Wanted: A
Horse of Any Color—Giddy-Up-Go
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
My daughter Dee is searching for a
horse. I offered to help her find one. “How can you help, Mom. You are in
Mexico.”
“Helllooo, Sweetheart. The
newspaper. If you ask me, the newspaper is still the best way to spread the
word or find what you are looking for. Besides, we have horses in Mexico too,
you know. In fact, I think I smell horses now. (A rich odor I happen to like.) Let
me look off the balcony. Yes, see, there are two horses trotting on the beach,
docile, safe and bi-lingual.”
“Mom, those horses are too small for
me. I’m thinking maybe a Percheron. A horse who is sensible, gentle, has a
brain, will let me use stair steps to mount her. A horse large enough that I
won’t break her back.”
Immediately I thought of old plug-headed
Duke, a retired workhorse who’d been put out to pasture on our farm when I was
a child. My cousin would get the halter, we’d lead him to a board fence, manage
to climb onto his tabletop back, our legs poking straight out laterally, and
Duke would trot down the lane, dismounting us quicker than we could mount.
Dee, on the other hand, was in the
saddle, albeit in my arms, swaddled in a blanket, before she was two weeks old.
She never had a choice. She rode horses. When she was two, we bought Pony, a
retired carnival horse.
Pony was tough. He had spent his
working years walking in circles with small children on his back. He was a
black and white pinto with shaggy mane and long tail. And Pony would eat
anything: bubble gum, watermelon, corn on the cob, hot dogs with relish, and
cotton candy. He loved candied apples.
I’d tether Pony to the picket fence
and for hours Dee would groom him, pick up his feet and pretend to shoe him,
braid his mane and tail, crawl underneath, around and between his legs. Pony
ate up the attention. Before long Dee learned to saddle him with a little help
and ride around the barn yard.
That horse hated my husband. Every
spring he thought he should gentle Pony, who’d been in the pasture all winter,
before Dee was allowed to ride. Dee and I would stand in the yard and watch
that long-legged man, feet dragging the ground, buck out her little pony. It
was a snapshot I never dared take!
Pony would let Dee do anything with
and on him. But that stubborn pony would not let us catch him. I’m sure that
today the County Child Protective Services would have us in jail for what we
did. When Pony was out in a field, we’d drive out in the pick-up and park
several hundred yards away. We’d give Dee a bucket of oats and the halter rope
and let her out of the truck. We’d slide out the off side and hunker down
behind the box watching our little girl walk out into the field and catch her
horse. We hid out until she walked him into the trailer. Pitiful, huh. But it
beat running that stubborn old pony over hundreds of acres, swinging a rope.
In time, Pony retired once more. Dee
graduated to a larger horse with fewer dietary quirks. And eventually, life
happened and horses were left behind. But now, Dee is living on a small acreage
near Glendive and her eight, oh, pardon me, eight-and-a-half year-old daughter
Toni gets to ride Grandpa’s horse, Jill, around the corral. Dee wants a horse of
her own so they can ride out into the hills together.
“So, help me here, Dee. How should I
word the ad?”
“Broad bottomed woman wants broad
backed horse. I don’t know, Mom. I want a horse that is going to be gentle with
me with my bad knees and who will be good with Toni. I don’t want a knot head
horse. I don’t want a horse that has been abused or has bad habits. I’ll have
to use steps to get into the saddle. It has to be a steady horse. I just think
a Percheron, or a horse like that, might be perfect. It needs to be strong
enough to carry my weight and sensible enough to get along with other horses.”
Wanted: the Perfect Percheron, not
too old and not too young. Broke to saddle. Likes children and big people. No
bad habits. Bi-lingual a plus. Please respond this ad. Email address follows.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
June 19,
2014
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment