Riding a Runaway Horse

Riding Home

My little sister in her early teen years owned a beautiful Palomino horse like the one Roy Rogers rode in the old cowboy movies.  As I look back on this mare, I believe she must have been a Lesbian horse although in this distant past, no one conceived of such a thing.  She hated all the male gender and abhorred having a man on her back and unless she had a more pressing need, would do whatever she could to get rid of him including rolling over and trying to crush him beneath her, resulting in two males with broken limbs that I know of.  With a female of any breed she was like a playful kitten, horse, human, or whatever as long as the gender was right.  Thus it was that the horse was tethered in the back yard.  Like any young girl, my sister was at that stage of transition from horses to boys.  She had ridden her horse from pasture to backyard, left her there when a boy came by and invited her to the Dairy Queen or wherever teens went then.

   Meanwhile, the mare was getting thirstier,  hungrier and angierier by the hour.  

Finally, our mother asked me to ride her home and she would follow and bring me back. Sounded like a simple plan to me.  "Where's the saddle", I asked.  "Oh, she rode her bareback."  "Is it too much to ask if she brought a bit and reins"  Who knew what rapport she might have with this pet of hers.  Maybe she guided her with psychic commands.  By some good luck, this mare was guided in the normal manner by the steering wheel of bit and reins. After attachment and backing to the porch and at last I was aboard and ready for a gentle walk back to the barn.  But this she-devil had her own ideas when she saw an open gate to freedom and her pasture only a couple of miles away.  By the time we reached the front yard  she was in full gallop mode at top speed. Normally a horses accelerator is controlled by the pressure if a rider's legs against her side.  By the time we cleared the yard, all thought of control was out of the question.  I had one hand on the reins, the other wrapped in her mane and holding on as tight as possible, legs flying every which way desperately trying to sit as tightly as possible to keep on board. Each second of success pile up until you become convinced your balance will save you and you are not going to die sliding alongside the road.  Until about halfway there, you hear a pack of neighborhood dogs barking, roused by all the commotion rapidly approaching.

  Pictures rise in your mind of movies you've seen where a horse reads up and throw its rider when surprised by a snake on the path.  Surely, this encounter will have a similar result.  Ha!. With the thought in her mind only of fresh grass, gallons of cold water and a cozy stable, the dogs were past by the time anyone noticed leaving only yelps and whimpers where the ambush failed.  At last, we arrived at the gate, foaming and blowing  and both still alive, although it took me several minutes to be able to stand up after sliding to the ground.  She just stood there placidly munching grass  Her mission accomplished.

    All of this a lot like our president.  He sets a goal and goes for it regardless of obstacles or distractions like barking dogs in the way.  With healthcare or gay rights, he just rolls on home where he was going in the first place.  I've lived and watched 13 presidents now.  Roosevelt and Truman and Johnson were strong, Carter was strong in his honesty, but Obama is quietly strongest of all.  In my opinion.