DailySusan Humor Blog

PURPLE ASTERS

Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.
-- 1 Corinthians 10:12

In my Great Moments In Dignity file, one page that’s missing is the day a horse tried to get me off his back.

Not buck me off like at the big rodeo in Omaha this weekend.

Not float me off, like a friend’s horse did by running her straight into a farm pond.

Not slide me off, like a bareback bronc named Apache did to another friend whose bottom slithered off him slick as stocking feet on a slippery solid-wood floor.

No, I mean this horse tried to get rid of me by holding still.

See, I was ‘’test-riding’’ Zippa Dee Dude, the wonderful quarter-horse we owned for a few years, or, should I say, owned us. He belonged to a horsewoman who was competing in the American Quarter Horse Association nationals on a super-duper new horse. A friend was selling Zip for her. Meanwhile, I didn’t know a stirrup from a spur. For poor Zip, moving from an expert rider to a nervous neophyte had to be the epitome of ignominy.

We were nearing the barn, though, after a long trail ride with some other people when, suddenly, BOOM!

Zip plunged to the ground . . . and squatted there, motionless, like a big, hairy bump in the road.

Was he hurt? No. Sick? No. He just hoped that geeky greenhorn on his back would take the hint, roll off and end the mouth-sawing, flank-stabbing torture.

Anyone with an ounce more athletic ability, sanity, or both, would’ve jumped off.

But I couldn’t . . . because my feet were tangled in the stirrups, or spurs, or maybe both.

I couldn’t get free. The other riders looked down at us, slack-jawed, as the frustrating drama panned out. He just wanted me, literally, off his back.

Ever hear the expression, ‘’Easier than falling off a horse?’’ Not for me. I couldn’t even fall off a motionless horse. No . . . nyet . . . neigh.

With a sigh, Zip stood again, and trudged dejectedly back to his stall, where he turned his rear toward me in disgust.

Fascinated, we bought him, anyway. Determined to improve, I rode him every day for a month. I was finally beginning to cowgirl up.

Well, one glorious fall afternoon, a bunch of us went on a trail ride. I was the only newster; the veterans promised to watch over me. One had to borrow a horse she didn’t know, Bugsy. His owner said he was ‘’fresh.’’ I thought, what? He wanted to make out with her? Nooooooo . . . neighhhhhh. It meant he was rarin’ to go.

That was sure dead on. Turns out he hadn’t been ridden for years.

We set out. The ride was going fine. Suddenly, though, a few horses bolted up a hill. Others started bucking. Riders were getting thrown off.

In my usual crisis mode -- lock-limbed panic -- I reined Zippy in. We just stood there. But next to me, Bugsy, the ‘’fresh’’ horse, was, in a word, ‘’’rarin’.’’

He bucked, and bucked, and bucked. The veteran rider, a pretty blonde, rode tough. Finally, though, she made a big ‘’O’’ with her mouth, shot high out of the saddle, and sailed backwards through the air, with a puzzled frown on her face, as in: ‘’How come I’m getting bucked off, and that clueless dudette next to me is staying on?’’

She landed with a THUD! on her bottom on the hard, dry ground. It had to hurt.

I raced to the florist’s, telling them the story. What would be good sympathy flowers?

Not red roses; they’re for lovers.

Not pink carnations; they’re for funerals.

The florist leaned toward me with a conspiratorial twinkle:

‘’Purple asters,’’ she said.

The poor, sore buckaroo loved them. We’ve since become close friends.

And we’ve both planted purple asters in our gardens. They’re mementos of the fall I didn’t fall, and she did, but it wasn’t a complete pain in the rear, because it got us started on the beautiful trail ride called friendship.

Heigh ho, purple asters . . . and away!

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Praise Report: Thank You, Jesus, for the dramatic but ultimately exciting and wonderful birth of my new grand-niece, Paisley Elizabeth. It took an emergency C-section for this 9-pound, 6-ounce, beautiful bundle of joy to arrive. Thank You for making it all come out OK, Lord, and thank you for the prayer ‘’midwives’’ and ‘’-husbands’’ who surrounded that hospital room with prayers for deliverance, and continue to sustain the parents, grandparents and Paisley. Hallelujah! Amen! (Psalm 32:7)

Prayer Request: Last week’s story about a dog named Molly brought up a sad prayer request from a reader whose young relative, Mollie, was killed in a car wreck outside Kansas City earlier this month. The family is, of course, devastated that she has been torn out of their hands so young. The girl loved the Lord, though, and they all know she is with Him. Comfort and encourage them ‘til they day they’re reunited, Lord. (Colossians 2:2)