View from the North 40: What are the odds of that reality?

I'm sure you've all heard the terrible news by now: I did not win the big Powerball jackpot. I know, you wanted it for me as much as I did. Thank you for that, but I'll be OK. Really.

I didn't cry myself to sleep that night at all — mostly because I didn't stay up to see the results of the draw. I just wanted one last night of imagining what I'd do with a big jackpot.

By the time I went to sleep I had bought a ranch, populated it with rare and expensive horses and hired a ranch manager/co-owner who is vested in the success of my great, galloping herds of rare and expensive horses.

I had also started two nonprofit foundations and contributed to at least three others.

I had handed out scholarships like candy bars in the upscale neighborhoods at Halloween, and hired an on-call masseuse. I had also placed an ad for a personal trainer, then canceled it right away because I could and, frankly, wanted to. The rich are fickle that way.

I had built a jacuzzi room with a lap pool — which is a long, skinny swimming pool used literally to swim laps, but honestly, my friends and I were just going to sit around it in lawn chairs, drinking margaritas made by the pool boy who is a bartender when not cleaning party favors and piñata parts out of the water.

I had paid off several family members' mortgages and graciously told them that they owed me nothing, though secretly plotted to weasel favors out of them. Hey, someone has to watch my dog when I fly to Portugal to attend Golega, the premiere 10-day horse festival.

I had gone shopping for mounds of nonsale clothes at a thousand different actual retail stores. Just kidding. I hired a body double to go shopping for me while I took my horses to a custom tack maker.

Some things money can't change.

My husband got to buy anything he wanted. I couldn't imagine what all it was — though I'm sure at least one helicopter would be in the mix — I just imagined him with this euphoric look on his face.

Remarkably, the dog's face looked the same over his shopping spree.

The dog had insisted we buy controlling interest in the Hi-Country Jerky plant and make them bring back the jerky dog treats.

Yes, he got his favorite treats again, but he also insisted we sell to the public and provide treats free-of-charge to all dog shelters in the state. He's a pretty altruistic doggy.

The cat only cared that I had made him a pond and stocked it with real salmon for him.

That and I had also hired a fly-fisherman to come in and catch a fish a day for him so he wouldn't have to get his paws wet.

The fisherman was great. He came in, got the fishing done, laid out the salmon fillets on the cat's special eating bench and went away. No fuss, no muss, just what a neurotic, one-quarter feral cat needs — an endless supply of free fresh fish and an unobtrusive servant at his beck and call.

I have to admit I imagined hiring some help as well. I continued to cook, but someone else had to clean up the disastrous mess I make across the kitchen while doing it, and it was in the job description to keep the moldy science-experimenty looking foods out of the fridge. It wouldn't be too much to ask for the amount of money I imagined paying the person.

Ah, yes, then Thursday morning I woke up, like so many other lottery players, a big ol' loser who had to clean up the dishes from the night before, go off to work to slog my way through the morning with sore muscles, and come home to my two- and four-legged family with nothing more awesome to offer them than simply me.

(Just kidding, they all got consolation prizes at [email protected].)