I have always considered myself a cat person. Growing up I only have vague memories of our family dog when I was young but could name all 8 of the various cats we had as well as exactly what they were like and which ones I liked the most. It didn’t take long of living outside of my parents house to quickly add a kitten to the place I rented with my best friend. And shortly after that adding another. It wasn’t until years later, after getting married, moving around and finally settling back into Bozeman that I even considered getting a dog. Knowing it was something my husband wanted very much. He never had so much as a gold fish as a child. I still wasn’t convinced I did, but knew how happy it would make him. I also knew that if I ever had a dog it would have to be a golden retriever, which was the one dog I always thought the cutest thanks to their numerous appearances in romantic comedies, my favorite genre of that time. The moment I picked our golden out, tied a bow around her neck and brought her into our home as a birthday surprise I became a dog person.
 

Over the next twelve years, Sadi became a part of our family. At first, I wasn’t quite sure what we had gotten our selves into, the early puppy years of getting up in the middle of the night, watching her chew down a brand new tree in the backyard and dig herself out of our fence a couple of times. Getting frustrated but then softening immediately when she looked at you with her big brown eyes. Taking her on her first hikes up the M and having to carry her part way up because her short little legs couldn’t quite make the climb. Later on, trying to keep up with her on a trail as she ran off ahead. Bringing home our first baby, unsure of how Sadi would react. We should have known it would only be with love as that is all she was ever capable of. Those early days of being home alone with a newborn she became the one I talked to throughout the day, the one who came by my side when I was losing it because the baby wouldn’t stop crying. It was Sadi who made the baby giggle for the first time by licking her hands. When the second baby came home, we were greeted at the door with her wagging tail, Sadi eager to meet the completion of our family.
 

This dog was love and unwavering patience with two young girls. They could climb on her, hug her so tight, dress her up in their doll clothes, put ribbons in her fur. The week before we lost her they had her hooked up to an imaginary Santa sleigh and she was the reindeer. There were times I would look into her eyes and see the annoyance, but also the happiness. She was their protector, taking on the habit of barking if strangers walked past the house and keeping a close eye wherever they were. Spending her nights half in one room and half in the other. She never choose favorites, only made each of us feel like we were the one. To be loved by her was to be in the presence of unconditional adoration.
 

You never imagine you won’t have them in your life. Of course you see the slow down. I remember when bringing her along on my morning runs began to get too difficult and simply letting that go. As the girls became stronger hikers, she became weaker. Rather than running ahead on the trail to peaks of mountains, we began to settle for easier ones with her and reluctantly left her home for big ones. The water was the one place she never slowed down. Always eager to swim after a stick or ball, but never ever bringing it back to you. Sooner than any of us wanted, the walks became just a stroll around the block and then sadly realizing even that was too much.
 

To say goodbye to Sadi was one of the greatest heartbreaks in all our lives. While grateful for the full beautiful life she had with us, I still can’t fully process that she is gone. The emptiness that fills our home, the quiet that greets you when you walk in the door. Trying to comfort my children as they cope with this loss, while feeling my own heart breaking. Seeing my husband lose his first pet, his best friend. Finding comfort in his words when he says we can all learn from Sadi. She lived her life full of happiness with just the simplest things...being around people she loved. She was the kindest, gentlest soul and if we could all just be a little more like her, the world would be a better place.
 

I still consider myself a cat person, in fact the cat mentioned above still sleeps next to me each night...19 years later. However, because of Sadi I am also completely a dog person. Or perhaps it was just her. She will be forever missed and always remembered in our hearts.

Angela Jamison is a native Montanan and she grew up in beautiful Bozeman. I'm the mother of two girls and write a blog about our life here and taking in the simple pleasures of family and food.

http://www.rdeliciouslife.blogspot.com/

As we prepare to usher in another year, many of us are still mourning the loss of dozens of legendary icons whose talent, accomplishments, and leadership have etched their lives into the history books for all time. The world lost superstar musicians, stars of the stage and screen, courageous astronauts, some of the greatest athletes of all time, noteworthy writers, and larger-than life political figures. From David Bowie, Prince, Leonard Cohen, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Muhammad Ali, Gordie Howe, Arnold Palmer, John Glenn, Janet Reno, Harper Lee, Elie Wiesel, Nancy Reagan, Fidel Castro, and Mother Mary Angelica, the list is shocking and profound all at the same time.
 

Needless to say, the year 2016 is leaving a great deal of talent in its wake. Some of these individuals lived long, full lives while others had theirs clipped disturbingly short. The more recent deaths of Carrie Fisher and her mother, Debbie Reynolds, seemed to be the last straw for many people with 2016. People became so overcome with anxiety at the thought of losing anyone else this year that a GoFundMe page was set up to protect the notorious Betty White.
 

People are so busy mourning and trying to preserve pieces of the current year that they haven’t even stopped to think about how the losses of 2016 are actually invaluable gifts we can carry with us for the next 365 days. One thing all of these icons had in common-- from those who lived well into their 80s to those who slipped away prematurely—is that their lives were full and vibrant from start to finish. They all followed their passions, gave 110% and didn’t waste one single minute of the life they were given.
 

Recently, I had the privilege to travel to Memphis with my family to visit Elvis Presley’s home at Graceland. Elvis is another perfect example of a world-renowned icon who was taken from us far too soon. But in his 42 short years, he accomplished more than most us could do if we were given 200 years. While looking at a wall full of records and awards he achieved, I noticed one framed print on the wall bearing the words “Before anyone did anything, Elvis did everything.” I smiled in reading it knowing how true it was. While I believe those words are especially true about Elvis, I think that they can also pertain to many of the other individuals we said farewell to in 2016.
 

If Elvis had accepted the first rejection he got and instead taken up a sensible and secure job to help support his family, the world may never have come to know rock and roll. If Muhammad Ali had decided that training was too difficult and time consuming then boxing may not have become the sport it is today. If Elie Wiesel had let the fear of discrimination and racism overtake him, we wouldn’t have had such a profound witness on the atrocities committed during World War II. If John Glenn had been content with an ordinary life and only believed in what he could already see and touch, man may have never left earth and set foot on the moon.
 

The point is, we all think we have time. We think that if we wait until after the holidays, after our kids start driving, after we get a better paying job, after we finish remodeling the basement that we can finally go after our dreams and start living life to the fullest without regret. We think that if we are meant for greatness that opportunity will fall into our lap and deliver us from our present circumstances. But the reality is, our hesitance to act in our own life and do so right now may very well be the largest regret we find ourselves burdened with in our final days.
 

The time to act is now. The time to achieve is now. The time to believe in ourselves is now. The time toenjoy and live our lives is now. Stop mourning the deaths of 2016 and instead look to those passed onlives as examples of how we should live our lives in 2017. The saying, “live each day as though it is your last” seems corny and over-stated. But it is nonetheless true….because we never know when our last day is going to be. The icons of 2016 were so greatly adored while alive and so missed now that they are gone because they lived such prolific lives. As you enter into 2017, make one of your resolutions be to live each day in the moment while giving it your very all.

Lacey Middlestead is a Montana native and freelance writer currently living in Helena, Mont. She loves meeting new people and helping share their stories. When she’s not busy writing articles for newspapers like the Independent Record and Helena Vigilante, she can usually be found indulging in her second greatest passion–playing in the Montana wilderness. She loves skiing and snowmobiling in the winter and four wheeling, hiking, boating, and riding dirt bikes in the summer.

For five years I visited a Metis elder, Sarah LaRocque, in Roy, Montana.  I first visited in May 1994. She was 89.  In 2007, at 102, she died in a nursing home in Lewistown.
 

I fell in love a bit.  Sarah reminded me of the Grandmas I knew when I first lived on the Crow Reservation in 1974. So I visited once, and then again, buying her “fancy work” quilts and crochet doilies and drinking coffee, chatting. As I age, I better understand why she repeated the same stories, the same fond memories. Because sometimes the changes heralded by each year, each New Year, are hard to face.
 

Sarah’s fondest memories were going to fiddle dances. When she was very young, her parents started talking to her about dancing, but mostly she learned by going to dances.
 

On New Year, Sarah’s father got up before dawn.  It didn’t matter what kind of weather it was, they were going to get up and go, bundling up in their wagon  They’d go to someone’s house and would be there all day. The host family might serve a midnight supper.  Sometimes they sold box lunches. There was coffee available all night.  
 

The young men preferred to come on their horses, weren’t going to ride in their family’s wagons. Coming in on horses, now that was something to see, to remember.  And Sarah sparkled when she did. 

Whoever hosted would take all the furniture from their home and set it outside.  Everything went outside. Maybe wood was set outside to dance on as well.
 

There might be 50 or 60 people at a dance in a little tiny house.  Many  of the log cabins had dirt on the floor so when everyone danced it could get pretty dusty.  Sarah told me, “Most people didn’t put in wood floors until they had lived somewhere for awhile.”
 

She said you really got sweaty after dancing, and you'd wipe off with whatever, or go outside to cool down, but mostly you didn't worry about it.  She would get done with one dance and “feel just tired and then a man would come up and ask me to dance again”   That would happen over and over and over until morning light.
 

Men sometimes smoked outside, sometimes inside--"We didn't notice.  We were dancing.  We just danced.”  
 

There would be two or three fiddlers, to spell each other.  They played alone, sitting. 
 

After the dance, everyone helped to bring the furniture back in.
 

I asked if people took tents.  “Oh no. People just danced all night and when the dancing was over, they moved on or went home.”  Kids might have slept on a chair or something, along the walls in the house, or something like that,  “But, oh, as we got older, we weren’t sitting anywhere.  We were dancing.”  
 

Sarah said she never turned anyone down if they asked her to dance.  She said, people always kind of laughed at her excitement.
 

In the morning, the men would gather up their teams, harness up.  They didn't eat breakfast at the dance place. For New Year, they would move on to someone else’s house. Then, after awhile they’d end up back at their house and it would be their turn.
 

I asked if she felt tired-jittery after a dance.  She said she maybe felt sleepy, but mostly she heard the music all the way home.  She paused, repeated herself.  Maybe she was sleepy, but mostly she heard the music.  All the way home.  
 

“I tell you, those were good times.” She glowed talking about it, saying she had cause for good, happy memories, and was delighted to be with those memories, I think.
 

I wish that for us all in 1997: celebration, community and an ability to show up for simple joys in life. 
 

— Thanks to the Matt Hansen Endowment, and with permission from her nephew, Sonny, several years ago I organized my interviews with Sarah, along with other supporting information,  and donated them to the Montana Historical Society.

Jenna Caplette migrated from California to Montana in the early 1970s, first living on the Crow Indian reservation. A Healing Arts Practitioner, she owns Bozeman BodyTalk & Integrative Healthcare. For relaxation, she reads novels and walks the trails around Bozeman with her four legged companion. Oh, and sometimes she manages to sit down and write.

Last winter a friend and her husband happened to drop by Dunrovin Ranch in the late afternoon just I was about to begin the evening feeding. They readily offered a hand and were soon involved in the process of spreading hay and moving horses. We went down to the riparian area along the river to open the gate to let the main herd into the south pasture where we had scattered their evening meal. Several of the horses stopped to greet us as they quietly walked up the hill and meandered over to various hay piles, distributing themselves throughout the pasture without any sort of contention.

My guests were surprised by the calm and peaceful atmosphere that seemed to prevail over the entire ranch. They had done this chore with me before, but always during the hectic summer season when both horses and people were hard at work to keep the place humming, and when expectations were high and nerves easily frayed. During summer months, the horses hurriedly bound up the hill for their feed, jostling each other for the prime feeding spots. Standing in the snow watching the herd contentedly enjoying their hay, my friends remarked, “Wow. The horses are like an entirely different herd now than they were last summer.”

Former Dunrovin Horse Dandy in our winter field: Photo by Tamar Kasberg

Indeed, the herd’s entire demeanor seems to change with the passing of the busy season and with the slowness that winter and cold and snow demand. After a winter storm, you may see them running and kicking up the fresh snow with an exuberance you rarely see in summer. On cold, blustery days, you will find them huddled together with their backs to the wind. So well-insulated are they by their woolly coats, their body heat does not escape to melt the frost that forms on their backs and whiskers. On unusually warm, sunny winter afternoons, you may find them rolling in the snow and snoozing while lying on the ground, protected by their herd mates who stand guard. Small bands of friends form to mutually groom one another and graze together. They are free to choose nearly every aspect of their daily lives.

Their winter days are dictated by the weather, the sun rising and setting, being with their friends, and their own inner thoughts. Gone are the requirements from their human companions, the long days of work carrying guests up and down the mountain trails, and the nearly constant commotion of people coming and going at the ranch. One winter day flows into the next without interruption, punctuated only by the feed truck delivering fresh hay and pellets.

Lady Lonza in Winter: Photos by Tamar Kasberg

My friend’s comment caused me to reflect on how important the winter season is for our horses. Winter snows lay a thick white blanket on the ranch that is both calming and quieting for all. And, unlike wild animals that face possible winter food deprivation and harm from predators, our horses are safe and well kept. They always have plenty to eat, open water to drink, and shelter when necessary. They are free to snuggle under that blanket of snow and enjoy a much-deserved rest. Released from summer's demands to please people, they can settle into the joy of just being a horse.

During the holidays, Dunrovin sometimes interrupts their winter rest with Christmas parties that bring them together with their human handlers and riders. Their human friends come out to groom them, give them treats, and decorate them with all manner of Christmas trinkets and tinsel—and the truth is, they seem to enjoy this. Our focus is not on training them or riding them or asking them to perform any sort of work. We really don’t expect anything from them or ourselves other than taking the time to shower them—and each other—with kindness and good cheer, and to thank them for being the wonderful animals they are.

Smokey in Winter: Photo by Tamar Kasberg

In reality, I think that for humans, too, winter, rather than summer, is the season for rest, replenishment, and rejuvenation.  In these northern climes, where summer days seem to stretch on forever and our bodies and souls keep us active from dawn till dusk, winter gives us a chance to let go. We can enjoy the short winter days outside and then retreat indoors to huddle with our friends and family, to sit quietly with our thoughts, and to get a long winter’s night’s sleep.

Charger, Whiskey, and Rocket in Winter: Photos by Tamar Kasberg

Oh, that everyone, everywhere, could experience the hush of winter in the same way our horses do—to be safe and free from want, to be released for a short period from the demands of our overly busy lives, to recharge and play with our friends, and to just be ourselves.

Cover Photo by Tamar Kadberg

SuzAnne Miller is the owner of Dunrovin Ranch. A fourth-generation Montanan, SuzAnne grew up roaming the mountains and fishing the streams of western Montana. Her love of nature, animals, science, and education prompted her to create the world’s first cyber ranch where live web cameras bring Dunrovin’s wildlife and ranch life to internet users across the globe.

Visit SuzAnne live at www.DaysAtDunrovin.com!