Susan on "Thunder", 4-H Horse Show, Globe Arizona, 1981

In our "middle age" - the forties neighborhood - our lives were enriched by two daughters and, subsequently, horses. Our oldest girl, Susan, was born loving horses but her Dad, unfortunately, doesn't share her sentiments. It is probably a large measure of his affection that he built a corral, bought her a horse and then loyally trailered one horse or another all over Arizona, New Mexico and into Texas so that she could participate in 4-H Horse Shows, and College Rodeo. I think he had some fun, but it was outweighed by the sun, wind and rain he had to endure, the endless miles of pulling a horse trailer, and not the least by occasions the horse of the moment stepped on his foot, or, throwing its head in a panic hit good ol' dad up side of the head. It didn't help, either, when he was nipped a time or two.

Dad's experiences with horses as a boy had been mostly with the large, economy size - Percherons and Belgians, back on the farm. They stood on his feet, too, occasionally. And he is certain they gave him "the mange" - a ringworm-like skin disease he claims is worse than athlete's foot. Still, he became attached to all of Susan's horses over time.

I, however, loved the critters. Raised in the city, I thought when I married a country boy it would automatically mean animals, specifically horses. It was to be many years before we had the space, and the reason (persistent horse-lover Susan) to become involved with a horse.

Susan showing "Bullet" at halter, Winter Nationals, Phoenix, Arizona 1982

When we bought Susan her first pony I was as ecstatic as she. As she progressed to full-size horses and went on to participate in horse shows, I became her "pit crew". We learned together to curry, comb and bathe her horse (though for 4-H shows the child is required to do this by him or herself for the show), earning many a wet foot for our efforts. I learned to hold a lead rope in a neat coil, positioned so if the horse ran away, it wouldn't necessarily drag me with it. Whatever Susan needed to learn, I learned, too.

I never did ride a lot, though I would climb on a horse when the occasion warranted. I took a class at the local university on Horsemanship, so I could help Susan - and by this time, our granddaughter. This involved some riding in an indoor ring, but more emphasis on grooming and saddling correctly. I got an "A", but it may have been a Senior Citizen award.

We hauled Susan's horses in sunny, wet and windy weather, one time waiting patiently until 2:00 A.M. for her turn to show. While she fed her horse and herself fig bars (she said it was for energy), Dad waited patiently with the truck and trailer. Other times I sat on those (always) splintery benches and rooted for her.

Susan showing "Bullet" at halter, Winter Nationals, Phoenix, Arizona 1982

When she made it to the 4-H Nationals we were all delighted and optimistic, until the horse that would walk into our wood-floored tack room given the opportunity, refused to cross a wooden bridge. This was the same horse that would back nonstop if he figured out his rider was inexperienced. Susan tied goats in the mud, ran pole and barrels in the rain and once rode English to fill in at a small country fair.

There were moments, though that weren't so rosy. One night when we were pushed for time, I was helping saddle Bullet, a black almost-Morgan gelding. I stood on on one side while Susan tossed the saddle over his back. The saddle was new, extremely heavy, and she really gave it a lot of muscle. It went over the horse's back all right, but the stirrup on my side hit me square in the mouth. It didn't do any permanent damage beyond a temporary fat lip, and Susan was as sorry as she could be. It taught me a lesson, though. After that, I stayed way out of range when that skinny little kid threw a saddle on a horse!

When Susan entered high school, she began competing in local Fair Queen contests, as did her friend Sharette, who lived with us. One summer, Sharette won the contest with Susan as first- runner-up. By the time the girls talked to local dignitaries, after the crowning, and we stopped to buy Susan a new pink blouse we were late arriving at the Fair Grounds for the Grand Entry. The parking lot was already full, so we parked opposite the announcer's stand. Somewhere way out in the "boonies". We could hear the call for entrants to line up for the Grand Entry, which was supposed to be led by the new Queen and first- runner-up.

Susan on "Bullet", Winter Nationals, Phoenix, Arizona 1982

I left the girls frantically saddling their broncs (this was rodeo time, now) and ran as fast as my middle-aged legs would take me around the end of that huge arena, struggling through soft sand and up the steep stairs to the announcer's booth.

Breathless, I gasped, "The Queen is coming...the Queen is coming. Can you...hold off... a couple of minutes?"

They assured me they would wait, and I slid back down the steps and around to a seat in the arena, just in time to see "that pretty little girl in pink on the black horse" ride in to precede the Queen, who was also pretty special to me.

The next year, Susan entered the Queen contest again, and was required to speak to judges and an audience of mostly hopeful moms. The judges asked Susan who she most admired, and would most want to be like.

"My mom," she said, "is the person I'd most want to be like. She's always been there whenever I participated in a horse event, even when she got socked in the mouth by a stirrup, and stepped on a time or two. We've had a lot of fun times and I really admire her."

Susan on "Pop", Young, Arizona 1983

Well, one mom sat there with tears dripping down her dusty face. You see, I couldn't think of a nicer compliment for two reasons: it was as much fun for me as it was for her, and because Susan is our adopted daughter. Without her, and her love for horses I would have missed a very wonderful opportunity and some hilarious times.

As for Dad, he never has figured out just how much fun he was having. But Susan's horses all knew he was a softie, because he was a favorite "person" with every one of them.

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