Irony Becomes Her

A Photo-Tale

TANK said, "You've got to come ride sometime." I answered enthusiastically, but not even I was prepared for what she had to offer. "The G--- rodeo is July 14-16, and we could ride in the grand entry." The? Grand? Oh, dear. "Sure!" I said.

We planned to ro-day-oh on Saturday, July 16. She fixed me up with one of her horses, one I rode more than two years ago--one which is partially responsible for her mother's back injury.

Apache and I got on royally, and he didn't even snicker at the outfit I had patched together from several sources. A classmate offered her boots if I would take pictures, and TANK supplied pearl-button shirt, belt, and buckle. The hat and pants were mine.

We hitched up the ol' trailer and loaded up the horses. I just barely found time to look up for a perfectly unposed picture of me in my natural habitat.

We trucked fifteen miles and parked in the "contestant parking" area. I was getting a little nervous.

Lucky and Apache submitted to saddle and stirrup like lambs, though I am sure they're quite movers and shakers when bandits are running from the posse.



First we warmed them up in the arena. People complimented Apache a lot because his beautiful tobiano paint markings made him stand out. TANK heard them with pleasure, and I with apprehension that I would be found not to be a horsewoman in the most tragic fashion.



This was one of the only times I let go with one of my hands. I much preferred to use both, though TANK assured me it was unnecessary.

Finally, we lined up for the famous "grand entry." Waiting wasn't Lucky's favorite thing to do, and Apache is a follower. It was a relief to get started. "Follow the horse in front of you," said TANK, her only material instruction on how I was not utterly to spoil the grandness of the entry.

I did as I was told--or rather, Apache did it. Toward the end, he was getting a little lonely and wanted Lucky with him.



It was over in about a minute, and we left the horses to sleep next to the trailer while we watched steer-wrestlers, bronc-riders, barrel-racers and bull-riders. Some people seem intent on putting their persons in unnecessary peril.

The traffic jam leaving the rodeo prompted us to wait before loading the horses and returning. We were all a little tired, but Lucky was more hungry than tired.

It was pretty late when we got home. TANK gave me the bed and slept on the floor, so perhaps she would have preferred Lucky.

posted by Lynn @ 3:55 PM