A Horse is a Horse...or Are You Sure Roy Rogers Started This Way?

Exhibit "A" it really happened. Me astride Trucker. You'll notice Trucker is thrilled beyond repair to have Paul Prudhomme Jr. aboard.

The bucket list grows ever shorter. Not sure that is a good thing. I was conned, er I mean, invited by Rose to enjoy a beautiful spring morning riding horseback through an expansive and quite beautiful estate in Chardon. The property is consists of some 3500 acres (used to be over 7,000 until the family needed some extra polo money) of rolling hills, ponds and leas (look it up, I had to). The property is owned by the McMillan family (motto: "F... the Rockefellers") and besides being picture postcard gorgeous has several little "shacks" dispersed strategically throughout the estate designed to enhance the family's enjoyment and relaxation in times of great stress. Usually when the price of caviar skyrockets 1%. But, surprise, surprise I digress.

My equine adventure started innocently enough when I got out of bed Saturday morning. The temperature cool but not cold, the sun shining brightly and the air dewey sweet. You know, the kind of morning that almost makes you glad to be alive. Visions of galloping alongside John Wayne and Gary Cooper taking on the fearsome Chardonesqua (literally meaning "Indians that have grown too fat swilling maple syrup") saving damsels in distress, Cossak invaders and all that crap. Anyway, I was disabused of those fantasies in short order. I arrived at my riding companion's home in eager anticipation. Rose possesses a lot of qualities but none could have been remotely confused with "damsel, Cossak or John Wayne. Gary Cooper maybe." Just kidding Rose, put down the pistol and step back. No, Rose looked quite fetching in her riding garb and bicycle hat. No riding crop however, I guess that costs extra.

As for my headgear, I had intended to go sans hat (my Stetson is in the shop) but no such luck. I had the choice of a goofy looking bicycle helmet (bicycle riding fans, no nasty grams please) or a goofier looking English style baseball helmet with a little fluffy ball on top. I chose the lesser of two evils. Then we proceeded to the barn which housed roughly 20 horses with catchy names like "Jeep" "Mystery" and "Trucker". The barn had a vaguely familiar aroma that took me awhile to place, but then it came to me. The U.S. Senate Cloakroom. After much bickering and gnashing of teeth it was decided that I would ride Trucker. Actually, I originally was going to ride Jeep, but after I struggled into the saddle, with the help of a kindly stable aide, who was off that day from Burger King, Jeep pitched, snorted and generally snarled "get this Abrahms tank off me right freakin' now!" Trucker on the other hand wasn't so lucky. He lost the coin toss and the use of his spine. Trucker, who I came to find was usually ridden by a little old concentration camp surviver weighing slightly less than a bag of feathers, sagged in the middle like a hammock and let out an audible grunt when I climbed on. Where Jeep had lurched and pitched in protest, Jeep just staggered and eventually got his bearings. Before we took off, the kindly stable aide doused the horses with a liquid that I would later learn was a horsefly "attractant."

Finally we were off and I began to experience all the wonders of equestrian living that let me know full well, why Rose was so enamored with the sport of riding. Her horse was in the lead and Trucker followed along like a condemned heading to the gallows. About 10 yards from the barn Jeep decided "this is as good a place as any" and laid down about 600 pounds of congressional work product on the spot. I was especially thankful that Trucker saw fit to stop about two nanoinches from Jeep's ass so as ensure my full visual appreciation of the business end of this magnificent animal. That is the thing with these wonderfully uninhibited creatures of nature. They would stop and let nature take its course anywhere. This they did with disturbing regularity. At one point Trucker took about a 3 day pee break and for a second I thought we were just around the bend from Niagara Falls.

However, in between the pit stops, Rose and I took in the beautiful scenery, all the while unbeknownst to me, my ass was slowly turning into the consistency of ground sausage. At several points I evened worked up the courage to have Trucker trot a bit and after awhile was able to enjoy the experience without thinking "DEAR GOD MAKE IT STOP, I WANT MY MOMMY!!" It probably wouldn't have been so bad, but the helpful little stable aides had inadvertently (so they said in the police report) had my saddle on crooked. I do remember thinking I should have made inquiries when they were talking about reins, girths and Johnson rods, but then I was hanging on for dear life at that point. Anyway, the result was that I essentially spent the two hour ride with one butt cheek on the horse and the other kind of flailing along the side. I believe this made the horse go down the trail looking a lot like a car with a bent frame, so that its ass was canted to one side or the other.

But all in all I would have to say it was an enjoyable experience and I figure with any a luck and competent medical attention I should be able to walk again by 2011. And, for all its drawbacks at least it isn't flying around a track on roller skates getting the bejeezus beaten out of me by some testosterone infused, neandrathal female intent on using her elbow on my nose like a jackhammer.

Well, gotta go and send Trucker a get well card as I am told he has two flat rear hooves for some reason.

Love

Dad