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A Memorable Day: Taking My Dad Fishing

April 17, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

4–6 minutes

Taking Dad Fishing

When I was a child, my dad and I did countless things together.

We rode horses nearly every weekend if not every evening. We went to rodeos and parades—not just as spectators but as participants. We traveled to horse sales, chasing his dreams of new bloodlines, no matter how far away they seemed. Of course, I realized when I grew up that they weren’t all that far.

A lake at the south end of our property teased me year-round. I saw cars creeping across its dam, people scrambling down its rocky banks, casting lines into its blue water. I dreamed of fishing with my dad. But he never seemed interested.

We had more important things to do. We needed to haul feed for the horses, cut hay, stack bales in the barn, and care for the animals. The farm and all our other activities consumed all our time. There was no time for anything else. School and sleep were crammed in the margins of my day.

Eventually, I grew up and moved away. After a chlorine gas leak injured my dad, he had to sell the last of his horses. He became tethered to the living room; his body slowed, but his mind sharpened. On my days off, I would come home. We would sit on the back patio, drinking iced tea and talking. We watched that same blue lake that had taunted me for so long.

One afternoon, while I was visiting, he said,

“Come look at what I found in the storage shed.”

Out back, he pulled a polished rod from a rack. It was old but cared for. The line had to be a 100-pound test.

“Used to fish with this before you were born,”

He said.

“Put it away after you come along. So many kids were drowning in lakes back then… I couldn’t take the chance.”

And now, decades later, he held it out like an invitation.

“Will you take me fishing?”

“Of course,”

I said.

He smiled, took a puff from his nebulizer, and told me to wait while he got his hat.

“Dad, you need a fishing license.”

I reminded him, hoping it would buy me time. I needed to figure out how to care for him in a setting I didn’t control.

From the kitchen, Mom called out,

“He got one last week! He’s been waiting for you to come home. Can’t drive that far by himself.”

That settled it. I grabbed my gear from behind the seat of my truck. Then, I loaded Dad up. Finally, I drove us to my secret fishing spot.

The fish were practically leaping from the water. Dad was giddy, casting with the energy of a man half his age.

He kept asking how I found such a remote place and marveling at the size of the fish we caught.

I thought I had waited 24 years to go fishing with my dad. I didn’t want to use up all my time in one afternoon.

Eventually, the stringer was full, and the sun started slipping.

“We’d better get you home,”

I said.

“Mom said you’ve got to be back by two for a breathing treatment.”

He frowned but nodded, and we packed up our catch.

When we got home, the house was empty.

“Was Mom going out today?”

I asked.

“I think your sister was taking her shopping,”

He said, unconcerned.

I got Dad set up with his treatment. The hum of the machine had just started when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Benji?”

A familiar voice—my sister’s mother-in-law. Using my childhood name.

“Where have you and your daddy been? We’ve been trying to find you.”

“We went fishing.”

“Fishing? You took JD fishing?”

“Yeah—we caught a nice stringer full.”

There was a pause.

“You’d better put them on ice. Your mother and sister were in a bad accident. A truck hit them head-on out on the bridge. They’re at the hospital in Chickasha. You need to get your daddy down there.”

I turned to him and broke the news gently. He took it quietly, still holding onto the joy of our day. Maybe it hadn’t fully sunk in, or he didn’t want to let go of the moment.

At the hospital, Dad was the first to go in and check on Mom. My sister waited in the hall, shaken but okay. When Dad came out, he looked as calm as ever.

“She’s going to be fine.”

He said.

“They’ve got her so doped up she thinks she’s on the moon.”

Then someone asked him where he’d been. He grinned.

“Fishing. Caught the biggest fish you’ve ever seen. I swear, some were as long as my arm!”

Everyone laughed.

“That’s a fish story if I’ve ever heard one!”

“Sure, JD. Whatever you say.”

I backed him up, grinning.

“We’ve got them at home. Put them on ice. Big stringer full.”

My oldest sister chimed in, skeptical.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. Slid them into a plastic bag first, then put them in the freezer.”

It was true.

And that fishing trip wasn’t the last. That summer—his last summer—I ensured we went out as often as possible. Sometimes, it was just the two of us. I had always dreamed of this as a boy, watching the lake from our back porch. Other times, I brought my brother and my nephews along. Dad would hold court on the bank. He told stories and gave advice. He cast his line with the patience of someone who knew the water well. He knew the time was short.

We laughed, caught fish, and built memories like campfires—small moments that glowed long after sunrise.

That summer was magical.

It was the summer, and I finally got to take my dad fishing. And it was everything I had waited for.

A Close Encounter: Horseback Riding and a Snake Surprise

April 2, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–5 minutes

When a Snake Crosses Your Path

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I was nine when my dad, sisters, and I rode horseback along the four-mile-long road circling our property. My dad liked the longer ride of four miles. He guided the horses through the deep sand that had accumulated in the red dirt of Western Oklahoma.

It was a bright, crisp spring afternoon. The season had warmed the land for several weeks. Still, I wore a light jean jacket to ward off the lingering chill.

Riding with my dad was always a solemn occasion. We never spoke much; we rode. Yet, when we returned home, we understood each other completely. Words weren’t necessary—the simple joy of riding together across the open land spoke directly to the soul.

Like my sisters, I had been on horseback since I could remember. My dad had propped me up in the saddle before I could sit upright. I considered myself a decent rider. Still, I was nowhere near my father’s skill. He seemed to move with his horse as though they were one being.

That afternoon, I sensed that my sisters were there more out of duty than enjoyment. Their smiles felt forced, their laughter shallow. Though they didn’t do it outright, I could tell their hearts were elsewhere. I didn’t think this would be the last time they rode with us. They were growing up. My sisters were drawn to other interests. They were leaving behind the horses that had once been a central part of our childhood.

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I was the fourth rider in our single-file procession, coming behind my dad and sisters. We had traveled this route countless times. I knew the landmarks well. There was an oil well pump that sometimes startled the horses. Barking dogs lived at a neighbor’s line. A tattered rag flapped from a barbed-wire fence. These were the things that made a horse shy, and I took note of them with each ride.

We had covered nearly three miles when I noticed my dad and sisters had gained some distance ahead of me. It was just a few lengths, nothing unusual. But as I would later learn, riding close together has its benefits.

As we neared a mainly sandy stretch of road, my oldest sister turned in her saddle. She glanced back at me. Her expression was unreadable, but how she looked made my stomach tighten.

And then I saw it—a six-foot black bullsnake slithering onto the road.

It had watched the first three horses pass, believing the coast was clear. But I was still coming. Just as my eyes locked onto the snake, my horse saw it, too.

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His reaction was immediate—dodge and run.

My horse reared before I knew what was happening, jerking to the left while I pitched to the right. The world tilted, and sand rushed up to meet me. Then, there was an impact. I hit the ground hard, my breath escaping in a sharp gasp.

I hated snakes. At that age, I was convinced they were all out to kill me. I was lying in the dirt. My heart pounded as I scrambled to my feet, half-expecting the snake to strike. But my faithful horse hadn’t abandoned me. The horse trotted back, ears flicking, nostrils flaring with the same nervous energy I felt.

Ahead, my dad turned in the saddle, completely unaware of what had just happened. He saw me standing there, dust-covered and rattled, and called out in his usual no-nonsense tone:

“Would you quit fooling around and get back on your horse?”

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I was “fuming.” I muttered curses under my breath—at my horse, my dad, and that wretched snake. And at myself for not anticipating the spook that can send a horse sideways.

I climbed back into the saddle. I was convinced the snake would follow us up the road. It would try its luck again. It didn’t. But my horse remained, shying at every stick and shadow for the rest of the ride.

When we finally arrived home, I unsaddled and brushed him down, smoothing his coat and murmuring reassurances. He had been just as much a victim in the afternoon’s chaos as I had.

That afternoon was the second time I was ever thrown from a horse. The last time came when I was twenty. I was riding a high-spirited horse that my dad no longer handled. That horse was downright mean—no snakes needed to send him bucking.

The Last Drop: A Cowboy’s Journey of Sacrifice

March 10, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

2–4 minutes

The Last Drop

The desert stretched endlessly before him. A sea of golden sand and jagged rock shimmering under the merciless sun. Nathan Calloway, a weathered cowboy, pulled his bandanna higher over his nose. He squinted against the glare. Nathan’s loyal companion, Dusty, plodded steadily ahead, hooves sinking into the loose sand. It had been days since they left the last water hole. The journey across this godforsaken land felt like it would never end.

Nathan had one canteen slung across his saddle. He’d filled it to the brim at the last watering hole, which seemed a hundred miles behind them now. Each time Nathan drank, he made sure Dusty drank, too. He’d pour water into his old, sweat-stained hat, holding it steady while the horse lapped it.

Miles passed, the sun crawling toward the horizon without relief. Nathan should’ve run dry by now. His canteen weighted it, sloshing like he had just filled it. He didn’t question it—just kept pouring for Dusty, letting the horse drink before taking a sip himself.

By the time they reached the halfway mark, the world felt different. The heat played tricks on Nathan’s mind, distorting the horizon and bending the sky. The rhythmic clopping of Dusty’s hooves became a heartbeat against the silence.

Then, Dusty spoke.

“Thanks, partner,”

The horse said, his voice deep and smooth as rolling thunder.

Nathan blinked hard, his throat tightening.

“What was that?”

“For the water,”

Dusty said, shaking his mane.

“I appreciate it.”

Nathan swallowed. He knew heat can make a man see things and hear things that weren’t real. But this felt different. He’d spent years with Dusty—maybe it just took this long to finally listen to him.

“You’re welcome, old boy,”

Nathan murmured, tipping the canteen over his hat again. Dusty drank, his dark eyes filled with something knowing, something grateful. The horse seemed to understand the sacrifice Nathan was making for him. Nathan, in turn, felt a deep sense of responsibility and care for his companion.

The two trudged on, man and horse, surviving together. The sun burned down. Their shadows stretched thin. The canteen never emptied as long as Nathan gave to Dusty first.

Then, just as the town rooftops shimmered into view, something changed.

Nathan stopped. His body ached, exhaustion weighing him down. The canteen felt lighter now. The end was so close—only a half-mile to go. He took a long, deep drink, the first he hadn’t shared. The water was warm but pure, sliding down his throat. Nathan’s hands trembled as he lowered the canteen.

Dusty faltered. The horse’s breath came shallow, his steps unsteady.

Nathan hesitated. He looked at the canteen, now feeling light as air. Nathan shook it—nothing.

The world spun. The last stretch of desert blurred. Nathan swayed in the saddle.

A mile outside town, they found him. The townsfolk rushed ahead, lifting the man from his horse, but Nathan Calloway was gone. Dusty stood by, head bowed, his sides heaving. The canteen dangled empty from the saddle, not a drop left inside.

“You almost made it,”

Someone whispered.

No one noticed Dusty raise his head slightly, his dark eyes glistening with something almost human. He looked toward where his rider lay, then toward the empty horizon.

Deep in the desert’s silence, a voice like rolling thunder whispered,

“We made it.”

George’s Story About Going TO A Horse Sale With His Dad And Friend Maynord

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George was a happy-go-lucky sort of kid. His father raised quarter horses, and together, they were buddies. They go nearly everywhere together. George and his father’s friend Maynord, an older gentleman, probably a few years older than George’s father, spoiled George, treating him especially grandly. George didn’t emphasize the letter ‘s’ in some of his words, and some words he would say might need to be clarified. His father was known as a horseman and stern man, yet respected by most people, eyebrows raised to the bible-toting folks.

Maynord had a grown daughter who had already left home, but he and his wife had never had a son. With George, Maynord had the time of his life. As did George. The two were better buddies than Maynord, and George’s father became. But George would never say that to his father. Maynord treated George to parades, cheeseburgers, and ice cream cones and even got him a dog. George named the pooch, Ryder after Maynord’s last name.

The two looked forward to Friday and Saturday nights. That is when George’s dad would take George and Maynord to auction barns in nearby cities where horses were sold. There, they would watch the many horses come through the sale ring, and the owners talk them up, saying how great of an animal the horse is, and try to sell it for top dollar. Of course, George’s father had always arrived before the auction to watch the horses lead in so he could see how they handled it and whether they were challenging to work with in getting to holding pens. He could also see if any auction workers tried to ride the horses before entering the sale ring and if the horses handled well. There were always little mishaps in the sale ring, a rider losing his grip and falling off, or a horse doing what the owner said it would not do. Or donkeys would be brought in, which always made George and Maynord laugh. They would jokingly suggest George’s father buy several to go with his quarter horses. The biggest thrill of the sales barn adventures was the cafe located within; that is where, halfway through, George and Maynord would slip away and eat cheeseburgers and drink soda pop.

The horse sales, as George and his father referred to them, caused the problem. Maynord didn’t help with the situation because he referred to the auctions as horse sales. And he had never referred to the auctioning of horses as anything else.

It was in the classroom one Monday morning when the third-grade teacher asked the class for each student to stand and say what the most fun activity they took part in over the weekend was. The town had just had a fair, and the teacher expected the students to explain their actions while visiting the celebration. And that is what the students did until coming to George.

George stood and said –––

“My dad and our friend Maynord took me to the city horse sale, and my dad bought two.

While George was speaking about horses, the teacher heard ‘whore sale.’

The teacher said –––

“George, you went where, and your dad what?”

George replied –––

“My dad took me to a horse sale and bought two. His friend Maynord helped with one of them. They made me watch from the pickup.”

The teacher, turning pale, said –

“George, stop talking; that is enough! Class, that is enough of what we enjoyed this weekend. I will have George explain what he did to the principal.”

George was perplexed. Hasn’t anyone ever watched a horse being sold and loaded into a livestock trailer? Why would the principal need to hear about it? Indeed, he knows about people selling horses.

In the office, the principal was being informed by the teacher about what she had heard and how terrible it was that this father and his friend had taken an 8-year-old boy to whore house and had him watch the goings on with two women. The principal then asked George what exactly did you say to your teacher?

Which George explained –––

“I just told her ––– My dad, Maynord, and I went to a horse sale, where my dad bought two horses. They made me get in the pickup and watch them while loading the horses so I wouldn’t get hurt or in the way. There have been days, I have even held on to some guys horse when he had too many to handle. But I didn’t get to explain it in such detail because the teacher told me to stop talking before I could tell more about what I was talking about. We go to horse sales every weekend. I don’t know what the big deal is!”

The principal and now the school’s superintendent were both in the office. Their faces were beet red, and they were trying to keep from laughing. The teacher, now understanding the situation, felt overreactive and apologizing.

Meanwhile, George is confused and asks everyone in the room –––

“Haven’t you all ever heard of horse sales? Horse sales? Horse Sales! A Place where a man can sell his horse? My dad, Maynord and I go to them every Friday and Saturday night, you should come with us and see what it is all about. If you get bored with the horse sale, you can get a cheeseburger, as I sometimes do. I don’t understand what this is all about just because I told my story about going to the horse sale with my dad and Maynord.”

George’s dad, the town barber, was called and told of the situation. He later held court in his barber’s chair with his shop’s regulars. There, they had the bursts of laughter the school officials experienced.

Leaving the office, it was the loudest laughter George can ever remember hearing to this date. It wasn’t until he was older did he understand the rhyming of the words between horse and whores and how it could sound to others when saying to them –––

“You are headed to a horse sale to see what you can find.”

~ ROSE ~ A WILD HORSE FOR A SUMMER WITH BUD (Continued – Ending.)

April 29, 2024April 29, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

If there was anything Bud hated more than waking up to catch the school bus, it was getting to school and sitting in a classroom all day long. He couldn’t keep his mind on anything in a book. He could often find himself gazing out a classroom window and dreaming of riding his horse: anything but reading, writing, or arithmetic. His teacher knew his fondness for drifting into daydreams and would call his attention back to reality, usually asking if he knew what they were discussing. He didn’t, but he tried to fake it, bringing laughter to his classmates. It was test time, and it mattered, so he tried hard to pay attention because Bud didn’t want to be held back a year and have to repeat a grade level.

The week came for the test, and Bud had tried hard to study, fitting time between his farm chores and breaking his new horse, Rose. Unlike any horse Bud had ever owned, she was a delight to have. She even became friendly with Bud, meeting him at the pen gate and following him around as he cleaned out the barn. Staying in the pen was unusual; typically, horses would take to the pasture when the gates were open and get their exercise and run. She might go out for a spin, but she would return and spend most of the time with Bud, nudging him as he did his work. Which sometimes became a nuisance since scooping out the barn required much physical work, and she wanted his attention. After his chores, he always gave her a rub down, which Rose seemed to eat up. As he took the brush and rubbed down her back and hips, she would extend her neck into the air and twist her upper lip in a pleasing gesture. Bud thought this was strange for a horse someone had never touched until a few months ago. But what Bud doesn’t know is Rose would only let his father and Bud have anything to do with her.

Bud finished the rub down and told Rose,

“Well, girl, I have to take tests tomorrow, and I won’t be here on time, so don’t give up on me. I will be here, but I will be late.”

Rose nudged Bud’s shoulder; he thought maybe she understood.

The next day, Bud hated getting up at sunrise to catch the bus and go to school. He could do so many better things, but he did anyway. At school, those tests were waiting. He managed to get through all the day tests and, thanks to the new testing system, learned he had passed them all. He hoped the teacher would pass him on to the next grade. It depends on more than just grades at the school; it also includes conduct, attendance, and interests in subjects. The school would only send that notification in the middle of the summer. The excellent news for Bud is the last test meant that school was over for the season, and he was free for the summer. Once he got home, he didn’t have to catch that school bus for another three months.

It was later than usual when Bud rolled in on the school bus; it had run the route backward due to it being the last day of school and letting the students at the end of the route get home first for the last day of school. It was a trade-off for getting home first all the other days of the year for Bud. She was angry when he got to the Barn and Rose’s pen, nickering up a storm. Bud came in with hay, a gallon of oats, and a brush. He put the oats and hay in her feed bin, and as she began to eat, he gave her a rubdown. Which she immediately melted into.

Bud said to Rose as he calmed her,

“There, I told you I was going to be late. Calm down. I have a few more horses to take care of, too. I always come to you first!”

She gave him a gentle nudge, burying her head into his shoulder. He scratched her forehead. She closed her eyes and buried her head in his chest. Bud fed the other horses, returned to Rose, gave her another quick rubdown, and ensured she had fresh water.

Bud said to Rose patting her on the hips,

“I have to eat too –– so I will be here first thing in the morning. We have work to do!”

He closed the pen gate and went to the house. The day was about to come to a close. Now, he was looking forward to waking up at sunrise; he had Rose to get to and a day of riding.

Sunrise came sooner than Bud thought it would, and it was a bit tougher to get up than he thought it would, but he managed to get to the floor and get going the following day. He grabbed a quick bite of breakfast and was off to the barn and Rose’s pen. Bud found his horse ready to see him; Bud gave her a brush down and then saddled her up. He told her we leave the riding arena today and go to work.

Bud slipped on a bridal and a new set of roping reins that lightly touched Rose’s neck. She noticed that the thick plow reins were gone and that the light touch of the new reins seemed more to her liking. As Bud stepped into the left stirrup, rounded his right leg over Rose’s back, and settled into the western-made saddle, Rose shifted her feet and became comfortable with his mount. Having him aboard brought a prance to her step. When the two rode with others, comments were being made about how the Rose and Bud appeared so confident together, and the Rose’s stride was so prideful. She had a specila gate, rather than at a walking pace or when she loped. Rose had a trot that went a step beyond that of a fox trot and a lope that didn’t bounce Bud. She was the Caddilac ride!

On the first day, Rose proved to be as great of a horse as those riding five- and six-year-olds. She took every step. Rose never shied away from anything, and in every task Bud asked of her, Rose met. Bud even got off her several times to fix a fence post or pull up a wire along a fence line, and she never left his side; the other riders had to tie their horses off and walk back to them after fixing fence lines, but Rose, stayed right along wherever Bud went.

A month into summer, Bud’s father suggested he begin training Rose to cut cattle. To do so, Bud would begin having Rose train on turning goats in the roping arena. Rose took to it like she was born to do it. She was so swift at turning with the goats that she nearly caused Bud to lose his mount several times. However, Bud learned to sit with Rose, and the two became masters in cutting goats, cattle, or dogs if needed.

By the end of summer, Rose had become well-muscled and was turning four years old. She had begun to fill out. Bud’s father suggested that he breed the horse and get a colt from the horse for next spring, saying that he had a good horse. So Bud’s father made arrangements with a neighboring horseman to have Rose visit his stud, and a few weeks later, the news came that Rose would be expecting a colt next spring. While waiting, Bud began getting Rose ready to show in the upcoming county fairs.

Rose stood proudly in the county and several city fairs, and walking alongside Bud, she won several Blue and Red ribbons. It was a great experience to prepare her for riding in parades and rodeos. Bud did bring Rose to town several times; she walked proudly and enjoyed the crowds of people who looked on as she pranced down the streets or through the rodeo arenas.

Bud grew up fast, and so did Rose; she had several colts over the years. Bud would train them like he had Rose, usually selling them and putting them in a savings account when he got older. Rose remained loyal to Bud, and they rode nearly daily, even with school going on. It was something for Bud to look forward to after getting out of school. Living so far out in the country, neighbors weren’t nearby, and Rose was his best friend, at least closest to home.

When Bud turned 17, he got a pickup with the money he had saved. This was also the time his father began downsizing his horse farm. Rose was one of the last horses left in the place. One morning, Bud’s father came to him and said ––

“You know, Rose is at a good point for selling, and you will be moving away in a few months. You should think about selling her to your brother. And your saddle, too.”

Bud was heartbroken because he knew his father was right. He had been thinking about what to do for months. He knew that he would be leaving home for his first job in a few months, one that would require him to move away and that would not allow him to have Rose. Plus, his father had aged and was becoming unable to care for horses. That was the reason for the downsizing. Bud’s father had already sold all his horses and saddle. Something Bud never thought he would see happen.

Bud slept on it overnight; the following day, he talked to Rose, and she didn’t nudge him back when he spoke to her. He knew she understood. And she, too, was heartbroken. He closed the gate on her pen and walked away.

The End.

~ ROSE ~ A WILD HORSE FOR A SUMMER WITH BUD

April 28, 2024April 28, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Bud was only 14 when he first met what would become his best friend for the summer. She had never been around people running wild in a pasture since birth. A 3-year-old Dunn filly, a horse commonly referred to in the region as a Red-River-Dunn for its color, a reddish tint coat with black stockings, mane, and tail. She had darker red hair around her mane and ears, slicked down her jacket, and features made for a beautiful horse.

Bud’s dad bought her at a horse auction, and he and Bud went to load Rose; she had never been touched. Getting a rope to place a halter on her was a rodeo of itself in the lots behind the auction house. Getting her loaded into a trailer was a site to see. She reared and fought, tearing the trailer’s tail lights, clearance lights, and various fixtures off the trailer before finally getting into the trailer, most likely tiring from repeated attempts to load. No whips or harsh attempts were made to get Rose into the trailer; she never saw such strange things and was frightened by their appearance.

After a ride home, Bud wondered if the new horse would still be standing; it was long after midnight when they arrived back at the farm. As they pulled into the barnyard, Bud’s dad backed the trailer into an empty pen and unloaded the horse. The father and son gave the horse some hay and water and a gallon of oats. Then, the two went to the house; it had been a long night.

_{^{A technique known as plow-driving or plow-reining}}

A few hours later, which most people would describe as the following day, Bud and his father were up with sunrise. That is the way you work on a farm. They went to do their chores. By the time Bud got to the barn where the new horse was, he was shocked to see his dad had a saddle on it and was behind it, plow-driving it. Plow-driving is a process where one runs a rope from each side of the bridal through the stirrups of a saddle to about ten feet behind the horse to teach it reign before mounting it and training it at riding; it is very similar to what you would see a farmer doing to guide his draw-horse behind a plow on a farm.

Bud had always heard of how his dad had a magic touch with horses but never witnessed the gift so many spoke about. What happened next would deepen the mystery even greater.

Bud’s dad saw him entering the pen and said,

“I am glad you are here; it is time for you to get on her. I think we will call her Rose.”

The father then proceeded to gather the reigns in his hands and walked up to steady the bridal and hold the horse steady. As he did, he angled the horse’s head, and Bud could see his father quietly speaking into the horse’s ear. Then his father said,

“It is ok now. You can get on.”

Bud stood there thinking that not 8 hours earlier, they had watched this horse, which a human had never touched, nearly destroy an endgate on a stock trailer, taking over an hour to load from a dock where it usually takes five minutes for the most problematic cases. But Bud trusted his dad and knew he would never place him in danger, so he went up. He was expecting to be going for an 8-second Bronco ride.

After Bud settled in the saddle, he first experienced what he would describe to friends and family as the Cadillac ride. Using just two leather reins from a halter and not a bridle, he clicked his mouth for Rose to go, and she began walking. He reigned her using the plow-rein system; he gradually began using neck touch reining by letting the rein on the neck tell the horse which direction you wanted it to go. Rose was incredibly talented, a fast learner, and became acquainted with people fast. On the first day, the father and son had the horse performing levels of training that typically take weeks or months for other horses.

Bud’s dad said, as the day progressed,

“Rose will be yours for the summer. We sold Sam, which was your horse, so I wanted to buy this green horse to get you something to work on.”

A green horse needs training in horsemanship, riding, leading, mannerisms, and behavior. Bud feared Rose would be a challenge if she had any flashbacks and wanted to return to her before human days.

The next day, Bud’s biggest concern was the end of school before Summer break. He had fourth-quarter tests to pass. Rose would have to hold until he had his schooling squared away, but he knew she’d be waiting for the summer that was about to come.

Watch for part 2 tomorrow!