Fritz the horse

This is a story about a groomer, a small kid and a horse named Fritz. Fritz was a gentle old standard-bred. A retired harness horse. One of many horses in residence at the Manning road farm. The barn was filled with has-beens, want-to-bes and yes, horses too. Tending to the horses were tired old men with tired old dreams, telling tired old stories, reminiscing about the good old days and the races they, or should I say, their horses won. The big white barn had massive sliding doors at each end, opened wide to reveal the splendor of the jug-heads inside and horses too. The smell of leather, straw and Absorbine Jr filled the air. That and the smell of alcohol being consumed by the horsemen. The barn floor was littered with mud, shit and straw. It was like walking through a landmine. Even if you tip toed it, there was a good chance shit was going to happen. Especially if it happened to be on the bottom of your shoe. It was a giant place and I was just a small city kid and apparently gullible.

There she was; the groomer. I don't know what attracted me to her. In fact, to this day, I can't remember what she looked like. It must have been a hat thing. I've always been attracted to girls in hats; baseball or cowboy. I had seen her many times and befriended her enough to trust her. Trusted her enough to think that she knew what she was doing.

After giving Fritz a nice brush down, she decided to let me in on a secret. I don't know why I believed her. She told me that she had broke Fritz. That Fritz a retired standard-bred, was now a converted thoroughbred. Well, not really, he was just an old horse, too old to fight the weight of a young girl on his tired old back.

Trust is a strange thing. I don't remember getting on the horse ( I think my dad gave me a boost) but I do remember when things got bad. Oh, they got bad and in a hurry. Trust. I trusted that the girl in front of me had experience. She trusted Fritz enough to ride him bareback. I trusted that the tired old horse wouldn't know the difference. What was a little more weight? Old Fritz is a gentle old horse.

Everything was fine until Old Fritz realized that there were two of us on his back. It went from a slow walk, to a gallop, to a trip to the hay field and the hell with this, someone is going down. My trusted friend was the first one to be thrown from the carousel of doom. I was left with nothing to hold on to. I was bucked off like a one second cowboy trying to stay on a bronc. Time stood still for a moment. Trust kind of hung there a millisecond before the realization that the ground was waiting for my unexpected arrival. There was three sounds. One, the air escaping my lungs. Two, the puff of dust and dirt flying through the air. And the sounds of my fathers laughter. I looked up from the ground, through a cloud of dust, I could see the shocked look on my dad's face. Hoping I was okay, so that his laughter wouldn't sound so offensive. I was okay and the laughter continued. My father, always ready to comment whenever I messed up; said the following. Did you learn something? I dusted myself off, looked up and said Why, yes I did!

Never trust a pretty girl wearing a cowboy hat or the horse she rode in on!