Wonder Horses

Shootin' the Breeze

With the exception of that sissy kid who played with girls, the first heroes of all male Baby Boomers were Roy Rogers and Davy Crockett.  In addition, Superman was a hero of the era.  However, I want to make a distinction.  Superman was not really super.  He was an actor benefiting from special effects.  Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier, was also played by an actor, the finest actor of his day, Fess Parker, but Davy was an actual historical figure, unlike Superman, who was based on a comic book character.  Roy Rogers was not an actor.  Roy Rogers played himself, Roy Rogers, King of the Cowboys.

I remember the name of Davy Crockett’s rifle.  It was Old Betsy.  I do not remember the name of his horse.  Everyone, even the sissy kid, knows the name of Roy Rogers’ horse, Trigger.  Everyone!  Even girls!  Girls watched Roy Rogers on TV because of…

View original post 389 more words

Eclipse Observations

Many folks were very excited about the solar eclipse.  I can understand why.  It is a rare event.  People want to say they experienced it.  Hopefully, they experienced it with proper protective eye wear.

I was not one of the viewers.  I already have retina damage.  Probably from the sun over time.

My horses do not view TV nor read the news.  They were not anticipating the eclipse.  So, at the time of the eclipse, I took two horses and led them to a shady area to graze and kept them pointed away from the sun.  I might have been the only person in America to do that.  Certainly one could not cover the eyes of a herd of cattle.  They probably don’t look at the sun anyway.  More sense than humans perhaps.

From my perspective of pointing the horses’ rears to the sun, all I experienced was similar to the sun going behind a cloud.  I would not have noticed if not advised by the news media.

My horses did not thank me explicitly, but I could see it in their eyes.  The very eyes I saved.

P.S.  What about the dogs?  I put them in the house.

P.P.S.  What about my trophy wife?  Against my advice, she took a photo.  I hope she does not go blind.

Not Impressed

Last week, I went swimming at the rec center.  I was doing butterfly stroke, the Fly, flyin’ through the water.

When I stopped at the end of the lane after a lap, or half a lap, a young boy, appearing about ten or eleven, was standing on the deck of the pool, above me.

He said, “That was some good swimming!  I saw that in the Olympics.  Were you in the Olympics?”

I said, “Thanks.  I was in the Senior Olympics.”

He looked at me with obvious disappointment.

“Oh,” he said and walked away.  I guess my answer was not what he hoped for.

Me neither.  It was not the answer I wish I could give.

If given another chance, so as not to disappoint any young admirers, I will say, “Yes, I was in the Olympics.  Would you like my autograph?”

I might add, with feigned humility, “I also play for the Broncos.  I left my Super Bowl ring in the locker so I won’t lose it in the pool.”

That would make the kid’s day, to meet someone as admirable as me.

It would make my day too.

P.S.  I thought of how to sign my autograph — Walter Mitty.

Adios, Pard

Rodney was, among other things, a Mountain Man, and his wishes were for his ashes to be spread at some of his favorite places in the mountains.

A gun collector, knife maker, and history buff, Rodney enjoyed going to Mountain Man Rendevous.  He had the outfit.  He had a great knowledge of American Indian culture, such as making a sweat lodge.  His spirituality included a connection with red hawks.  Back in the 70s, when the TV series Centennial was filmed around here, Rodney was an extra, playing an Indian riding a horse bareback.   Movie star!

Rodney enjoyed countless camping trips, ranging from sleeping under the stars in a bedroll to traveling in a Mercedes RV with his devoted wife, Debra.

Debra is a New York Times Best Selling author, who wrote about Rodney as an example of exhibiting genuine cowboy values.  He used to manage a ranch at a remote location, staying in a primitive cabin during the winter, taking care of the livestock.  You could depend on Rodney.   So could our nation.  He served in the military.

Rodney encouraged me to join the Single Action Shooting Society, found the kind of rifle I needed, and told me about the Hell on Wheels competition in Cheyenne.  He even suggested that my wife join SASS as well, using her alias, Miss Sugar.  She did.

Debra and Rodney regularly made trips to Santa Fe, relishing in the SouthWest culture there.  Sugar and I went with them a couple times.  Rodney knew a lot about Santa Fe, so we got much more out of the trips than if we’d gone alone.  They built a beautiful Santa Fe style home in the hills above Fort Collins, decorated like a gallery of Western art and artifacts.  There, in the place he loved, with the woman he loved, he died.

Adios, amigo.  Happy trails to you, until we meet again.