We drove to a farm yesterday afternoon. Well, it wasn’t a farm, Clark corrects me, it was a ranch, a pony ranch specifically. The ranch belongs to Edward “Ned” Glenn. Dr. Glenn, as he’s also known, has been Clark’s family physician since they moved to Louisiana, Missouri, when Clark was two. The Glenn ranch used to have horse, but the horses gave way to ponies after they stampeded Ned’s wife, Pat, an ordained Episcopal minister, some years back.
The ranch sits next to a Golf course, which locals call the country club after its official name, “the Pike County Country Club.” A small dirt road splits the land between the two, leading up and behind the Glenn family paddock to their house. Ned and Pat meet us at a gate to the field. Ned drives a tractor, which he uses to harvest the hay that feeds his ponies. Pat drives a Jeep, with a dog and a friend inside.
“Follow me,” Ned yells to Clark, who sits behind the wheel of the VOTE truck. Ned stands in his saddle as he drives, swaying side-to-side as he pilots the tractor through the uneven field. As we drive, the ponies scatter at first before gathering their courage to trot alongside the trucks.
Ned pulls to a stop in front of an old barn inside the paddock. The ponies gather around us, pressing their noses into our pockets as we examine the barn. “Don’t mind them,” Ned says. “They’re just real friendly.”
Clark pulls the truck alongside the barn and climbs on top. As he goes to his work, I go to mine, setting up a video camera on a tripod, taking pictures with my still camera. But the ponies keep getting in my way, nudging me, literally sticking their noses where they don’t belong. They’re not horses, but the bigger ones weigh at least 500 pounds a piece, and they have teeth, and they kick, so best to keep them at a remove, I think.
Then I see this really cute blonde pony and she won’t leave me alone. I get a bright idea. I hand my camera to Dallas, with my phone and camcorder. I tell him to get ready. I hug the pony, petting it on its long neck, where it meets it body. I pull it close to me. Suddenly, it turns its head back toward me and ever so gently nips me on the thin, taught flesh of my forearm.
It wasn’t a true bite, nowhere near hard enough to hurt let alone draw blood, but it’s enough to rile me. I reach over the pony, hugging it next, then I jump on its back. For a moment, an ever-lasting moment, I am riding, flying, then she picks up speed and I sense myself slipping backward across the pony’s back. I try to reach for its neck, but by the time I realize I have to if I want to keep riding, it’s too late -- out of reach. Then I realize that I am not only sliding backwards, I’m slipping down, off her ass.
I land on my feet, dissolving into laughter. I haven’t had so much fun in decades.
1 comment:
giddy-up cowboys!
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