This Week’s Special Guest … Kandy Kay Scaramuzzo, An Author Who Just Likes Horsing Around!

Today’s special guest is going to make you smile with her horsey tale about ‘Pie’ an old brown Horse who lives on her ranch. It’s a book that anyone who loves horses will enjoy and reading a story from a horse’s point of view is not only entertaining but has also taught me a thing or two about horsey behaviour. Kandy has just been awarded a silver medal by the Readers’ Favourite International Book Contest for her story, and here she is to tell you a whole lot more about herself and of course, Pie.


Kandy’s Genre: Non-Fiction (Excerpt Can Be Found At The Bottom Of This Page)

Q. Tell us something about you as a person …


A. I am a seventh generation Texan with a brick at the cowgirl museum. I work at an alternative junior high school teaching behaviour skills. In my spare time I work in horse, dog, cat and snake rescues. I have worked with therapy dogs and special needs riders.

Q. So what gives you inspiration?

A. I get my inspiration from the animals I work with on a daily basis. They are just brimming with inspiration.

Q. Where do you get your ideas for your stories?

A. The story of Pie came from an actual horse. Pie is real and still lives in my barn at the ripe old age of 39. He is a spunky old gentleman.

Q. What is your aim when you write a story?

A. When I wrote Pie I wanted to share his story with other people. He has such a light in his soul, I felt his story had to be told.

Q. What do you find the hardest thing to write about?

A. When I was writing Pie, I had to tell about some of my horses that have moved on to horsey heaven. Many times I found myself with tears streaming down my face. It was very difficult to put that in words so that it would be understood, but not totally destroy the mood of the story.

Q. If you had to choose only one, what would be your favourite book?

A. I have a tie between Crime and Punishment and anything by Edgar Allen Poe.

Q. Tell us something about what made you want to write starting your latest novel.

A. My books are not novels. So far I have only written non-fiction. The story of Pie is one that needed to be told.

Q. Tell us something about your latest story.

A. The latest book about Pie is a book about an old rescued ranch horse and all the amazing things he has done since he was rescued.

Q. What advice would you give someone who said they had just finished their first book and didn’t know where to go from there?

A. I would tell them to set up a website and start getting as many reviews as they can for their book.

Q. Please tell us what you are up to and add any dates of book signings/event that you might be attending soon.

A. Pie An Old Brown Horse (That Knows What He Is Doing) has done quite well. He has an earned a 5 star review on Readers’ Favourites’, then he turned around and won a silver medal in the same international book contest.
Pie has done an interview and took over the whole thing.


Buy Pie on Amazon

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Excerpt of ‘Pie: An Old Brown Horse’

Chapter One


“Ouch”, now that one smarted a bit. I really don’t know why he has to throw things. A boot, (really?), you could really injure someone doing that kind of thing. I know, I get it; he doesn’t want me to tear up another youngster… what he doesn’t understand is these young horses need to be put in their places early or they will become uncontrollable. That old cowboy will be yelling for an entirely different reason when one of these youngsters dumps him in a cactus patch because he doesn’t know his proper place in the herd.

That is where I come in. I was bought and brought to this place for the express purpose of working cattle and to help train the new stock. I have been at this for a long time in horse years. Most horses are gone by the time they hit their late teens. I just hit my 25th birthday and I am still going strong. This is my third ranch and I am pretty good at what I do, even if it does seem a bit brutal to the people portion of this operation.

In the herd world, if an elder looks your way, you back up and give them the space or food or whatever it is they are eyeing. Horses don’t communicate with words. We use gestures and noises, but not to the excess unless necessary. People sometimes just don’t understand. That is why I am being yelled at now and being used as a boot target. (He is going to wish he hadn’t thrown that when he sees what a big pile of stuff it landed in. Ha) The drover thinks I chased down and kicked the snot out of the youngster for no reason.

That was not the case. I turned and slowly gave him a look that he did not heed. I gave him a second chance with the pinned ears, but he was being stubborn or he is just slow. Anyway, after he refused to comply, I chased him to the corner of the corral and kicked him until he squealed in defeat. Then I walked up and bit him nicely on the rump leaving a rather large hole just for good measure. Now the next time he gets the look, he will back away like he is supposed to do…

The drover gets mad when I do corrective teaching. He says I make them sore and tear them up so they can’t work. I disagree. They have just as much control over the kicking part as I do. It depends on how long they wait to give in, as to when I stop. The bit is very carefully placed on the back end. No one puts a saddle back there, so there is no reason why they can’t work.

Sometimes I think they just get upset because their pretty little cowpony has an ugly sore on his rear end. You would not believe how much some of these people tie their egos into their horses. They will go out and buy a nice looking horse to work cattle, never mind that it doesn’t know a thing about wrangling. Most of them have never seen a live cow, much less a bull.

This is kind of a personal issue for me. I was never considered good looking and in my younger days I was always passed over for the prettier mounts. I’m not ugly, just not flashy. I am long and lanky, covered in a very short strange colored chestnut coat. It is the color of lake sand. I do have a nice long mane and tail that is tinged in red and black. Some say I am an appendix quarter horse and others say I’m a grade quarter horse. One thing no one can dispute as I get older is that I am a cattle working fiend.

I’ve been loaded in many trailers with different horses and taken to a variety of cattle related jobs. I always looked forward to the trip because it meant a chance to show off my skills and earn my keep. An old horse that I knew in my younger days said to never load in a trailer alone. There are no good cattle jobs where only one horse is required. He said those that loaded by themselves whether they were older, younger, hurt, or just loco, never came back. One day they forced him on a trailer by himself. He looked back at me with a sad look. I nickered for him and he nickered back as they drove him away. I never saw him again. To this very day, I will not load in a trailer by myself, I don’t care how much you beat me or try to bribe me.

It appears that while I was disciplining the young ones and the wranglers were playing their version of chuck the boot, one of the three massive bulls they had put in a temporary pen managed to get out. The beast was enormous and mean. He charged everything including the fence holding the horses. This absolutely terrified the young horses. The only thing on their minds was to get out of Dodge as quickly as possible. This mindset made impossible for the wranglers to catch them. Normally in a situation like this, it takes two wranglers on two horses to catch a bull of this size without endangering either the horses or the riders. I was the only one cooperating, so I was taken to catch the bull. I did my job like I had done many times, covering the bull so the wrangler could get a rope on him. The bull was fast and having no part of getting caught. He knew how to use those massive sharp horns of his and he did not hesitate to use them to aid in his escape.

The wrangler that was riding me was good, but he wasn’t one of the best ropers and he kept missing all those golden moments I gave him to put the rope on that beast. He seemed to be irritating the animal more than anything else. Finally, after slapping the bull in the face with the noose, the giant had all he could take. He swung around and came right at us. The wrangler panicked and slammed the rope, not on the bull, but right in my face. I caught rope square in one of my eyes. It was gushing blood and I could not see out of it at all. Now horses have amazing vision and outstanding maneuverability, unless they are injured. I was completely blind on one side and I feel the beast’s breath on my side. I jumped to the other side. He obviously anticipated this move and it was then that he got me. One of those massive horns went gliding right into my hip, tearing through muscle and catching on the bone.

At this point, the wrangler either jumped or fell off and left me to my own preservation. Unable to see the bull and being attached head to hip like we were I knew I had to do something. His rear was right at my face so I started biting and tearing chunks of hide off his back end. He screamed in pain and threw his head up and bellowed. He lifted my back end off the ground and shook his head. I kept biting him and kicking him in the face. This caused him to react more violently and as his body convulsed he actually threw me across the paddock. I landed in a crumpled heap tangled in the fence and my saddle riggings. I was trying desperately to get up as he set his sights for one last run at me.

While the battle raged the oldest wrangler ran in the barn and came back with a cattle prod and a rifle. As the bull snorted and pawed and lined up for his final charge on me, the wrangler pitched the rifle to another and told him to use it if necessary. The wrangler then ran straight at the bull and hit him full charge in the nose with the electric prod. He apparently hit him just right because the bull screamed and took off in the opposite direction with the other wranglers screaming and yelling to get him to go into another pen. He was finally contained, much to the relief of all involved.

The old wrangler was a man of few words and as he walked over to me he just shook his head. I had quit fighting because the fencing and the riggings were tearing me up even more. He slowly stared to untangle me and I calmly laid there and let him. There were times when he needed a bolt cutters and a knife, but he finally got me loose so I could stand. He told someone to call the vet as he washed the blood off of me. He and the vet stood and looked at the gaping hole in my hip. The vet said there was bone, tissue and nerve damage, all I know was it hurt to move. I had numerous cut and scrapes from the fall, but those were all minor. The vet said my eye had a 50/50 chance of healing. According to the vet a horse my age probably would not make a full recovery from such injuries. Then the vet and the wrangler walked away and talked in low voices. I didn’t have time to worry about what they were saying, I was doing good to stand, and I was in so much pain. When the wrangler came back he was sad and slowly led me to a small pen by myself.

Time passed and I was still alone in the small pen. The old wrangler came in and cleaned my wounds every day and would talk to me about our adventures with the cattle. Then one day after he cleaned my wounds he said, he thought out time with the cattle was done. I had no idea what that meant. He gave me a pat and left with that same sad look. I never saw him again.

I was basically being ignored. The other horses were taken out and worked. I did not understand. I had worked most of my twenty five years. I was given hay and water, but left in the pen day in and day out. Sometimes people would walk by and just give me the same sad look as the old wrangler.

So what if I wasn’t as quick, I was still as good as or better than most of the youngsters. Someone just needed to come get me and give me a try. No one came. They just threw the hay over the fence. This went on for what seems like forever. I was beginning to think I would never get to work again or even get out of this tiny pen. Horses who have worked all their lives need jobs, no matter how simple, or they will get depressed. I was no exception. I began to just pick at my hay and just stand in the corner with my head down. I would doze and dream about the days when I was out being useful or having fun. I was desperate to be anywhere but this small pen, even if I only got out in my mind.

Thanks for joining me today Kandy and I have to say cowgirl, your book gets a mighty thumbs up from me!

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