03/29/07 Last trip

Last Trip Some horses leave their memory behind without being all that special. I'm Jeff Keane; I'll tell you about one right after this. When I was about three or four years old, Mom and Dad gave me a horse that I could call mine. It wasn't a horse that I could ride, but they said he was mine. I think they just picked out a horse to keep me from asking which one was mine and when was I going to have my own horse. This horse's named was Smokey, I suppose everyone has had a horse or dog or cat name Smokey. I thought it was a good name, but not good enough for my horse and that's why I renamed him White Star, that sounded a lot more flashy. Only trouble was I spent a lot of time reminding and correcting Mom and Dad about the real name of my horse. When Smokey, I mean, White Star, became my horse, he was older and Dad kept him in the corral to use on the shorter rides to gather the other saddle horses in the bunch grass pastures. Dad saddled White Star one day and headed out after the other horses. The horses came in home at a lope, but Dad didn't come in very soon and when he did he was walking. Dad said he found the horses and was following them home at an easy lope when Smokey, I mean White Star, faltered about three strides and went down. He was dead before he hit the ground of a heart attack. Well at least he didn't suffer and Dad was able to step off and stay clear of him. I ride by White Star's bones now and I'm amazed at how lucky Dad was since that trail was at the top of a steep hill that ended in a bluff. At least, his last stride was a true one that went the right way. I'm Jeff Keane.