Old Buck Skin

At the beginning of the month I was sharing some stories my grandmother told me about growing up in early Arizona.  Now that Saint Patrick's Day is past, I think I'll finish her stories.  You know, right now is the nicest season to be in Arizona.  It's not too hot yet, the wild flowers are blooming, and at least to me, the prettiest part of an Arizona desert spring is the wild grass that comes up anyplace that is shady.  It's the color of emeralds, and although it doesn't grow everywhere it sure makes the desert look lovely.  I remember walking to school or playing outstide in the afternoons, absorbing the green like a sponge, feeling as though my heart would burst with the loveliness of the long, cool, juicy blades of grass.  I suppose that is why, even to this day, green is the color that makes me happiest.

And now, for grandma's story.

Old Buck Skin

When I was little girl there was a Mexican named Ramon who worked for papa. He had a horse named Buckskin that we children loved to ride because he was so gentle and easy to handle. Ramon cautioned us to always put our feet through the leather strap above the stirrup for our legs were too short to reach the stirrups.

One day I was riding Buckskin around the block and as we came along the canal road I could hear bulls bellowing near-by. There were many high bushes of soap weed growing along the road next to the pastures. All of a sudden we came to a clearing and there were the bulls, one inside the fence and the other out side in the street. When he saw us he put his head down and pawed the dirt and bellowed so loud old Buckskin wheeled about quickly and ran in the opposite direction. He knew from long years experience as a cow horse not to bother an angry bull.

How happy I was that I had learned to obey what I was told to do for had I not had my feet securely in the saddle straps I surely would have fallen off when the horse wheeled about so quickly.