The Prickly Pear Chronicles

1/24/2021: Benson or Bust – again

The forecast showed rain every day for the next week – snow expected on Tuesday. I was scheduled for a Kenda clinic on Tuesday. With the inclement weather expected, I was certain it would be canceled. I messaged Ariel and made arrangements to pick up my colt on Monday.

I decided to forgo borrowing Dave and Cindy's bumper pull and take my LQ. The dogs sleep in the back at night and with the pouring rain, I felt better knowing the colt would be in a more enclosed spot. He'd have to get use to loading in it eventually anyway. No time like the present to get 'er done.

We left for Benson on Sunday. I wanted to beat the Phoenix traffic coming and going. Especially going. This would be the colts first haul and getting slammed around in crazy Phoenix rush hour was not the ideal first trailer ride. Ariel had sent me several potential places to camp close to Benson, including her place. We settled on the Pima County Fairgrounds. The price was right, full hookups were appealing and I could dump the septic while I was there. It turned out to be an excellent choice.

I slept little that night. It was like Christmas Eve knowing I'd wake up in the morning to find an inky black baby horse in my stocking. I dreamed of Black Beauty, The Black Stallion and Bucephalus. Buckskins and blacks have always been my favorite...and I would soon have one of each.

1/25/2021: Trailer full of Nitro.

I messaged Ariel that we were coming and what time would be best for her. She replied back: It gets light at 7:00AM. Come anytime. I like that girl – she's a big reason I decided on the black colt. What interaction he had with humans in his short 8 months was quality spent with Ariel.

Loading went better than I expected. My LQ is higher than average. The colts knees didn't quite reach the step up. If he was going to get in, he was going to have to jump.

 Ariel tried leading him while Randy and I funneled him from the back. He'd almost go in and bump his knees and back out. I didn't want this to be a bad experience for him. I took his lead while Randy and Ariel coaxed him from behind. Ariel eventually lifted one foot onto the trailer bed. While I kept a little pressure on the front end – they pushed him from the back. I expected him to freak out and jump in the middle of me when he did finally decide to come in. Instead, he hoped in, walked to the front and stood looking at me as if he was waiting on me all this time.

We tied the partition open with mule string and bungee. We need not have bothered. He had the thing untied in the first 30 miles. I have a feeling he's going to be a Houdini horse and I'll be finding creative ways to keep him from escaping.

He stood perfectly straight in the middle stall where Jack normally rides. It would do no good to tie it open again so I closed the partition. No time like the present to learn to haul like the big kids.

We checked on him every 30-40 miles. I half expected to find him upside down with all four feet in the air. I he seemed to barely move. I'd find him standing straight and relaxed like he'd hauled a thousand miles.

The rain and wind picked up considerably. By the time we got to Phoenix, it poured so hard the windshield wipers couldn't keep up. The saving grace was the stop and go traffic topped out at 25 MPH. It was like driving under water. I looked nervously at Randy: “I'm glad you're driving. I can't see shit.” He didn't say anything until we got through the 14 miles of Phoenix underwater hell. “I really couldn't see either – but I didn't want to scare you.”

The rain let up and was replaced with a rain snow mix. The big reader boards from Florence to Wickenburg read: 2 Inmates escaped from Florence Prison. Be Alert. Don't pick up hitch-hikers – call 9-1-1. I couldn't help think that any hitch-hikers out in this shit would welcome a free ride back to prison.

It occurred to me as I stared out the windshield at standing water all around – that if it was this wet out – there was no way I was getting back into Crandall's – trailer or not. I messaged Cindy. She said she would keep me posted on the conditions. I knew I needed to find a place to hold up until the storm passed.

I remembered Donna lived in Morristown. I sent her a message asking if she or anybody she knew had a place I could stay the night that had a cover for the colt. She messaged back that her neighbor, Anita, should have room. Thank you Donna, I owe you one.

Anita's assistant came through. With the address plugged into Google, we pulled into Anita's, backed the trailer next to a covered run and prepared to hunker down for the night.

The colt took everything in stride. He walked out of the trailer and into his run, looked around and made friends with the old crippled roping horse in the pen next to his.

Randy had left his over-night bag in his truck back at Crandall's. We un-hooked my truck for him to take back to his hotel. I didn't want to leave the colt alone, and anyway, I had the dogs. I'd stay in my LQ until the storm passed. I listened through the rain that night – the little black colt didn't make a sound.

The next morning, Lorrie, Anita's assistant, moved the crippled roping horse to another pen that had drier ground. She said the horse had shattered a fetlock during a roping run. He appeared to be getting better and she was confident he would fully recover. I pray he does....he's a sweet and kind horse.

I was again surprised at the colts reaction to a new situation. His only companion in a strange place with a strange new owner had just been moved to the other side of the facility. He whinnied a couple of times and that was it.

Cindy messaged early afternoon: “You can come home now!” Yay!! I made sure the colt was content before Randy and I made a run into Tractor Supply to pick up a few things for him. The halter I had bought was too big and I needed a water bucket after leaving mine at Leslie's in New River. I also picked him up a ball similar to one he had in Benson. Even though Cindy said it was safe to come home, I didn't want to chance making a mess out of their driveway with my trailer. Randy and I drove in to Aguila to double check the conditions and set up a pen for the colt. I figured the longer we waited – the more dried out the roads would get.

I wasn't sure if Randy and I could get him loaded without a third person. It took less than five minutes of coaxing, and Randy setting the colts foot in the trailer, before he hoped in, moved up to his stall and waited for me to close the partition. We were on the road and headed for home without incident.

I led the colt into a pen between the roping steers and Jack. He seemed to hit it off with both. In Benson, he was neighbors and friends with a couple of miniature donkey's with pot bellies and huge ears. I guess ten long horn steers and a big buckskin weren't going to phase him.

I suppose I need to stop calling him “the black” or “the colt” eventually. His registered name is “Peplynx Nitro Drifter. Half the time I call him Drifter – the other half I call him Nitro and occasionally a Spanky or Squirt sneaks in there. I guess it doesn't really matter. Jack goes by many names: Jack – Jackson – Handsome – Bubba and occasionally other more choice four letter designations.

Maybe when we are on the trail or out gathering cows, he will be called Drifter. When we are in the arena shooting balloons or other competition – he will be called Nitro...cuz Nitro just sounds bad-ass.

Previously in the Prickly Pear Chronicles: 

 1/23/2021: Dust on the bottle and naked drunk guy 

Cindy rounded up a group of us for a David Lee Murphy concert at the Flying E Dude Ranch in Wickenburg. I had to Google him to find out who he is. The only song I recognized was “Dust on the Bottle.” That doesn't mean much though – I don't listen to much radio other than talk radio. I haven't been to many concerts, either. Toby Keith, Bon Jovi, Kelley Clarkston...and of course my favorite – Dave Stamey. I can tell you this David Lee guy was no Dave Stamey.

We arrived at the Lazy E venue in plenty of time to pick up our tickets at will call...that is if they hadn't lost them. “Don't call us, we'll call you” might be more appropriate. Cindy was forced to scroll through her phone looking for confirmation that she did indeed purchase the tickets. By the time they let us through - the opening act was on stage. Sort of. Most of the time he was falling off the stage totally shit-faced. If he wasn't falling down – he was downing shots of fireball and threatening to take his clothes off.

He couldn't finish a song – but I will say, for as drunk as that guy was, he could still play the guitar pretty well. I imagine he sounded good enough sober...we'll never know. They managed to herd him off stage before he popped the last button on his red flannel shirt. Honestly, I wish they would have let him finish. He wasn't bad looking and the whole thing did have some entertainment value if nothing else.

I had a perfect view of a giant propane torch heater directly in front of David Lee Murphy's head. I tried to envision what he might look like from the google images. He mostly played songs he had written for other artists – some I recognized.

The night looked up a bit when Cindy and Teri scammed a few seats in the VIP section. They had been watching the bouncer throughout the night. As soon as he left his post, those girls seized the opportunity like two seagulls on a discarded Twinky. Now I was able to put a face to the voice. Did no good. Still didn't recognize the dude. He finished off the night with “Dust on the Bottle.” The crowd seemed to appreciate it. Eh...maybe I'm getting old – but I'll take Dave Stamey singing “Come Ride With Me” any day of the week... and he doesn't even have to take his clothes off.