Riding the Range
I grew up as the golden age of the cowboy slowly faded
in the west. I missed the constant churn
of the black and white cowboy movies at the theatre featuring Tex Ritter and
Gene Autry, but reruns of the Lone Ranger still played on television. Matt Dillon could always be trusted to triumph
over the outlaw, and Ben Cartwright rode herd over his sons who always found
some drama either on or off the Ponderosa Ranch. In fact, it was that black and white spotted
pony of Little Joe’s that was the first horse that caught my imagination. I used to daydream about having a horse just
like that for my very own.
The first pony I ever owned was indeed black, with a
flowing white mane. He was a stick pony –
a horse’s head and bridle mounted on top of a four-foot section of broom
handle. In this age where my
grandchildren can find animated videos on their parents’ phones to watch, a
stick pony probably seems a bit dull, but I rode that pony hard all through the
house and even out in the backyard for hours. Being highly original and imaginative even at
such a young age, I named him “Midnight”.
Several times during the summer, if my mother needed
to buy something for sewing from the Prange Way Discount Store, she let me come
along. I was not interested in sewing
supplies or shopping. Out in front of
Prange Way there was a mechanical horse.
He looked like a horse, and he had a saddle, even though it was part of
the metal mold, and honest-to-gosh real leather reins. You put a nickel in the coin slot and that
horse would gallop you as far across the plains of your imagination as you
could get in a couple of minutes. My
mother always gave me a second nickel and if no one else was waiting their turn
I could feed the coin in without even getting off.
My next step up came at Bay Beach Amusement Park. They had a large carousel there. The horses were even larger than the coin-operated horse, they moved faster and they also went up and down, so they gave the illusion of galloping across the prairie – provided you could ignore the carnival music they played when the ride was in operation. The only problem were those times when the crowds were large and the selection came down to the big rabbit or chicken - or worse yet, the stationary elephant.
My graduation to real live horses did not go nearly as
well. At Bay Beach Amusement Park,
in addition to the mechanical rides, there was a little pony ring. For a quarter you could ride a real pony
around and around a circle. Now, a
quarter was a pretty expensive treat considering the mechanical rides were only
a dime and the playground area was free.
But I remember one Saturday evening, when after begging my father only
about 100 times, my brother Mike and I were each given a quarter.
I wanted the tallest pony of course, but I soon found
out that you rode the pony that they placed you on. I should have known it wasn’t going to be
exactly what I dreamed of just from that mounting experience. I had watched countless cowboys stick their
boot in the stirrup and swing their free leg high and wide over the other
side. But in the pony ring, some big man
that I didn’t know, grabbed me and plopped me down in the saddle of the runt of
the entire bunch. I felt cheated, and a
bit embarrassed. I was being treated as if I were a little kid.
Still, it was a real horse and a real saddle. The worn leather squeaked and creaked just
like it should as I shifted my weight.
There weren’t any reins though. The
pony was tethered to an arm of a turnstile that resembled the skeleton of an
umbrella. The rider put both hands on
the saddle horn, giving bystanders the idea that you were hanging on for dear
life, even with the pony just standing still.
Then the man that had unceremoniously plopped me in
the saddle, grabbed the rein of a horse ahead of me and we were off. Well, we were at least moving. While I dreamed of a steady gallop, or even a
brisk trot of a spirited equine, I quickly realized that pony ring ponies only
know how to plod.
Before we finished the first circle, the horse behind
me, who was riderless, reached forward and tried to bite my leg. The entire rest of the ride, that miserable
escapee from the glue factory tried to bite me a couple of times each circle
around. Fortunately, he couldn’t quite
reach. I kept my left leg forward anyway,
just in case. I was relieved when the
ride was over. To add insult to almost
injury, the same man came and grabbed me off my pony and deposited me over the
fence. Not exactly a classic dismount.
For the rest of my childhood, every time we went to
Bay Beach, I never pleaded anymore for a quarter for the pony ride. Oh, my brother Mike did. I stayed on the safe side of the fence and
watched. I wasn’t even jealous those
times that he got plopped down on the tallest pony. I had given up any dream of being a cowboy. I had begun to focus on my next to be
unfulfilled dream of being a star football player. It’s a good thing that there is no limit to
dreaming!
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Daniel Bonilla on Unsplash
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