Once in a while in my journey through life I chance upon a person who buoys my spirits just by exuding a joyous aura without any visible effort.  Ginger’s owner and operator is such a person.

Ginger is a multi-hued cayuse who sometimes winters away from the home place, and her return always livens up the tempo.  Comparable to a kid getting a toy on Thanksgiving.  This year is a sort of red letter day since Ginger’s owner has hopes of increasing her remuda with the cooperation of nature and Ginger’s arranged tryst.  The date was prearranged and the prospect of a new colt gladdens up most of the home folks.  The man of the place, howsomever, was recipient of a run of tough luck, and it is his by his own behavior, not ecstatic.

He noted that Ginger was lolling around the corral fence and took the great notion to climb aboard in a moment of whimsy.  He laddered up the fence and seated himself upon Ginger’s site for a saddle, but of course there was no saddle in situ— or a bridle to provide steering.

“You better be cautious,” the lady said.  “Ginger might put you on the ground.”

“Nay, nay,” he might have said as he hand combed a winter’s growth of hair from Ginger’s topside, and throwing his leg over her back slid gracefully to the ground.  Upon his contact with terra firma the broad smile on his countenance vanished like a New Year’s resolution and he groaned in agony and set about massaging his wrenched leg.  His discomfort was both audible and visual.

“Walk it off!” was the advice he heard from his good wife, and she turned away and started to the house.  He collapsed and commenced pivots like unto a turtle turned bottom side upwards.  He clasped his leg and moaned that he could not stand nor “walk it off.”  Ginger walked away and relocated to the other side of the lot.  The lady continued her route to the house and did not glance back.

Joanne Hardin deserted and left her betrothed husband to writhe in pain and anguish.  She did not look back, and his plaintive moans and pleadings for help fell upon deaf ears.

“You brought it on yourself,” she said cheerfully.  “You got yourself into that fix, and you can get yourself out of it.”

Danny managed to roll over and begin his two-armed, one-legged trek to the house as he heard the back door close.  Eventually the pain subsided and he got both legs under him and gimped his way to the house.

“You could have helped me,” he pouted.

“You’re too heavy to tote around—and I’ve got to go to work!” Joanne retorted, and reported back to the Post Office.  The saga was over, but it got me to wondering why a full-grown woman would own a horse.

A logical answer came like a bolt from the blue.  With the price of a gallon of petrol gaining ground on a snort of Starbucks it pays to look at your hole card.

Joanne pulls out of the office gigs and she is prepared for the return of the pony express and horseback mail delivery.

The Freedom Stamp might be obsolete before it’s even unleashed.  One never knows.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp