Luck of the Irish

Every morning Mom and I go for coffee at the Golden Brown Bakery. We have become "regulars" and as soon as we walk in, two cups of coffee are placed on the tray along with a cheese Danish.

The woman behind the counter is someone I knew from my previous life -- the one that involved horses, horse shows, hot dusty weekends and lots of sunburns. Those days are over for me, and to be honest I don't miss them, but this woman is now on her second generation of horse show kids.

Our youngest son showed horses for one summer.

Of our four children only my daughter was into horses. Our youngest son did a little bit of the horse show thing, but it took him only one season to realize he could ride along and hang out with the girls, but if he didn't show a horse, he didn't have to do the work that went with it.

One of our biggest shows of the year was the Detroit All Breed Youth Show, held in October of every year at the state fairgrounds in Detroit.  For many it was a practice show for the American Quarter Horse Congress -- a huge quarter horse event held in Columbus, Ohio. For us it was a good way to wrap up the show season.

Our daughter started showing at the youth show during her sophomore year of high school. We traveled to the show four times, the final year she won the championship class, but the first trip was certainly the most memorable.

The trip started out badly and went downhill from there.

I was pulling the trailer, our daughter and her friend were following in a car behind me. I have my suspicions as to why they chose to ride separately, but some things are best left unsaid.

Our daughter and her horse ParDee Guard

We drove from Paw Paw to Kalamazoo when my parents, who had been working on a project at our home, came flying up along side me in their car. Mom was waving a pair of jeans at me. They thought our daughter had left her show jeans behind. Dad pulled around me, onto the shoulder, and slammed on the brakes. Ever try to stop a truck and trailer without banging horses around and jamming into the back of a Ford Tempo? They weren't an important pair of jeans and I didn't hit the back of their car.

It should have been a warning to me. But it didn't register.

The next two hours were the only uneventful ones of the weekend. We got to the Detroit area right around rush hour. Our exit was closed. I drove to the next exit to turn around hoping the west bound exit would be open. It may have been. I never made it. I couldn't manage rush hour traffic with truck, trailer and two teens in a car following me.

I pulled onto a service drive, parked the truck and walked back to the girls.

"I have no idea where to go."

They stood there for a moment and looked at me.

Down the block a huge, scary looking man with wild bushy hair started yelling.

"Hey!  Lady!"

The girls and I kept talking.

He became insistent.

"I said lady!"

I turned around, glared at him and screamed, "What!"

"Going to the fairgrounds? Follow me. I can get you there."

Heroes come in all shapes, sizes and hair styles.

We arrived at the fairgounds and started unloading the truck and trailer. I was pulling an apple picker (ok, non-horse people, just think about it) out of the back of the truck and rammed the handle through the window of the horse trailer. Duct tape. Not sure why I had duck tape with me, but it came in handy.

At some point during the three-day show I came out of the barn and noticed the trailer was listing terribly to the port side. Ok, I'm a big girl, capable of handling a flat tire. I pulled out the jack and went to work. The jack would not lift the trailer up off the ground high enough for me to pull the tire off. I sat on the ground and stared, willing the jack to extend itself a few more inches. Surprisingly it did. Sort of anyway. Some helpful cowboy came along and suggested I set the jack on some bricks and boards. In fact he helped me find said bricks and boards and proceeded to lift the trailer.

He suggested I set the emergency brake before starting our task.

We got the tired changed. Heroes come in all shapes, sizes and with cowboy hats.

And then I tried to release the emergency brake. Shit. We were stuck. In park.

Those were the days before cell phones. I trekked across the fairgrounds and found a payphone and called a tow truck. The driver beat me back to the trailer. He looked at the brake cable and determined it was rusted from disuse. He said he would have to tow us back to the repair shop.

The look of horror on my face must have said it all.

"I could break the cable for you. But you wouldn't be able to use your emergency brake again."

Hmmm, seems to me I didn't use it anyway.

"Break it."

Heroes come in all shapes, sizes and with heavy pliers.

The blessed day we could finally leave arrived. We loaded the horses in the trailer and our daughter's friend's horse went ballistic. We pulled her out and checked the trailer for bees, protruding hooks, shorted electrical wires . . . whatever. Nothing produced itself.

We loaded the mare back into the trailer and left. The horse bounced the truck and trailer all over the highway. Every jump, every bump, every shifting of the weight sent us swerving all over the road. Finally I pulled off the highway in South Lyon and told the girls we were going to have to find a phone booth with a phone book and call a vet to sedate the horse. I didn't hold out much hope for there being a phone book anywhere within 100 miles of a phone booth, but desperate times call for eternal hope.

Our luck finally turned. I was bouncing down the road and came across a home with a barn, a white fence and horse trailer. No more pride. I went to the door and asked if we could use their phone and could they give me the number for their vet. Despite the fact we looked a lot like the horse show version of the Joads, they were quite obliging.

We pulled the horses from the trailer and discovered the mare had pulled a shoe, raked her pastern (the part of the horse's foot above the hoof) to pieces. The vet came, doped the horse up, stitched her pastern and we were good to go.

Just before we left the vet came to my truck window and handed me a syringe.

"Use this if you need it on your trip home," he said.

I was never sure if he meant it for me or the horse.

Heroes come in all shapes, sizes and with syringes.