Pepper, Saguaro, Paint, Troy and Misty by KimB

My grandparents had a house with some acreage in Tucson, Arizona near the Saguaro National Monument. The house was far from town on the Old Spanish Trail, which in those days was a dirt road that ran along the foothills. The washboard road rolled up and down as it followed the hills, rills and gullies along the edge of the Rincon Mountains towards the Colossal Cave, a popular tourist venue. They ran a cafe: Saguaro Corners, which was some miles from the house and located across from the National Park. They also had 5 horses.

The horses lived in paddocks behind the house and when visitors came, the horses were saddled up by Grandfather and off they would go for a look at the desert scenery. Grandfather and Grandmother were careful to match the horses with the abilities of the riders or lack there of. Some horses were more gentle than others and as really no one in the family knew much about horses, it was a good thing that overall they were kind horses but not without a bit of mischief if they could get by with it.

There was Pepper and her foal Saguaro. Pepper was Grandmother's horse and she was very particular about who rode her. Pepper could be a handful if you were not paying attention and Saguaro was a very insistent colt. When he got hungry and wanted to nurse, he would nip at the toes of the rider to get them to stop so he could have a snack. There was a LOT of nibbling if the ride took too long.

There was Paint. A beautiful Tobiano paint horse. Unfortunately no one could ride Paint. Grandfather had told me that when he bought Paint she had been abused. She was used as a pack horse and the pack had not been properly set and had made terrible sores on her back. He and Grandmother had nursed her back to health but she could not tolerate anything on her back, like a saddle or rider. When, on occasion someone did try to ride her, she would sit down and that would end the attempt. Of course, now a days there are ways to relieve pain and more rehab that can be done, but way back then there wasn't much available. So Paint lived a pleasant life with her horse friends in the paddock with brushings, baths and treats.

There was Troy a retired race horse. Troy was a favorite with the men because he could run fast. And fast he was! When the men would have races Troy was always the winner. I never got to ride Troy, as I as a little kid, but I remember seeing him out distancing all the other horses. There was just one problem with Troy and the other horses – the homeward part of any ride. The horses all knew where “home” was and each would try to get there first. Whenever the riding party headed home, Troy would be the first one to bolt and then one by one the others would follow. It was a “fast” trip home and Troy would be the first one at the barn.

When the homeward bolt was “on”, all the riders were told to “zig and zag with the horse” as they went around all the cactus, 'cause a “zag” at the wrong moment would land you in a pile of thorns. Grandfather was adept at removing cactus thorns from those unfortunates who “zagged” when they should have “zigged”.

Then there was Misty. Misty. Misty. Misty. A horse forever in my heart. She was first horse that I rode and one that I owned later on. She was sooo very special. Grandfather taught me to ride her when I was 3 years old. She was that kind of horse. She was a fea-bitten grey horse and was without any behavior faults. Grandfather used to put me on her and let me ride around the house by myself. After a bit he would come and collect me for lunch and then later he would boost me back up and I would spend hours just walking around or standing under a Palo Verde tree lying on her neck asleep.

Once when I when we were walking under a Palo Verde, a branch got snagged on my shirt. As Misty continued to walk forward I was lifted off the saddle by the branch. Misty stopped in mid-stride and did not move an inch. I would have fallen off had she done so. I screamed bloody murder for help and out came Grandmother and Grandfather to see what the commotion was about. There I was half dangling from a tree and Misty standing absolutely still to prevent my fall. The branch was soon dislodged and Misty got extra treats that night from everyone.

I have had many horses since Misty and I have a personal theory about how each horse is remembered, I call it the Every Other Horse Theory. The odd numbered horses (1,3,5) are “good” horses and even numbered ones (2,4,6) are “not so good”. This is because, you decide the current horse (1) is not suitable for whatever you are doing and you get another horse (2) as a replacement. But the new horse (2 or even numbered) does not live up to its predecessor, so you get another horse which is superior (another odd numbered horse). The chain goes on as you replace each horse for a new and better version.

There is one horse that can never be replaced: EVER. And that is the FIRST horse. The Number 1 horse in the list. Every horse after that, will never match the first horse that you love. Misty was my first horse and no horse can duplicate her. I have had great horses like "Thunder" who stole my heart the first time I saw him, but Misty is irreplaceable and the memories of her and riding the desert are like Golden Showers of Happiness.

[Editor's note: This story was written by KimB]

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