The horse originally belonged to Hank Hitch, the angriest kid I have ever, ever known. If 1 is totally emotionless, and 10 is running around, shrieking, and tearing your hair out in rage, Hank got out of bed every morning at about an 8.5.
His sister Melody was four or five years older than us, and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
Go figure.
He and his family lived in Puerto Rico when we did, on the same base. His dad ran the base exchange; it’s a military general store. Everything from perfume to bicycles. When they moved there, they joined the on-base ranch, Lazy R, and got a couple of horses for the kids.
Rufus was a run of the mill buckskin. That’s a horse with a blond-ish body and a black mane. The thing was, though, Rufus was kind of a jerk.
In the symphony of being an irritating equine, Rufus was a virtuoso. That horse knew just when and where to nip or stomp. He made being a butthead into an art form. Which is inspirational, because other than his inventive orneriness, he was ordinary and utterly unremarkable.
Hey, shine where you are, right?.jpg?ver=2017-06-21-123040-550)
One morning our little base, our Mayberry with palm trees woke to an exciting scandal.
It had been discovered that Hank’s father had been embezzling huge amounts from the exchange.
The entire family, aided by the federal government, vanished into the night. Their belongings were packed up and shipped out, but there were some loose ends. One of them being their horses. 
The elected officers of the ranch decided that at the next show, they’d raffle off Rufus and his fellow owner-less ponies.
Our family was ranch members and we had three horses. Homer, his wife Kelly, and their daughter Mindy were also stationed at the base and often accompanied us out to Lazy R for shows and events even though he had little interest in anything equestrian. My big brother is a lot of things, but horse guy is definitely not one of them.
Homer had bought Bud and me a couple of sodas, so Mom decided, as a joke, to pay back the $1 by buying him a raffle ticket for Rufus.
The ticket was a winner.
This is not a Disney film, where man and beast bond. There was no dramatic climax where they saved each other’s lives, the music swells, and an emotional tear is shed by all. Homer and the horse just never took to each other, bless their hearts.
A couple of times a year local youth would come to Lazy R in the middle of the night and take seven or eight horses. It was the equine equivalent of a joy ride.
In a day or so, a message would come that our horses had been found safe, and for a small finder’s fee they would be returned. The fee was a ten spot, six-pack, or a carton of smokes (remember, this was the seventies). It was a game, the horses were never harmed, and everybody involved kind of enjoyed it. A little innocent skullduggery to break up the day.
During one episode, Rufus was taken. And in a move straight from The Ransom of Red Chief, Homer declined to pay up. It was the perfect way to rid himself from the care and feeding of an animal he didn’t ask for and never liked.
It was unprecedented. But ranch members knew the temperament of the beast, and completely understood his choice.
And in a response that would have instilled pride and amusement in O. Henry himself, the misanthropic Rufus was the first one returned.
Thanks for your time.
She was the living embodiment of the old saying that beauty is on the inside.
We were literally living in a vacation paradise. We got to experience a culture that for some, was completely unlike anything we’d ever known. Rent and utilities were provided by Uncle Sam and thus microscopic compared to living stateside. There were also far fewer opportunities to spend money on shopping, and eating out.
I’d never been around a horse with a sweeter disposition. She was eager to please in everything she did. Instead of angry and skittish, the unspeakable abuse had made her wise and gentle.
I try to live in a way that leaves me with few regrets. But one of my biggest concern that sweet little mare.
Because of my weakness, the day we handed over the horses, I couldn’t face it and stayed home. I never said goodbye to my sweet, sweet girl. I so wish I had.
Saying goodbye hurts, but it’s an honest pain that we owe to ourselves and the ones we love. Consider it the price of admission.
He wasn’t tall, but was as solid as a Sherman tank. He had very large ears and a Roman nose, which meant his profile was convex; with an outward curve. He was the color of warm maple syrup with mahogany mane and tail.
This fact was brought home to me with a bang and a crunch one day when I was fetching him from the pasture where he lived with his horsey harem. He didn’t want to go.
I’m very lucky that he didn’t wear shoes, but even so I probably should have been under concussion protocol. I definitely would have been, if I’d told my parents exactly what happened that day. As far as they knew, Macho was cranky, bumped into me, and knocked me on my keister.
Juanita looked like she was half asleep half of the time. The other half she looked like she was stuffed for display./horse-eye-resized-56a4dbf03df78cf77284fe95.jpg)
One afternoon she and I were taking a ride in an unused pasture. On the return leg of the trip, she decided to turn on the gas. We were a streak of lightening. It was one of the most exultant experiences of my young life.
But of course, she wasn’t rider-less.
How I didn’t break any bones remains a mystery. But all I was left with were bruises and a healthy dislike for one particular sleepy-looking mare. I’d loved horses my entire life, and it seemed I would never have a bond with a horse of my own; maybe there was something wrong with me, and horses just didn’t like me.
To be continued…
bull city mom 