Cowboying

I'm feeling that I'm going to be the mother of a cowboy. The real kind. This wouldn't have happened in California. In California, the only people I knew who had a horse were either well off and had gorgeous homes with expansive, well-kept property or people who kept a horse in a rented stable. When we went to meet a 4-H mom in Redlands once, I completely missed her mansion because I didn't know that was the house she lived in!

Bella has been in training and is doing well. It will be two months of training by the time she's done. Laura, the trainer, says Bella is smart. She is. Although she hurt her leg a week ago by kicking the fence and it swelled up. The swelling is gone now and she's walking fine, so training resumed this morning. All the hours our son has spent with Bella, with friends Anthony and Laurie, and others like Manny, our old ranger, have affected the direction of his life path. Every morning he's up early to go to training. I'm so joyful that his summer is not wasted.

Well. Laura's husband asked our son if he wants to do some cowboying. Actually, I'm not precisely sure what the definition of cowboying is but I think it might mean rounding up cattle - actual, real cattle. Anywho, son said yes. And Joe said, "If there's nothing else you learn about being a cowboy, at least you must learn that the best thing for the inside of a man is the outside of a horse." I like that. It's an old cowboy saying. I used to think cowboys were complete dorks but I've met many that I like here. Some are mean and some are gross, but a lot of them are good and interesting men.

We bought a used saddle for our son yesterday. Got it for $300. Tack is expensive. Tack means all the stuff you need to ride the horse. We still need a bit and reins and I don't know what else. But first Bella is learning to whoa on command with voice commands only and no reins or bit. I think it's a wonderful way to train a horse.

And Laura's brother has offered to train our son on how to shoe horses. Bella got her first set of shoes yesterday. It's called getting shod. Every time I hear it it sounds like getting shot. My pastor said he shot his horses and I wondered why he wasn't crying, but he didn't shoot 'em. He shod them.

Which reminds me. Crystal, a sweet dog up the street got run over yesterday. She followed her eight-year-old boy master around all the time and took care of him. She was sure a wonderful dog and we'll miss her around the neighborhood. But Crystal never stopped running in front of traffic. Finally, she got hit.