Saddle up Yosemite 1995
At The “Western Experience” Base camp we were quickly sorted into groups for a day of trail riding. Our daughter and her teens and tweens sisters tore out of camp literally in a cloud of dust like an old TV posse riding hard in pursuit of imagined desperadoes.
In contrast our son and his mount were engaged in a Vulcan mind meld non-verbal
discussion of the tentative parameters of human equine interphase. Further exploratory talks were agreed upon.
One on the trail we realized how well the corral staff had matched horses and riders. My wife’s horse was a beautiful chestnut filly with flashing eyes and a touseled black mane. Spirited and proud this, “Alpha Alfalfa” bit every other horse in the ass till she was in the lead. Mine was completely uncooperative and openly hostile. Have you ever seen a horse scowl? He took every opportunity on the trail to try to scrape me off on rocky out croppings. His specialty was a sudden bolt, then gallop under a trees with limbs only centimeters above his saddle horn.
Only once did I get wacked really hard in the face. That made the crazy old bastard actually smile and toss head, swinging his tail wide with joy.