

The First Indication of Trouble
His name was Clyde. And yes, he came with a Bonnie. That should have been the first indication of trouble. Or a big red flag. But I believe when you ask for something in this world, you receive it. My problem is, I always think I know what the answer should look like. There I go thinking again. So when I first heard of Clyde, I had one of those inexplicable hits—that jolt of intuition that says, “I got a feeling…” And I did. That I was his last resort. He was rescued. F
by Cindy Falteich
13 min read


Ask Me Why I'm Smiling
On the surface he’s not much to look at: plain Jane, average mover, too big to be cute, too short to look sturdy. He didn’t even have a name
by Cindy Falteich
8 min read


Field of Dreams vs Reality?
My kid has a dream. He wants to be a major league baseball player. You don’t have to share the odds of that happening with me because I do everything in my power to stop from stating the facts to him. This is a feat, because he constantly reminds me of this goal and the bookies swear I’ll lose my ass if I don’t bet against him. Not long ago he also told me he wants to take all his friends on an overnight ski trip to a local slope for his birthday. The kitty I can expect to
by Cindy Falteich
6 min read


The Nefarious Nature of Words
The moment when total darkness turns into light is when the moon reveals shadows like a beacon in the night. We all have it—a shadow side. It’s the alter ego that destroys relationships, fells families and leaves that nasty aftertaste. It’s what you do when you lapse into default mode at the first hint of trouble and feel the worst that your feelings can conjure. It’s that twisted colon, gut shot, heart attack pain that knots around you when you’re confronted by that dastard
by Cindy Falteich
5 min read


The Spirit of a Goat
This blog also appeared as a guest post on Dragon Intuitive , Feb. 18, 2013. I have a goat. He’s a boy. I named him Billy. I know how unoriginal that is. He’s also a professional eater. As I sit here on the creek bank, listening to the forest while babble flows freely through my head, he hovers near, chomping on the thorniest, pokiest, vilest of weeds with incisors made of hardened steel. Frankly, I think he’s in heaven. Hell, he was made for this. In stark contrast to hi
by Cindy Falteich
4 min read








































