Here is a very brief excerpt from my creative nonfiction piece, Nacona, about my horse by that name, which was a gift to me from my parents when I was a teenager.  I revised the piece tonight and submitted it to a magazine that has previously published my poetry.  I’m hoping they will take this piece as well.

…The drainage ditch is wide with water.  Nacona heaves over it because I ask her to. We slide three feet in the mud.  Nacona’s back legs give out and she rolls me off. My feet dangle out of the stirrups and I rise unbroken but soaking with mud.  A. is riding the Thoroughbred gelding, Lucky, and she turns back to laugh at me.  I burn with humiliation. I scoop a patty of mud with both hands and hurl it at her. Lucky half-rears and breaks into a sideways gallop. A. stops Lucky and hops off his back.  She trudges through the field wildly threatening me. I cup another whopping pound of mud and throw it smack dab in her face.  Her mouth is open blurting a curse and now she’s choking out black mud.  Her choking turns to laughter and she fills her hands with a solid mud bomb.  It hits me in the right boob.  That’s it. Our mud fight’s a free-for-all…