JR and the Grain Bucket

Ever notice how when certain groups gather they share stories around common themes? Women in general will get together and trade stories about the birthing of their children.

Country women will do that, too. But they also like to trade stories about their country experiences..... with animals, ..... machinery, ....... storms, ..... and combinations there-of.

Ranch Wife's recent story about saddling a horse reminded me of my many horse-induced scars..... some visible, some only left in my vivid memory!

One invisible one (at least I hope its invisible) occurred when I covered for daughter #2 at feeding time one evening. At that time, she had the sweetest, most easy-going horse she probably ever owned..... JR.  Of blue blood ancestry (grandson of the great Secretariat), JR was supposed to become a fast prize-winning barrel horse.  Not! He inherited his grand-sire's beautiful red color but not his speed. From somewhere he also picked up a big white spot on his belly, making him a registered Paint. But as I said, his best quality was his lovable disposition. Never ever offered any bad habits, ever!

Daughter's other horse at that time was her mare, Cindy, also pretty easy to get along with. The two horses were usually kept in separate runs but for some reason, Cindy was in the pen with JR that day. No problems there. They got along great!

So I go to feed. Its mid-winter, fairly dark of evening. The pen has a small barn where-in is the feed bunk, JR's normal dinner table. Of course there's no light inside the barn but I figure there's enough to find the bunk, dump in part of the grain, then head outside to find Cindy's tub on the ground. 

So I enter the stall, bucket in hand. JR hears the bucket, comes to supper and starts eating as soon as the grain hits the wood. Cindy, being the well-mannered (and smart) lady she is, waits outside the door some 12-15 feet away. I turn to move around JR to the door when there is a sudden burst of fire (well, it felt like fire!) on my hind side. My instant thought is that I've backed into a protruding nail in the dark. This thought is followed with logic. No, that could not be since I'm moving away from anything with that part of my body, not backing into anything. I was moving forward and this pain was most definitely on my back side. On my Burcham butt, to be precise! (We in this family tend to have inherited a well padded portion from those particular ancestors!)

It takes a few moments for me to realize JR is shuffling about, tossing his head, staking his claim on his grain lest Cindy try to come steal it. Later inspections under lamp light confirm that this dear sweet horse has indeed planted his chompers not on Cindy, but on yours truly! On my butt no less!

Sweet Cindy did finally get her share that night but if I could have, I would have taken JR's back. No, maybe I'd best not try that! I've always wondered if JR even realized what he'd bitten into.

After nearly 20 years, I don't think there's a scar but I haven't really looked lately!