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I was never a cowboy. I hated horses. They always seems to know when they were wanted to go to work and would run as far away from the barn as possible. I was never a good rider either. I knew your daddy when he rode a great big brown horse they called Brownie. He sat on that horse like if he was part and parcel of it and it would rare up and tear off and your dad seemed to enjoy it. After reading your article, I wondered why he kept his spurs on in the vehicle. Did he think it would enhance the vehicle's capabilities? Always wait for your comment.


Your dad rode Brownie to school. I rode a 30 year old work horse. His one leg would sometimes give way in a sort of impromptu curtsy. Now that I have arthritis myself, I can understand his problem much better than I did then. Oh, yes, would you believe, his name was Frank. Honestly. He was part of a team named Frank and Don, but Don had gone to the heavenly pastures, so I got Frank for my transportation to school. I really was very fond of the old fellow. Ginny


Depending on the pickup, maybe the spurs were a necessity! (Of course, it's always possible that I'm remembering the story with a bit of exaggeration, too.) And Ginny, I assume you're still very fond of the "old fellow" Frank!

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