rainy day blues

As the older man on his dour Appy, the young girl on her head-tossing TB and me on my perfect Arabian started out on the trail this morning, it was only drizzling. Maybe that was why we happened to be feeling contentious - unless it was my remark that for two otherwise intelligent people, it was odd to see them mounted on non-arabians<g>.

After breed merits were "discussed", we turned to tack but since we all using Stubbens it appeared noone could draw blood. Except that being Americans, we valued peripheral aspects most highly: the older man said that since his was Swiss and everyone knew what good horsemen they were, he felt he had the best; the girl said that since hers was made in the mother country of Germany, hers was best and I said that since noone had ever heard of the Parsivala model I rode it was probably exorbitantly expensive and hence the best.

Then we rode in silence, ignoring the rain down the back of the neck and dark stains on our treasured saddles. I was stewing because the older man had been with the State Dept in the Middle East and would recognize the blunders in pronunciation of my horse's exalted ancestors if I suggested lineage of pedigree as the deciding factor in whose horse was best.

Have Fun!