osteoporosis, cowboys of any age who should have a designated driver and homeward-bound riders lost in a blizzard.
I classify these gold horses in the same category as those equidae who performed routinely heroic duties in the Pony Express, pulling cannons in the civil war, Seabiscuit and Trigger, who could always save Roy in times of distress.
There’s a heroic picture of Cannonball hanging on the wall at Cheryl and Howard’s ranch house on the Wasatch front.
One morning Howard was tending to his artificial insemination program and had to drive to town. He asked Cheryl to ride through the cows to check for those in heat. He left Cannonball saddled up in the barn.
Cheryl was the kind of horseman who rode when it was necessary. However, she had little interest in learning more than the basics; get on, go straight, turn or stop. The equivalent of a motorist who doesn’t change flats, drive anything with a clutch, and never thinks of checking the oil. She assumes someone else worries about that stuff.
She puffed out to the barn in her down coat, mud boots, mittens and stocking cap. Using a block for a stool, she climbed aboard. Cheryl trusted Cannonball.
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