Horses

I'm not sure if owning horses was something my dad always dreamed about as a child or if the opportunity just presented itself, but when I was 12-13 years old my father began collecting retarded horses. I say retarded because each one of them had an interesting mental capacity or personality disorder that made riding them a lesson in fear/idiocy. Just to name a few, there was a horse named Ho that was not only temperamental but she would fart every time she would startle. There was an Arabian horse that was blind in the left eye, which freaked him out any time something approached him from the left side. Another horse ate dog food and was then struck by lightning not too much later. The horse Ho had a colt that was fairly well behaved but could spook easily. Last of which was the horse named Satan.


My sister Brittany was riding Ho, who apparently didn't want to be ridden. Ho decided the best way to get Brittany off was to take her through some trees with low-lying branches. Sure enough the plan worked and Ho came galloping back from the stand of trees with an empty saddle.

The Arabian horse wasn't too bright. On a trail ride where my dad was riding this horse, there was a large embankment on the right side and a large drop off on the left (the horses blind side). In order to avoid the embankment the horse veered to the left and down the drop off, taking my dad with him. Stupid horse!

So, after our horse named Midnight was struck and killed by lightning my sister Brittany became very concerned anytime a thunderstorm occurred. Ho just had a baby colt and was out at pasture when a forecast for a thunderstorm occurred. I was instructed by my father to go and get the baby colt and his mother (Ho) and put them in the stalls.

Upon arrival Josh and I soon learned that we could easily catch the colt, but Ho was a bit more difficult. We finally caught Ho but she didn't want to listen to two 13-15 year old's and wasn't about to go easily into the stalls. So . . . we tied her to the metal fence post and focused our attention on the colt. The colt was easy to catch and was small enough to carry. I picked him up and began to carry him towards the stalls.

Now . . . for those of you who aren't familiar with getting between an animal and her young you should know that this isn't a good idea. Ho saw me with her baby and became infuriated. She broke the thick horse rope that we used to tie her up and she came charging at me. Fortunately I looked back in time to see her coming. I threw the colt to the side and ran like H#$$.

Josh and I had enough, we called our dad who was able to coax Ho into a stall, the colt following dutifully behind. Stupid horse! Apparently horses were a privilege. Our price to pay for this privilege . . . Josh and I mucked out horse manure every week!

The Grocery Store

While at Walmart a couple days ago I noticed a young boy crying and squealing for some item his dad wouldn't buy him. I don't ever recall throwing a tantrum for something I wanted at the store, but I sure did have my fair share of instances that embarrassed my parents. The incidents mostly involved fighting with Josh.


I was pretty young when these grocery store fights would occur but I do remember them occurring. Apparently these fights were frequent enough that my mom relegated my dad to taking Josh and I to the store. This, I believe, was an effort to get revenge on my father for giving my mother two rambunctious boys. It might have also been an effort to get my dad to only make one trip to the store. My father had a habit of forgetting what he was sent to the store to get. The most famous of these instances being when my dad was sent to the store to get milk. The first time he came back he had some devil's food cookies, chips-ahoy, and potato chips. He was sent back to the store when my mother discovered that he had not completed the assigned mission. The second trip he came back with some beef jerky, some salami sticks, cheese, and some cereal. Upon return his stash of junk food was looked upon with disdain and he was immediately mobilized by commander in chief mom back to the store. On this third and final trip he completed his mission, this time with some ice cream and soda-pop en tote.

Anyway, the fighting I remember occurred at a local grocery store. My dad liked to go to a store called Stan's Market. It was a smaller mom and pop's type grocery store that also happened to be one of the stores nearest to our house. I was sitting on the bottom of the cart and Josh was pushing the cart from behind. Josh and I started to argue about who was steering the cart (me with my legs, or Josh by pushing from behind- it only makes sense that the guy under the cart should be the one to steer, right!?). Pretty soon there was pushing and assorted punching and kicking involved. We were arguing and yelling and making a pretty big scene in the small quiet store. Before I knew it I noticed that my dad and the cart were nowhere in sight. We had been abandoned at the grocery store!

Josh and I began the frantic search for my dad, who apparently had decided to completely deny any connection he had with the two ill tempered boys fighting in the milk isle and to move to a different isle while we concluded our fight. We eventually found him and all was right again with the world. His tactic was fairly effective, it ended the fight had we were shopping in peace again. Even though he denies it he must have been distracted by our fighting because he kept asking what is was we had been sent to the store to get; we answered devil's food cookies, chips ahoy, and potato chips!