Homer

The first time I saw Homer, he was standing in the corral.  His owner hadn’t rode him much, as far as I could tell. 

That three-year-old, he looked at me with eyes that seemed to say.  Just try and get me out of here.  This corral’s my place to stay.   

I rode him in the corral almost every single day.  But if he saw the gate ahead, he braked and shied away.  

Then one day we were riding and he stepped out through the gate.  I really was surprised and had no inkling of my fate.  

 We’d gone about a mile or so when his chin strap broke away.  It looked like Homer got his wish.  ‘Twas my unlucky day.  

Well, Homer chomped down on the bit and locked his jaw up tight.   He jerked the reins and took a leap, and now he was in flight.  

He was running, farting, blowing snot and headin’ for the corral.  And what was shooting out the back you wouldn’t want to smell.  

I held on tight for my dear life.  It’s all that I could do. His gallop was at breakneck speed.  I thought my time was due.  

When Homer slammed into the gate I feared I’d end up toast.  Cuz when he stopped, I stayed in flight and bounced right off a post.  

Well, that was my sad misfortune.  It hurt my boyish pride that Homer got the best of me.  I was thinking “homicide.”  

No, Homer wasn’t injured, but the gate was quite a mess.  I think my head kept spinning for a week, I must confess.  

But we made it through that crazy day and more for years to come.    Our Homer lived a full, long life.  The lead horse he’d become.  

Some horses have their crazy quirks.  That horse had one, for sure.   So, we never left the corral without his chinstrap made secure.