Well it's that time of year again when we look far and wide for replacement horses. Over the last week we've driven 3500 miles and were in three states and came up with a whopping 17 horses. "Gramma Geldings" is the term I came up with that describes what we look for in a horse. This basically means I can put Gramma on him today with no problem.

Now, mother-in-law geldings are an entirely different deal and last year I wound up with one of them.not on purpose of course, but this was his address for awhile, nonetheless. He had the typical description in the catalog about how he loved mountains and brandings and people and work and the like and even though I know there are no mountains in Minnesota, his price finally fell through the "can't stop myself" line and I bought him. Incidentally, I've noticed over the last couple years that there seems to be more horses at the sale that have "drug calves to the FIAR" than there are calves in the whole 3 state area.and this is especially amusing because I know the guy selling this horse and he doesn't own any cattle. I'm just curious whose calves and whose fires, that's all.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I'm getting ready to test drive the mother-in-law horse. He's a 1200lb lineback buckskin gelding with a super gentle disposition and he seems very willing. He's not lame or anything. I saddle him up and lead him around. no problem. I swing into the saddle expecting an explosion.and still no problem. I walk him out the gate and look back over my shoulder to inform my wife what an astute horse buying expert she's married to, when it happens. My new buddy and I have inadvertently entered a Zero Gravity Area. Time to sit down and pay attention, as the gravity here is very sporadic and quite unpredictable. There's no-one home on the other end of my reins. He's doing remarkably well despite all the supernatural conditions, but they seem to be lasting quite long and there may be an oxygen deficit, too.

The first row of trees are behind us now and they have removed my shirt and some of the hide between the buckskin's eyes.which incidentally were between his front legs at the time. The Russian olive patch is coming into view and it doesn't appear we're slowing down much. It's hard to tell though, with all the pig noises coming from down under my saddle somewhere. Have you ever heard a baseball bat break? That's kind of what it sounded like when ole bucky bulldozed down the olive tree with his head. It slowed him down enough that there's a little give in the reins. His head comes up, we stop and everything's quiet except for the wheezing of the horse and rider trying to recuperate from the oxygen free zone.

The birds are singing, somewhere a frog croaks and a gentle breeze teases the new leaves as I ride half naked back into the corral.

The smirk on my wife's face gets bigger. "Know what I named him?" she quips, with clipboard in hand.

"No, what?"

"Briar," she howls, as I jerk my saddle off him and turn him loose.

"When does your Mom show up, again?"