Colin’s Family came to see us for his graduation in August and to bring his twin brothers up to their fist year of college (our little guys are getting so big!). As past of their trip they found a place where they wanted to take us all horseback riding. I’d never been on a horse before and had always been intimidated by them. When I was a kid, I remember hearing my mom talk to a friend’s mom about some kid that got kicked by a horse and suffer major damage. Being a overly cautious child, I decided then and there that a horse was no place for me. Later, I worked in a treatment center for girls that had an equestrian program and realized that many of these horses are the gentle giants others had always made them out to be. I got to feed the horses, pet the horses, saddle the horse—and then watch someone else ride them. Kinda a bummer. So I made sure that riding got put on my permanent bucket list. Plus, with a guide that looked John Wayne, Roy Rodgers, and Yosemite Sam all rolled together (See below. Note mustache), I was sure nothing could go wrong.
I cant remember now what my horses name was. It was either something regal like Duke, or something to do with peanut butter like Reese’s. I guess memories are funny like that. The moment I got on top of he he started to trot around. Even with Yosemite standing guard, I would have thought my reaction would be to yell “where’s the breaks!!” shortly followed by “devil beast!” and threats of turning the people who got me into this into glue. But to my surprise I just started laughing. It was actual uncontrollable laughs of glee at something that wasn’t in the least bit funny. After that, me and Duke Reese’s were the best of friends.
It was funny to see Colin up on his (Buttercup maybe?). He had gone particularly paternal on his particularly hungry horse. “No, no you! This is no time for snackin’! Move along.” He also got particular joy from saying “hold your horses.” In our home, lame puns are pretty common parts of conversation. I’m pretty sure when I get old I’ll be one of those old ladies who tells the baker he has nice buns. The again, in a retirement community, that’s probably tantamount to sexual harassment. I’ll have to re-think the habit.
