Anyway, I learned last week that I am not an ant.
Like all good Texas tourists in Colorado, we went horseback riding on the annual Murray Family Vacation. It was a perfectly clear day and the Mr. Ed references were flowing freely. Among the horses were Elmer, San Juan, Caracas, Rick, Too Tall, and Lanny. I rode Chuck. (Sorry Seinfeld fans. No Snoopy or Prickly Pete.)
I was not the last of us city slickers to be assigned a horse, but if it had been a race to get in the saddle, I would have been in last place. Dead last.
Yes, my friends, I could not pull myself up. While my family was watching from their saddled mounts, I was aided by Rufus (yes, our trail guide's name was Rufus) as I tried (twice) to pull myself up onto Chuck. I just couldn't do it. I knew the procedure, but I just couldn't execute.With my Texan citizenship on the line, Rufus walked over and retrieved the most dreaded of trail ride implements -- the steps. I had to use a homemade plywood set of steps to climb up into the saddle. Pathetic.
There's a saying about dusting yourself off and getting back in the saddle if you fall off. But what happens if you aren't in the saddle in the first place?
(Photo courtesy of Russian Horse Rides. It's NOT me!)
1 comment:
Ahh, snoopy and prickly pete. Those were the horses Costanza kept in the Hamptons, at his summer place.
It's hard not to confuse prickly pete (the imaginary horse) with Slippery Pete (the weird guy from Fargo who helped George steal the Frogger arcade game from the pizzaria).
Post a Comment