The Taming of the Bray

THE TAMING OF THE BRAY!

I write this as a hobby farmer and an expert equine trainer and I have the broken bones to show for it. Three ribs on the right side when my tractor rolled forty feet down a slope and crashed into a tree, a broken hip when a green broke horse reared, threw me and proceeded to sit on me, a concussion when I accidentally spurred a high spirited Morgan that raced off with me and stopped short on the black top, two ribs on the right side, a broken collar bone and a punctured lung when my newly trained horse was spooked by barn squirrels, bolted from under me and taught me the value of paying attention. But it is during a crisis that we excel at the things we are destined to do…and even as an expert, I, too, am subject to the unexpected.

I have a neighbor. He is a loyal and wonderful friend. But he has this habit of changing occupations and interests with the frequency of a sweaty man changing underwear. In other words, Vern just cannot leave well enough alone. So, in his time, he has hosted several breeds of riding horses and occasionally accompanies us on trail rides. Since our properties adjoin this is nothing special. We just enjoy his company. Sometimes we even ride to his house, savor a cool drink and then ride off again. All is well in Paradise.

Two months ago, he added to the equation about nineteen head of cattle. We rode over to his house. Our horses spotted his cattle. They were, of course, not the same cattle as our neighbor on the right. They were cattle to the left of our property. Much, much different from a horse’s perspective.

We did not make it to Vern’s house. We did not enjoy our usual cool drink. We did not spend time sitting on his veranda, surveying the open fields before us. What we did do was rodeo our way back to safety while our horses galloped through the thickets. As I said, I am an expert equine trainer with the credentials to prove it. A black eye, several scratches on the right check, a red lash across the forehead and a wife who has been missing since she and her horse jumped the barbed wire and disappeared.

No, why did I call this The Taming of the Bray?

Because last week my friend, Vern, not only found my wife and her horse, but he also bought a mule and housed it in the field adjoining our property. Neither my wife nor I knew this, but, because we are both expert equine trainers, we did know we had to ride our horses through the same area again --- lest they become even more fearful and refuse to ride there at all.

The jack is named Radar. I know why he is called this. From the moment we entered the trail adjoining his paddock, Radar zeroed in on us and playfully came to investigate. It was not his intention to spook our horses, though my wife’s horse circled more times than a merry-go-round. Nor was it his intention to spook my horse that was ready to charge over the dominant horse blocking the trail. Radar merely wanted to be friendly.

We both worked our horses until they settled. We spoke soothing words – none of which they understood or heeded – but a swift kick in the ribs is often the best form of communication. Radar looked forlornly at our horses. Our horses were wild with fright in their eyes and tensed like springs ready to pop but we had them both under control. Under control, that is, until Radar emitted his welcoming brayyyyyyyyyy. No, I am not going to write hee haw. I do not believe mules really bray as a hee haw. The sound hee haw must be exhaled to be emitted. No, an exact translation is just not possible but Radar’s bray sounded more like a vacuum with a wheezy pipe and that sound is definitely an inhaled sound, kind of like a Canadian when he says, “eh”. And for the benefit of my Canadian friends, I have practiced that sound for years and have never mastered it.

At any rate, Radar’s bray bugled the charge of the light brigade. Virginia’s horse did a Lone Ranger and Silver act with my horse sneaking under him before he touched ground again. Because I am an expert equine trainer, I controlled my horse and we arrived home in record time.

As to Virginia, if anyone sees an auburn haired woman, very attractive, wearing faded jeans with a tank top and riding an extremely excited bay horse, please tell her that our good neighbor, Vern, traded Radar for a llama. His name is Stinky and he doesn’t bray.

Copyright June, 2005 Russell A. Vassallo
To see more about Russ and his book, Tears and Tales, visit: www.krazyduck.com or contact Russ at [e-mail]