Ol’ Roanie

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“How ya doin’ Skip?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess,” he said. “Remember my good rope horse?”

I remembered. Skip, like me is left-handed and therefore requires a left-handed heelin’ horse. Whenever I’m in southern New Mexico he lets me borrow ol’ Roanie.

Last time I had been to his place to rope I got there early so I saddled up and was warmin’ up the horse. I didn’t remember him bein’ quite so belligerent and feisty. He made a couple stops where I had to grab the horn!

When Skip arrived he explained why Roanie was actin’ up. It wasn’t Roanie. It was the other horse.

The other horse, which had a big scar on his shoulder, was also a roan. He was the flotsam of a relationship gone bad. Skip had wanted to sell him but the now departed love interest had insisted he keep him so they could go on romantic rides together. Skip roped on him now and then but it was always a risky venture. He kept thinkin’ if he roped on him enough, he might make a good horse.

“Yeah,” I said, “I remember ol’ Roanie.”


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