Weird Childhood Memory #4,371

When I was in about 3rd or 4th grade, there was 1 day a week (Tuesday I think) when I'd be the first one home after school. My Mom and 2 sisters would be at Girl Scouts and my younger brother and 2 younger sisters would be at some type of day care setup.

This was in Colorado, all the houses in the neighborhood were on at least an acre of land, many people had corrals with horses. Our neighbors, the Springsteens (no relation that I know of... you know ... to Ed Springsteen?) had a few horses, one of them was "17 HANDS HIGH!!!!!"" That's all you ever heard from Kay Anne, the Elvis-loving braided-pig-tail blonde girl who was a year younger than me.

Pueblo was his name-O and he was the Springsteen's pride & joy. A massive Apaloosa who stood 17 hands high, for you city slickers, let me explain (with the help of Google) ... horses are measured from the ground up to the withers (the ridge where the neck and back join) in "hands." One hand is four inches, the average horse is 15 to 16 hands. 17 is very tall and unusual specimans reach 18 hands.

One thing I learned about horses while taking a shortcut through the alfalfa field while Pueblo quietly grazed is that you don't walk too close behind a horse, especially a horse that's 17 hands high. I didn't think I was that close, but Pueblo thought otherwise, the last thing I remember seeing was that hoof gracefully making contact with the area an inch or 2 above my right hip. I remember everything going black while all the air shot out of my lungs then waking up about 10 feet away from the horse in a soft bed of alfalfa.

I got up, dusted myself off and went in the house to grab a bowl of Cap'n Crunch and watch Lost, I mean Gilligan's Island.

Unlike the native Coloradans, we had a different type of corral. A simple metal wire strung along a series of green metal posts. It housed a friendly but unridable burro named Brighty and a rambunctious goat named Nanny. They were good buddies and much more like a pair of friendly dogs than your usual burro-goat combo that most people grew up with.

They often hopped the fence and met us at the bus stop where they would wait patiently for our arrival. Though it may sound unique and charming now, it really wasn't the type of thing you wanted to see while pulling up in a bus full of your peers.

On Halloween, they jumped the fence and went around the neighborhood eating Jack O Lanterns down to the base. All that would remain was a tiny island of pumpkin holding a burning candle.

One time at about 6:00 in the morning, an upset neighbor in his robe holding the donkey by her bridle banged on the door and began to yell about how she'd eaten his wife's bed of flowers.

But I haven't got to the weird part yet ...

I have to run to work (no, Blogging does not pay the bills).

More later ...