This is the tenth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, and Part IX before continuing.
Mike walked on foot, leading his horse by the reins, to the gate of the south pasture, which we had to go through to get to the north pasture.
“I’m so sorry about your dad,” I said as we made our way to the gate.
“Thanks.”
“How did I not hear he had passed?”
He snorted. “You haven’t exactly been in touch.”
That hurt. Mostly ‘cause it was true. “I’m sorry. I kept meaning to reach out. There just never seemed to be enough time.”
He laughed a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, it takes all those seconds to pick up the phone and dial a number.”
“To say hi, sure, but I knew that would never happen, because I wanted to tell you everything. It would have taken me an hour to update you. Then it would have taken you an hour to update me. So I kept thinking I would do it later, but the longer I waited, the more there was to update you on, and I let it spin out of control. I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have called, even if I only had a few minutes.”
By this time we had reached the gate. He held the gate open for me and I walked Star through, then waited for him as he closed the gate behind him and mounted his horse.
He hadn’t responded to my rant, so I changed the subject. “How big a lead do they have on us?”
“Not sure. They were already gone by the time I got back with Star. You didn’t see them take off as you were walking up to the house with Cordy?”
“Nope. I guess that means we have some catching up to do.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be comfortable going full gallop?”
“Not even a little. Why don’t we start with a trot?”
He nodded and we both kicked our horses into a trot.
Although I had laughed when Mike said riding a horse was just like riding a bike, I did find myself falling easily into the rhythm, standing up in the stirrups, then down into the saddle, then up again to avoid getting bounced around. The trot is the bounciest of a horse’s gaits, and standing and sitting in rhythm with the horse’s gait (known as posting) makes for a smoother ride.
But it’s an English riding trick. Farmers tend to stick to the Western style of riding, and Mike lost no time reminding me of that.
“Don’t start with that English shit!”
“You can’t tell me it’s not easier than getting bounced around. I should think men would prefer posting to protect their balls.” I felt my cheeks burn at the realization that I had just talked to Mike about his balls. Where had that come from?
Mike’s cheeks turned what I could only assume were a matching shade of pink before he said, “You seem to be adjusting just fine. You can handle a canter.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he kicked his horse into a canter and I followed suit.
I had always preferred cantering anyway. It was smoother than a trot, but not as fast as a gallop. Besides, we wouldn’t want to wear out the horses before we had even reached the cattle.
We cantered all the way to the gate connecting the south pasture to the north pasture. It was already open as Uncle Phil and Jen must have left it open so they could herd the cattle through it, so we didn’t bother to slow down as we went through the gate.
To be continued…