Tails and Tales

My editor fancies herself as a horse-woman. Not the polo type, more the cowgirl rider. I don’t like that word, in fact either of them. However, I have plenty to do and changing the English (American) language is not a priority today. Who knows what the morrow will bring. Mind you, we live under an administration of ‘change’ so perhaps I should get with the program. I can see why my editor says I am a man of many words. I hate it though when she mumbles under her breath something about quality and quantity. I have learned not to challenge her too often—she has the last word…the quality word.

Anyway, we decide it is time to go horseback riding again. Since we were married, this will be the third time. First ride was at the end of 1974, second in 2009 and now we are fairly experienced riders. We have closed the gap somewhat. ‘Your horse is “Diamond-X” and your wife’s is Shorty,’ the woman says to me. I look at my steed and wonder how I am going to get into that saddle. The stirrup is so high up that I am thinking of my poor hamstrings. The stable-hand sees my dilemma and says, ‘We have a step to help you mount your mount.’ A wise one I think. No way. ‘The horse is forty or fifty hands.’ I don’t understand this form of measurement. Whose hands is she using? Why don’t they talk in feet or even hooves. Fortunately, the short prayer I say helps and in a wink I am sitting high in the saddle. My editor has no problem with ‘Shorty’ but then she is the more experienced rider.

On the mountains of Ouray, we direct our horses along the paths and view the vistas. Of course, we have with us a guide. Her name is Blythe. She is a woman of many stories and she informs us of the area, of horses, bordellos and other local color. Running amongst the horses are the two dogs, the one being an Australian sheep dog. We naively mention that it is wonderful to see the placid interaction between horse and dog. We think that is an intelligent observation for city people. Blythe informs us that on occasion, the dog likes to corral the horses. Apparently, the sheep dog is unable to differentiate between horses and sheep. We understand this as she did say the dog is Australian. Anyway, the dog sometimes nips the mounts on the legs. ‘Then what happens,’ we ask, a little nervously. “The horse,’ she says , ‘has no ill feelings towards the rider.’ We are very relieved to hear this. ‘However,’ she continues, ‘it will usually bolt and/or throw the rider some distance.’

‘How many hands?’ we ask, thinking we have picked up the jargon. ‘Both hands and the rest of your body, too.’ Even a city boy gets the picture. One wonders why the guide would even venture to offer such a story to novice riders. Me thinks that management needs to have a closer look at Blythe’s leadership qualities.