|My brother Bill with 'Sonny'|
In reality, the only ‘horses’ I have ridden with any success are on the carousel at the fair or the ponies who miserably plod around in a circle.
My brother Bill was a real cowboy; he bought a two year old quarter horse when he was in high school. When he became an adult (well, he grew to adult size, anyway), he lived in Texas and had several horses. He even talked like a Texan.
|My brother, Bill, in 1992|
I came home from college one weekend after Bill had gotten ‘Sonny’. He asked, “Wanta ride ‘im?” Sensing no subterfuge, I eagerly climbed up, and held the reins the way I remembered from my pony-riding days. I even make that click-click sound, the one I’d heard in all the cowboy shows ever made.
Sonny took off, and I mean he took off like a rocket. As he headed up the road, Bill’s laughter filled the air. I was hanging on for my very life, and he was laughing.
When Sonny finally stopped after going a quarter mile (I swear), I jumped down, and lead the blasted animal back home. I didn’t sit for two days.
|My red boots next to my spinning wheel, things I have collected|
Yup, pardner. I may never fly across the plains on my white horse, but I will strut like nobody’s business in my red cowboy boots.