Happy Trails

The one thing Lib wanted to do for her birthday, which is why we decided to come out this way, was to go horseback riding. She was placed on a sweet little mare named Honey, and I got a mottled fella named Little Joe. It didn't take long for Little Joe to get a little skittish, but I kept him on the trail with a little finesse. I think my favorite part, the part that made me feel most like a cowboy, was the chatter--"whoaaa" or "giddyap"--which was actually just "good boy" when the horse happened to do what I wanted him to. Problem was, Little Joe never did what I wanted him to; he had a mind of his own, so much so that when he decided to head off the trail, and I attempted to pull him back on, he bucked and begun going in circles in order to get me the hell off. Little Joe didn't count on having old Sode for a rider though, and even though I went off the side, I kept my leg draped over the saddle, staying completely upright, reigns in hand, and wrestling the untamed bronco back onto the trail. I don't mean to brag, but I was told it looked pretty awesome, and both Lib and the guide were pretty impressed. Little Joe, however, shamed but not beaten, refused to continue a little further down the trail, and decided he would head back to the stables, so our guide had no choice but to concede to the horse and take us back where they put me on a new horse, Comanche, and gave Little Joe to a new guide, who I must say had some problems with the little bastard himself. I dare say they will be retelling that tale for many years of the bald man who rode Little Joe like the wind and tamed the stormy creature with only the twitch of his wrist and a flash of his eyes. If Frederick Remington were still around, they would probably commision him to recreate the moment in a small statue or painting, but at the very least, I won't be surprised if I get a "Master Horseman" certificate in the mail some time soon.