06/20/08 Grand Dad's saddle

Old saddles can't talk but they can still tell stories. I'm Jeff Keane; I'll be back in one minute with a saddle story. I was lucky as a kid since I had a smaller saddle when I was little, and an intermediate saddle when I grew. My luck ran out with the combination of that junior saddle, one certain horse and my lack of skill riding a bucking horse. My Dad suggested I'd be better off with a bigger saddle like Granddad's. I figured I'd be better off with a different horse. Granddad's saddle had not been used much since he had passed away, so Dad took it to a local saddle repair shop for a tune-up. When Dad went to pick up the saddle it hadn't been repaired. The saddle shop owner said it wouldn't do much good since the saddle's tree was broke in two places and cracked in another. That saddle couldn't talk but it sure was mute evidence about the truth of the stories of the wild, strong willed horses Granddad like to ride. That's one gene I'm glad I didn't inherit. If a horse didn't buck in the morning and maybe once or twice more during the day, Granddad just had to run in another new one and try him. Just looking at that saddle I could only wonder how many of those horses had fell with Granddad or how many big, young, strong horses he had roped and dallied to the saddle horn to get his saddle in that shape. No the saddle couldn't talk, but the stories are still there. I'm Jeff Keane.