A horse of a different culture
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
So even though we hadn’t reached anything that you could call a finish line, Mom turned her back on the scratched-up slope and started downhill.
I know that you have to accept Nature’s rough drafts to truly enjoy the final masterpiece, but we’d been trying to carry on against the boogeyvirus for so long that I wasn’t sure the summit was worth the trip anymore. Maybe that’s what Mom meant when she said that the solution to some problems was knowing when to stop fighting. When you’re climbing the wrong mountain, it’s not the summit that matters, but how soon you realize that you’re going the wrong way. That’s probably why it still felt like the boogeyvirus was getting the better of us even when we overcame its obstacles. Each victory only brought us closer to the top of the wrong mountain.
Mom minced downhill like someone with her shoelaces tied together. I followed behind to avoid being bowled over by the rocks she kicked loose, or Mom herself if she came loose from the mountainside. The gah-ing, godslammit-ing, and balancing arm-chops built a forcefield around her as we made a snail’s progress back into the valley.
Eventually, the ground started supporting us again and Mom’s steps grew back to their normal size. She unflinched her shoulders and the bill of her hat adjusted itself skyward. When I was sure that she wouldn’t slip and squash me, I ran ahead to check out the future. Mom squawked for me to come back any time I went too far, so I hiked in suspense at the edge of the squawking zone.
I came around a bend to find a lady and her hiking partner climbing toward me. Her hiking partner had a very long, distinctive face, and I was trying to place where I knew him from before charging in for a boisterous hello when Mom grabbed my collar. I was so absorbed in trying to recognize him that I hadn’t even noticed that I’d stopped walking. She pulled me off the trail and snapped on the leash.
Then it hit me.
“IT’S A HORSE!” My tail wagged faster as my excitement ratcheted ever-higher. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I can’t wait to bark at him!”
I’d seen horses before, of course, but never so close up. I tried to come up with the most impressive thing to bark at him when he passed, but excitement kept scattering my words. I was still trying to gather them in the right order when something even more amazing happened—The horse stopped right in front of me!
“Hi Oscar,” his hiking partner said.
“Hi, I’m Oscar and I’m gonna getcha!” I blurted. It came out as a whistle, but I was too excited to care. They knew my name!
“Sorry! He’s a bit starstruck,” Mom said, giving me the sign to sit.
I clamped my butt to the ground and dug a hole in the dust with my tail. “They’re the ones that are starstruck, Mom,” I whispered. “Didn’t you hear? They already know my name!”
“That’s because I’ve been yelling for you to c’mere all morning, you goober,” Mom thought at me.
“You’re such a good boy, Oscar,” the lady said, and my pride puffed up even more. She hadn’t told the horse that he was a good boy.
The horse pretended not to notice the excitement frothing out of me like a boiling tea kettle. He was probably intimidated, but he stayed so that Mom and the lady could talk.
“You used to be able to ride all around these mountains,” the horse-lady said. “But now there’s no trailer parking anywhere. Everyone comes over from the city and fills the parking lots so you can’t turn the horse trailer around. I barely had room this morning because someone parked their dirt bike hauler like a jerk.”
“I know all about having trouble with parking and not being welcome on trails,” I told the horse, to have something to bond over.
“There are fewer places to ride every year because the Forest Service can’t keep up with the blowdowns,” the lady continued. “My mules can get around, but not the horses.” She patted the horse’s neck to tell him he was a good boy anyway. “There are rules against using chainsaws on Forest land, so the rangers have to use cross-cut saws. There are only like six guys for the whole district, so they can only clear a handful of trees a year.”
“It seems to me that if the Forest Service just asked, people from the city would happily volunteer to break trail,” Mom said in defense of Her People. “Office workers are always looking for physical labor to get them outside in the fresh air.”
“Or what about any of those out-of-work loggers?” the Horse-lady said in defense of Her People. “There’s no shortage of them.”
“Right!” Mom agreed, even though she didn’t know the first thing about lumberjacks. “Isn’t that how we got out of the Great Depression?”
“The Civilian Conservation Corps!” they both said together.
“Jinx!” I barked to show the horse that I wasn’t just smart, but quick too.
