Music in the Bush

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Horse Hand

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  They kept him around The stables, corral And Range leading To the hills of history. He grew up here New Mexico days. Boy no longer. His 74th year. There had been round-ups From the wild places. Herds free to run Until the chase and Cutting off. The rope and bridle And saddle eventually. All but that pinto Griff had taken as His own. Took nine attempts  To mount him. Stable hands laughed At the rough And tumble. Their yells and whoops Only maddened the Beast. But they had left him To Griff, rodeo hero stuff A long time ago. Now he felt out of place. Aches and pains And slow gait. He would oversee The breaking to saddle And common commands And rein work. The men all knew His voice, manner and tone Would gentle most equines. The Owner knew this as well. Time saved Injuries avoided to  Horse or Rider. He kept Griff on. But insisted on the Right food, lots Of porch time. And little or no whiskey. Griff had once had That big problem. In the hectic loose, bucking years. * Imag...
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