Pop is crazy about Clydesdales. They’re those big ol’ draft horses you see on the Budweiser commercials. So, knowing this young lady who’s daddy raises ‘em, a few years ago he asked if there was a possibility he could get one from this fella. Grey (the girl’s daddy) said he had a mare who was just about ready to foal and that he’d be happy to accommodate Pop’s wish.
Thus, Smarty the mustang and Jasper the donkey got a stablemate for their 3 stall barn. Turned out that Pop and the Missus were blessed with Bonnie, this gorgeous filly.
Bonnie grew into adulthood and, at four years old, Pop and the Missus figured it was time to either saddle break her or maybe even breed her. Pop was kinda hoping the missus would go for the latter ‘cause he really wanted another Clyde.
When you think about it, gettin’ into the saddle of a horse that’s over 17 hands tall ain’t an easy feat. Unless you’re an Olympic high jumper you’ve just about gotta have some steps just to get your butt up to where you can stick a boot in a stirrup. So if you’re ridin’ around the ranch and need to hop off for a minute, unless you find a big rock or a stump to use, you’re gonna walk that horse back to the barn.
Pop hollered at Grey again and he was most accommodating. He brought his handsome stallion down from Tennessee for a weekend while he was visiting his grandkids and Bonnie and this blue-eyed stud did what horses in that state of mind do. And after the gestation time, along came her little colt, Thunder.
Thunder has grown up to be a handsome fella and I like watching him gallop around the pasture when he’s in a frisky mood. (He’s not a contrarian like Jasper who ain’t crazy about us canines.)
These Clydes are smart horses, too. Whenever they notice an unlatched stall door, they know exactly how to nudge it open and escape to roam around the entirety of the ranch. Every once in a while, Pop will smack himself on the forehead and say “Dang it, I did it again!” This was one of those days.
One morning Pop and the missus were just stirring in the kitchen and getting the coffee ready to kick start their day. As Pop just happened to glance out the window, he noticed 3 equines enjoying their new-found freedom as they moseyed around the house. They knew they weren’t supposed to be out of their pasture and were in no hurry to get back into their 7 acre confines. Like when it had happened before, it was gonna be a challenge to herd ‘em back to the barn.
So, Pop and the Missus pulled on some shoes and tried to hoodwink the escapees into thinking they were gonna mosey to the barn and maybe throw out a little sweet feed. After all, it was breakfast time and horses think with their stomach. The 3 amigos were savvy to the attempted chicanery and ignored the pleas and cajoling to head back to the feed troughs. Ultimately Pop went and fetched a rope and eventually managed to get it around Bonnie’s neck. She’s the boss lady and the other two follow her lead. What Pop shoulda done was grab a halter, too, but he was in a hurry and figured Bonnie would be compliant enough just being led with a lead rope.
What happened next was both funny and scary. It seemed our trio of hikers wasn’t quite ready to return. As Pop was stumbling down the driveway in his skivvies trying to keep up with Bonnie as she was trying to keep up with Thunder and Jasper (who were rippin’ around like their hair was on fire), Bonnie decided she was in disagreement with Pop’s desired destination and figured she’d tell him so. Pop was at her right rear quarter with a taught lead rope hollerin’ for Bonnie to slow down. So Bonnie, seein’ her opportunity, hauled off with a 90 degree kick and nailed Pop in the left shoulder with 1500 pounds of fed-up female which knocked him butt over boots into the grass. I reckon Bonnie felt bad and came over to check on Pop as he laid there trying to assess if all his parts and pieces were still intact. The Missus hurried over to see whether or not Pop was dead and helped him up while he cleared the cobwebs from his head. He was okay. As scary as that was, it could’ve been worse . . . a lot worse. Pop had just barely recovered from rotator cuff surgery on his right shoulder a few months earlier. If Bonnie had hammered him there, it might’ve required another trip to the hospital. And heaven forbid she’d put one of those platter sized hooves on the side of his head. He’d have been grave yard dead for sure.
Everybody eventually ended up back where they were supposed to be and, with the aid of a little whisky and ibuprofen, Pop recovered, determined to never leave a stall door unlatched again. We’ll see.