The Prickly Pear Chronicles

 

12-9-2020: Cookie score and tea fairies

It's one of the warmest, sunniest days so far down here in Arizona. I guess “down here” is relative. It's “down here” for us Idahoans, anyway. I doubt if too many Mexican nationals are reading this blog. Would be cool though. If you happen to refer to Arizona as “up here” - leave a comment...that would be cool.

It's a little surreal around here without J'Lo. Jack doesn't seem to notice she's gone. He still nickers once in a while...usually because I'm late with his cookie. Still...it feels a bit empty. Easier, but empty.

One less lead rope to handle. One less saddle to heft. One less water bucket to fill and definitely less poop to scoop. I feel like I have a lot more time on my hands...especially with the less poop to scoop. We don't have a shoot for a few days and nothing pertinent on the schedule. The beautiful, blue, cloudless desert sky was begging to shine down on a rider and her buckskin pony.

Shade stayed with the trailer while Jack, Hank and I rode out on our own to explore the Arizona desert with no particular destination or motive. I try to stick to the trodden trails and four wheeler tracks to keep Hank out of the cholla. I don't know why I bother – he chases anything that will run from him and can be seen dashing after jackrabbits, cottontails and ground squirrels with sheer abandonment. He seldom comes back with a cholla stuck in his paw so he must have it figured out. He's a good dog.

We crossed the power line and rode up a drainage toward the rugged Harquahala mountain range. The Palo Verde trees are prominent here, as well as Ocotillo, mesquite, Saguaro and prickly pear. Of course, the ever present teddy bear cholla are littered about but they don't seem to be as thick the higher you get.

I hobbled Jack. He grazed on dried grass and weeds that looked less than palatable even for a horse that eats anything. Hank lapped up a full bottle of water out of his collapsible bowl and I shared a tiny “mini” apple with Jack.

Hank and I set out on foot to do a little exploring. It's one of those moments when you really hope your horse doesn't take it upon himself to head back to camp without you. He's only done it once. There was a palomino mare involved. By the time I caught up with him we had a serious come to Jesus meeting. I felt fairly confident he wouldn't do it again. There was no mare in sight and besides, it wasn't more than five miles from camp. I could do that...I'd kill him once I got there, but I'd get there.

Not only did he not leave me...but he wouldn't leave me. The goofy horse hobbled after me no matter which direction I turned. I'd head up the trail...hobble hobble hobble...turn down the wash.....hobble hobble hobble. Fine specimen of a steed you are. I removed his hobbles and head on up the mountain followed by a border collie and a goofy buckskin. Maybe that's why the Native American's called them “big dogs.” Big goofy dogs.

I didn't want to turn back. It was too nice out. However, one of the things I've learned about Arizona is how quick it goes from the most beautiful sunny day you've encountered to freezing your ass off as soon as the sun goes down. And I was hungry. Jack ate half my apple and it was a tiny apple to start with. I rummaged through my saddle bags for my can of Beanee Weenee's. Not to eat them mind you. I've had that same can for at least 10 years. They probably wouldn't kill me? I didn't want to eat them, I wanted to take a BW picture before I headed back.

I felt around in the Buck's Bag's for the familiar can. My hand touched something foreign. Something square and crinkly. What's this? A COOKIE SCORE! A couple months ago, my friend and sometimes ridding partner, Rob, invited me to go riding on the spur of the moment. I was camped for the weekend at Crandall's for their annual Halloween Spook Shoot. I said I'd go, but asked if he'd make me a lunch. I didn't have much in the way of food with me other than about 9 lbs of seven layer bean dip I'd made for the potluck. He agreed and we met up at Wilson Creek.

We stopped for lunch. Spread out on a boulder was a feast to put a caterer to shame. Turkey sandwich, cheese rounds, fruit and some other stuff I can't remember. For desert he'd brought this square cookie thing hermetically sealed in plastic. It was stamped: Cheryl's Cookies. To be honest, it did not look appetizing. Not wanting to hurt Rob's feelings, I quickly stuffed it back in my saddles bags and forgot about it.

Fast forward two months to an empty stomach with a tiny half apple floating around in it. Today, that cookie looked appetizing. Well...it looked edible, anyway. Truthfully, it still looked a bit disgusting. It's about 2x3 inches square covered in some sort of white glaze with what looks like chunks of boogers on top. Bloody boogers. I hesitated a little. Maybe a lot. My stomach growled.

I tore open the plastic wrap and took a nibble off the corner...trying to avoid anything resembling boogers. Not bad. I took a bigger bite – unable to avoid the dried boogys. Oh. My. Gosh. Raspberries! Not dried boogers but white chocolate sprinkled with dried raspberries! Surely, this is what they feed you in Heaven. Thank you Rob...and Cheryl.

Belly full of cookie manna, I sent Cindy a text letting her know I was headed back. My InReach was on the charger so I'd made sure and let her know where I was going via text. I told her it was beautiful out here and I would spend the night but I was hungry and headed in. She asked how far I was and I told her a little farther than we had ridden a few days earlier.

I hear all the time you are not supposed to run your horse back to the trailer. I don't really get that. I think if you want to run...run. If your horse gets jiggy on the way back to the trailers, then run their butt all the way there a few times and I bet they will stop jigging. Always worked for my horses. Jack doesn't usually get jiggy, but he does like to run. We long trotted and loped, making short work of the miles back to camp.

I was hot and dusty. I put Jack away and guzzled a large Styrofoam cup of iced tea sitting on my kitchen counter. I drank half of it down before realizing I didn't have a Styrofoam cup of iced tea in my trailer. Cindy didn't immediately respond to my text inquiring about the sudden appearance of my favorite drink next to Fireball. Later that night, I received a text answering the mysterious tea appearance. “Tea Fairies.” I'll be damn! Cookies from Heaven and Ice Tea Fairies. It's been a good day.