Me and Horses

When I was younger my grandparents had a dairy farm. I had never noticed, and did not know, that the cows would start walking toward the milking barn at a certain time in the afternoon.

When I was about six, my Uncle Robert, affectionately known as Doc, sat me behind him, on his horse, for a ride into the pasture; it was late in the afternoon. Doc was about ten years older than me and I clung to him as if my life depended on it; I had never been on a horse before. He told me to stop bouncing my legs up and down. I tried. He told me again to stop bouncing my legs. Again I tried. He said I was spooking the horse and he set me down and told me to go back to the farm house (which to this six year old appeared to be about two hundred miles away).  The cows were slowly walking toward the milking barn. I took one look at them and immediately decided they were chasing me. I wet my pants the entire eight hundred foot run back to the house. I have not been on a horse since and cows have invaded my life, more than once, and have caused me great moments of anxiety. I’m still fond of Doc, though.

I work for a horse registry. Years ago, when visitors to the office would ask me if I had horses I would say that I have chickens, they don’t eat as much.  Recently, a large group of Australians visited the office and one of them asked me if I rode horses. Since I am older, and amply built, I answered that I only ride the ones found at the grocery store that require a quarter for the ride. He looked me up and down and smiled.

He was right. There is no way I could ride a grocery store horse. Actually, I could, but you would not be able to see the horse. I would probably get arrested for public display of excessive jiggle.

I need to think of a new retort.