very own Facebook page. Pete set it up. I was reluctant to give the okay on his doing this project because life around here has been fine without our having any Facebook pages.

I’m not too keen about the more intrusive and Big Brother like aspects of Facebook. Personal data can easily be accessed, and advertisers and corporations can capitalize on everyone’s wants and needs.

I’m also not keen on attempting to converse with supposed “friends,” especially people from my past. Recently, a fellow I knew back when I went to school at the University of New Hampshire (this was back in the days of wagon trains) attempted to get a hold of me through a buddy of his. The buddy said that this guy wanted to get in touch with me. Why, I wondered, would anyone want to do something like this. Our pasts should be a fiction. Our pasts are a fiction. If I’d kept in touch with this person over the years, and maybe lost touch a short while ago, this would be acceptable But this is unacceptable. This fellow was then, and probably is still now, the quintessential nerd. His friend, the guy who attempted to put us in touch, was actually a nice guy. But getting back in touch with him would be an even bigger complication. I say, let sleeping dogs lie. Raudi says, let hungry horses eat.

I’m also not keen on spending hours on end on Facebook. Time spent social networking is time that needs to be spent riding horses and writing. Even Raudi understands this.

There’s also the likelihood that all the other animals around here are going to want Facebook pages. Can’t do it. Simply can’t do it.

Ahh, but the one advantage of setting up and maintaining Raudi’s Facebook page is that some will pick up on the fact that Raudi’s Story is now available through Smashwords and Amazon, and Raising Raudi will be out shortly. The profits are going to go towards the cost of Raudi’s new saddle. And after that, towards the costs of our upcoming trip.

I can’t help but think of how different life would be if I had three little red haired girls. I suspect that right now, I’d be bemoaning the fact that I’d now be writing about putting up three Facebook pages.

381. 12/28/12: A Visit with Katie Long