COWBOY AND FILLY
by Susan "Sam" Madden
The cowboy adeptly tossed the rope around the neck of the black mare, sending her spinning and reeling and galloping around the bull pen until sweat flew off her body with every new twist she made. He stayed with her the whole time until she finally quieted down, having exhausted herself.
"What did you do to make her stop?" one of the onlookers asked.
The cowboy adjusted his black Stetson to keep the late afternoon sun out of his eyes as he addressed his audience. "I made her rethink things," he answered simply. "I made her realize that the only way she was going to relieve the pressure on that rope was to do it herself and quit fighting it."
Amanda was one of a dozen people standing outside the pen, eager to learn whatever the cowboy had to teach her and excited just to be around horses again. She had grown up in the east where lofty equestrians in boots and breeches sat atop their Thoroughbreds and looked down their noses at cowboys and Quarter Horses. She had to admit, she had been one of those self-declared elite horsemen years ago, before she went blind and before she moved to Arizona.
"The only difference between English and western riding is equipment," the cowboy had informed her.
With this one statement he put them on equal ground. He made her rethink things the same way he did the horses he trained. Amanda was particularly impressed because the truths he imparted were not facts recited from a book; they were the real thing - knowledge gained from experience.
She learned his name, but as their friendship grew she affectionately called him "Cowboy." She wrote him a letter telling him how much she enjoyed his clinic, mentioning also that, being blind and without a descriptive interpreter, she had been able to appreciate only part of what he had been doing and missed out on his body language, but she had certainly been mesmerized by his gentle voice and charming accent.
"It's too bad horses can't respond to verbal cues to come to a sliding stop and do a 180 degree rollback to the left, because your voice would charm them into compliance," she wrote.
She also explained that since she rode English all her life, his expertise in roping was of particular interest to her. "If we meet again, perhaps you could pretend I'm a wild filly and toss that 'thang' around me one time to give me the idea."
If he were going to rope her, it would be more subtle than that. The next best thing to lassoing her was to call to thank her for the thank you letter. "Hey, filly," he teased her, and he could hear her blush on the other end of the phone. "I can make sure we meet again. How about coming out to the ranch this weekend and I'll put you up on one of our Quarter Horses?"
"Are you serious?" Amanda exclaimed, not even trying to hide her enthusiasm about being on a horse again, and particularly about being on a horse again in the company of Cowboy.
"I'm dead serious," he assured her. "You may have a disability, or a disadvantage, but you have plenty of abilities, too. You never forget how to ride a horse."
In the cool hours of an Arizona winter morning, he helped her into his pickup and drove her to the ranch where he indulged her in a real cowboy breakfast of shortbread, eggs, and bacon.
"I'm impressed," she admitted. "A cowboy who can cook! Don't tell me you play guitar, sing, and write poetry, too!"
"Don't press your luck," he kidded. Then he asked, a steaming fresh pot of coffee in hand, "How do you take your coffee?" He advised, "Real cowboys take it black."
"I drink tea," she confessed. "I don't know if you'll ever break me in completely, Cowboy. I'll always have some of that rebel filly in me."
Amanda took his arm than, and they started out to the corrals; but he stopped in the doorway of the ranch house to point something out. "Do you know where we are?" he asked her.
She shook her head.
"We happen to be standing under a sprig of mistletoe."
"I guess I'll have to take your word for it," she conceded coyly; and he held her close and kissed her on the forehead, whispering, "My wild filly."
Cowboy was right. She remembered most everything she knew about riding, only now she had to apply it to being in a western saddle. He showed her how to tie the cinch and helped her mount, noticing how nicely she filled out her tight black Wranglers as she settled in the saddle.
First he lunged her in the round pen, observing, in a different way this time, what a nice seat she had. Buster, Cowboy's prized buckskin gelding, behaved like a gentleman as Amanda took him through his paces: walking, jogging, and loping.
"Are you tired yet, Filly?" he asked, purposely before he had worn her out.
"Are you kidding? I could do this all day! I can't remember when I've had so much fun!"
"It may be fun now, but you'll probably regret it tomorrow. How about a nice leisurely trail ride?"
"Sure. Where do I sign up?"
"You and Buster wait here while I go tack up Sundance." He was back shortly, sitting relaxed atop a sorrel mare with three white stockings and a blaze.
They rode out across the desert, and at high noon they watered the horses and dismounted. Cowboy hobbled Buster and Sundance and placed a blanket on the ground near a tall cactus. From his saddle bag he unpacked a feast of beef jerky, fresh apples they shared with the horses, and a big canteen which he handed to Amanda.
"It's iced tea," he explained, then apologized, "It's the best I could do without bringing along the silver tea service."
As Amanda tipped the canteen to her lips to drink the last of the tea, Cowboy tossed his lariat around her, taking her by surprise. He pulled her close and asked, "Do you know where we are, my wild filly?"
She shook her head.
"We happen to be sitting on a blanket under a whole sky full of mistletoe."
"I guess I'll have to take your word for it," she surrendered flirtatiously.
Cowboy kissed her slow and gentle, this time full on the lips, as they upheld tradition under the winter desert sky which, in both their minds, was filled with mistletoe.