There was a pony saddle in my Great Aunt Mabel's tack room and a set of silver spurs on the mantle above her fireplace. Well, she didn't really have a tack room, however she did have a set of ornate silver spurs that sat atop a pair of beautiful hand-beaded Indian riding gloves laid out on the mantle. The pony saddle was stored outside in a shed.

The year that I entered Junior High, my older brother, Charlie, and I spent the summer at Aunt Mabel's place in Wyoming. We discovered most of the kids on the surrounding farms had tack rooms because they rode working horses. My aunt's place had a single-stall horse shed with a closet size room off to the side for storing gear and so, not to be left out, we decided that was her tack room. We had heard the story of Aunt Mabel having been awarded the riding gloves and silver spurs as Grand Marshal of the Western Festival held for Indian Days and the Sheridan Rodeo. But we never did find out why she had a pony saddle. She had boarded a horse or two on her property, but never a pony. And, after Charlie's and my incident with the pony saddle, we two really didn't want to raise any questions by delving into its history.

My aunt had about an acre of fenced pasture land and so she was able to accept a horse or even a sheep or two for boarding, which helped keep the grasses and weeds grazed down. But when my bother and I arrived for the summer, the field was empty of any grazing animals. One of our chores was to use a hand scythe to hack away the weeds that tried to spread across the irrigation ditch that ran
along one side of her property. That's usually when we'd meet the neighboring kids. They'd mosey up on horseback to watch the two city kids ankle deep in the irrigation water, taking turns with the scythe. To be friendly, a couple of them would unsaddle their horses, let them drink at the ditch and also munch away at the weeds, which helped Charlie and I out. They even showed us how to saddle up their horses, which, unfortunately, is what led to the pony saddle experiment.

It was right after breakfast one morning as my brother and I were doing the dishes that our aunt began to make sandwiches. She explained that she had to go into town and spend some time as a docent for a historical estate that was open for a special tour group coming in. She'd called the neighboring farm and arranged for them to be available for any problems or unlikely emergencies. Aunt Mabel left orders for us in the form of a suggestion that if we spent our time clearing the remainder of the weeds from the ditch, there wouldn't be time for any emergencies. Putting our lunches in the refrigerator and gathering up her hat and coat she set out for town as we dutifully headed to the shed to get the wheelbarrow and the scythe.

By lunch time we'd completed most of the weed removal. So, with a full wheelbarrow and grumbling stomachs we headed back to the house, figuring that with an hour's work after lunch we would finish up the job. As we sat on the porch finishing our sandwiches and homemade lemonade, we saw a pickup truck pulling a horse trailer stop at the far end of the lane. A farmer got out of the truck and to our astonishment led a little fat donkey out of the trailer and tuned it loose in Aunt Mabel's pasture. The donkey stood there just watching as the truck made a wide turn and then pulled the trailer back up the lane and disappeared around the bend to the highway. Then spotting the wheelbarrow full of weeds which we'd left just inside the fence up near the shed, the donkey came trotting up to casually munch away as it eyeballed the two kids staring wide eyed back at it. The fat little donkey had a halter over its ears and down around under its jaw. When I saw the brass ring on the halter just under the jaw I immediately remembered I'd seen a horse lead-rope with a swivel snap in the shed. So, I guess it was my idea to catch the donkey and see if we could ride it. Of course as soon as I entered the shed, there on a saw-horse sat the pony saddle. Grabbing the lead-rope I hollered for Charlie to come get the saddle and we'd take turns riding the donkey.

By slowly walking up to the donkey as it fed from the wheelbarrow I was able to get close enough to reach out with the snap on the end to the lead, but the donkey would back away. Charlie had followed me up slowly, hanging the saddle over his shoulder so most of it was hidden by his back. So neither of us was about to give up. I reached into the wheelbarrow and grabbing a handful of long weeds I raised them up over the donkey's head. The ruse worked! As the donkey lifted its head up to feed I quickly snapped the lead into the halter ring. The donkey started to pull away but quickly recognizing it was on a tether, it just stopped and stared at us, its ears alternately perking up or flicking back to lay along its neck. As I held the halter, Charlie was able to toss the saddle over the donkey's back. It didn't fit at all, the donkey was too big around and had a flat back whereas the saddle was obviously made to fit over an animal with a more prominent backbone. But that did not deter us. We took turns holding the donkey's head and trying to feed the cinch under its fat belly and into the buckle. We finally used a short piece of rope to bridge the gap created by the donkeys wide bellied girth and as I held the halter, Charlie climbed into the saddle. I handed him the halter rope and stepped back. The donkey just stared at me. Charlie clucked his tongue several times and said "Giddy-up," but the donkey just stared. It was then that the images on Wyoming's license plates and on every rodeo poster in the state came to mind. Remembering the silver spurs on our aunt's mantel,I said, "You've got to kick him, you know, like a cowboy wearing spurs!" Taking his feet out of the stirrups, Charlie gave a tentative kick, driving both heels into the donkey's sides. The donkey just stared at me and then it's ears turned back along its neck. "Kick it harder," was my suggestion which was immediately followed by chaos.

In order to give a really good kick, Charlie let go of the lead rope, grabbed hold of the saddle horn and spread his feet out as far as he could. As the end of the rope fell to the ground, I bent to pick it up, but before I could stand back up something clubbed me so hard on the head that my knees buckled and my face was driven into the sodden pasture grass. As I forced myself up onto all fours there were sparkly stars in my vision and as if from a distance I could hear the donkey braying. I staggered to my feet, my head still spinning and saw the donkey half way across the pasture, trotting along kicking a hind foot every so often as the empty saddle hung down along one side.

Slowly it dawned on me the saddle was empty and my brother was nowhere to be seen. I scanned to the left and right, but just empty pasture met my eyes. As I shook the confusion out of my head, from behind me I heard an odd low honking sound, much like the Model T's in the old movies. I swung around and a few feet away was my brother, laying on his back, his arms and legs spread-eagled as he gasped for air, the wind having been totally knocked out of him. I realized then what had happened. The donkey must have seen Charlie's legs going out for the kick and just as I'd bent down, the donkey bucked. It's broad forehead had connected with the back of my head driving me forward as Charlie was propelled up and over me by the donkey's arching back and hind legs.

I helped Charlie sit up and waited with him for a while. I promised I'd not think up a stunt like that again, then I stood up and set out after the donkey in order to retrieve the saddle. But every time I got close, the beast would trot away. We'd seen some of the neighbor kids walk with a rope stretched between them to herd sheep into a pen, so we tied several small ropes together and set off to trap the donkey. We were finally able to get the animal cornered and by steadily drawing closer I was finally able to make a lunge for the tether dangling from the halter. The result was that the donkey was so intent on trying to bite me it didn't have time to step away as Charlie grabbed the saddle. Then as the two of them began to whirl around in a circle the cinch loosened enough that Charlie fell to the ground still clutching the saddle and the donkey daintily stepped out of the loose cinch. I immediately unsnapped the tether and shouted to send the donkey trotting off as we scooped up the saddle and headed for the shed. We cleaned up the saddle thoroughly with an old terry cloth and never told our Aunt Mabel of our great misadventure.

Within a week the donkey shipped out and Sugar, the horse, came to stay the rest of the summer. She was docile and also the absolutely perfect horse; she didn't mind being ridden bareback.