One for the New Book

Chief and I stood at the foot of a hill that towered above us at about a 40 degree angle. It was strewn with rocks, gravel, cats claw and more rocks. Should we go for the top, following the faint trail where few had tried or take the safer, less direct route through the wooded trail? The woods were prettier, safer and it was just him and I. The wise rider wouldn't be standing here, debating. I would be doing it if I was on the Tesster.

We headed up it, of course. Chief was pushing for all he was worth, slipping on the rocks, gravel and clods of dirt flying down the slope behind. I was forward, giving him all the rein he needed. He was at such an angle, I could have reached down and touched the ground. I looked up and all there was was the blue of the sky and a line of the horizon.

Then, Of course, about 3/4ths of the way up, I panicked when I looked back and pulled him up. He twisted hard to the right, pivoting around so that his hind end was now facing the sky. He lost his footing and just almost went down, his chin hitting the ground. I swerved to the left, grabbing the saddle horn as I dropped the reins so he could regain his balance. He did, somehow, and we stumbled down the hill. I took the longer route. It took me another hour to get back, although I loped most of it.

When I got back to camp, I was taking off the saddle. The latigo strap fell off in my hand. (The latigo is the strap that holds the saddle on the horse around the girth). The leather that held it to the saddle had rotted and snapped. The only thing that kept it around the horse was my weight and Chiefs sweat. I had been riding, essentially, without a saddle.

Either I am a REALLY good rider or God was REALLY busy.

I'm goin with the latter.