Robb W. MacDonald - Tricks, Horses, and Rock and Roll

Copyright 2011 by Robb MacDonald

Two Harbors Press

212 3rd Ave North, Suite 290

Minneapolis, MN 55401

612.455.2293

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-0-9848900-1-9

This book is dedicated to my dear departed grandpa, Boyd Oliver Wallace. It was he who instilled in me the ability to, as my mother puts it, "make a good story better."

My Grandpa (and Grandma under blanket) Wallace

Welcome to Tricks, Horses, and Rock and Roll. The whole purpose of putting these stories together is to try to spark the readers' own memories of times gone by. I have no misgivings that some folks who grew up in big cities, or even in vastly different areas of our great country, may not relate to some of the material presented. I do believe, however, that all of us, regardless of where or when we were kids, have some very vivid memories of happy, simple things that seem to get harder and harder to come by with advancing years. I can't count how many times I have been stopped by someone who has read some of these stories and been told, "I loved this story or that because it reminded me of a time when my brother and I..." I love that, as I am a firm believer that what is truly important in our lives is the memories we make.

As you will read, I was born in a small town in the northernmost tip of the great state of Idaho. I lived on a small ranch, with what would now be deemed a "conventional" family. My elder brother of two years, Rowdy, and I were blessed to have horses, room, and parents who loved us enough to set us free. Granted, it was a different time than today when you could let your kids go out riding or playing from dawn till dark without worry that they would be all right.

I began writing these stories in 1998. Originally they were meant for my extended family only. I wrote them out with pen and paper in moments stolen from my true profession, a tire guy, and handed them out around Christmas. Obviously, my family loved them. This didn't come as a great shock to me, as they were my familywhat were they going to say? However, a funny thing happened. My family started giving as well. Still, I thought, most of them knew me, or knew of me, so again, what were they going to say? My darling wife of thirty years, Jeannie, who for some unexplainable reason has always believed in me, started after me to put these stories into book form so that everyone could see them. Since my formal education ended after graduating high school, it seemed evident to me that I was nowhere near smart enough to write a book. I got a D- in typing, for crying out loud! Enter two wonderful sisters-in-law, Summer and Judy. Both of them volunteered to type up my stories, and Summer formatted them into little booklets for a local craft fair. Much to my amazement, she sold every one.

I've continued writing, and with copious encouragement from the love of my life, I have finally gotten up the courage to put what I consider some of my favorite stories together in Tricks, Horses, and Rock and Roll. I hope you will enjoy reading it even half as much as I did writing it.

When I was first introduced to the stories in Tricks, Horses, and Rock and Roll, I was transported back in time to a simple era that reminded me of my own childhood in rural southern Idaho. These stories, with their vivid detail and homey dialogue, sparked memories that I hadn't been in touch with for far too long. Since the author and I share a love for northern Idaho (I've lived in Idaho all my life but moved from the extreme southern part of the state to the extreme northern part fifteen years ago), and all things real, it only stood to reason that I would thoroughly enjoy this book. I encourage you to find a quiet spot, kick up your feet, and take your own trip down memory lane with Tricks, Horses, and Rock and Roll.

Wags,

Dr. Marty Becker, "America's Veterinarian"

I was born a cowboy. From the top of my bulbous head to the tips of my sloped middle toes, I was made for life aboard a horse. And so it was as far back as I remember.

My first horse was moody; that also happened to be his name. He gave me wings to fly on my own and more than once the proper motivation to do so. He was a grand steed and a credit to the Shetland pony breed. My mom got Moody from my Grandpa Wallace in a controversial trade for a brand new saddle that was given to her by Dad. Turns out it was a trade of a lifetime. It was widely believed the deal was arranged so my big brother, Rowdy, could have a horse of his own. This was always accepted, since for the first two or three years Moody was a member of our family I hardly ever got to ride him. But when the time came that I thought I had enough large motor skills to stay aloft, he was mine. I think I was three years old. Since I had finally grown into my horse, this sadly left Rowdy without.

That malady was short lived, however, when Ginger stepped gracefully into the picture. She was a striking beauty, with her dark gray coat and brilliant white mane. She possessed a fire like none we had ever known. Where Moody was the proverbial tortoise, Ginger was the elusive hare. Rowdy found out many times just how elusive she could be. We all said Ginger was Rowdy's horse but, alas, I'm sure we were all very aware that she belonged to no one. Granted, most of the time she played along, but when push came to shove, it was no contest. So there we were: Rowdy, Robb, Moody, and Ginger, a quartet for the ages, indivisible and, more importantly, fully mobile. This mobility afforded us a world unreachable to most kids, or adults for that matter. On any spring morning we could be seen chasing imaginary rustlers or horse thieves off our place, and by afternoon we would be up in the woods discovering lost lands and loot long abandoned by bank robbers and renegade Indians.

We were always shocked at how careless those bad guys must have been to leave some of the treasure behind in their haste to escape our wrath. Stuff like perfectly good doorknobs, jar lids, car headlights, and even a genuine pocketknife, complete with a pre-broken blade.

Sometimes we weren't allowed to collect the spoils of our adventures, as Ginger seemed to have a very distinct concept of good and evil. If she didn't like it, you left itor she left you, as simple as that. Moody was far more tolerant and would allow almost anything to be hoisted across his broad shoulders, and I'm sure this disgusted poor Ginger to death. I loved him for that.

As time passed, we constantly searched for new, more exciting things to do on our outings. Trick riding, for instance, seemed like a logical choice. Logical, that is, until you try it.

Our first attempt was probably that of the Simple Stand. This trick was, of course, one of our first attempts, and it was just as it sounds: simply a matter of standing on your horse's bare back while it stood munching on grass. We became bored with this very quickly and set about discovering new, more difficult and dangerous tricks. Turns out, Ginger was a big help in this endeavor, as she also became bored with simply standing in one place. Hence, the birth of the Moving Stand Trick, which consisted of standing on your horse's back while it was moving. This maneuver wasn't bad bareback, but with a saddle... it's a wonder that Rowdy and I ever had kids. Eventually we both became quite adept at these two tricks, and aside from the occasional mishap, which usually involved Ginger sending Rowdy careening into the pucker brush, we reached the point where it was nothing unusual for us to be seen loping through the forest standing atop our sturdy ponies.