goodbye

Remember Mighty Mouse? I do. I always will. Before you read more, read about the mighty Mighty Mouse here.

I recently found out my horse died. Matthew sent me this:

I'm not sure if animals go to heaven. If they do, and if heaven has green pastures with endless supplies of grass, shade, and cool water, that's where the mighty mighty is at.

Thought you may want to know, there's something about a cowboy's horse...

I just re-read my writings about Might Mouse. Quite honestly, I don't say much about him. I suppose now is the time.

Mighty Mouse is the horse who saved my life. No shit. Mighty Mouse was there when I stole two days from heaven, in the midst of the Rocky Mountains, camping and fishing with friends. These friends brought their horses. One of the horses was Mighty Mouse.


I'm certain my friends were keen on me riding Mighty Mouse because he was shorter than the other horses, which means he needed to trot while the other horses walked gently. For the readers who don't know the difference between sitting on a trotting horse and sitting on a walking horse....go to hell.

My ass bounced up and down in a saddle for 3 hours while my bastard friends sat comfortably on the slow back and forth rocking of a walking horse: no bouncing = no ass bruises. I had ass bruises. And I wanted a couple (colloquialism for thirteen) drinks. Stupid short Mighty Mouse legs.

And then Mighty Mouse saved my life. No shit. I'm sometimes a bit over-dramatic and very often much too sarcastic for others to know when I'm being serious and when I'm bullshitting. I like it that way. But in this instance, I'm not bullshitting. I'm as serious as a sale on good whiskey. Mighty Mouse saved my life.

When about to fall off a cliff, most horses, I'm told, completely lose their fucking minds. They run, jump, or gallup like hell. Not Mighty. Mighty damn near fell off a cliff while I was on his back. Yet he kept his cool, and sat his ass on the edge of the cliff long enough for me to get off, and only then preceded to take actions to save his own life. I was safe, on solid ground. Maybe it's coincidence, but I doubt it. I'm not a big believer in the IQ levels of animals. And yet...

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My first memory of Mighty Mouse comes in Vail, Colorado. Mighty was in the trailer behind our pickup, anxious to get out of his cramped space and run around a bit.
(... by the way...i read these words and still can't believe they are written by me...i don't do pickup trucks, horse trailers, or horses for that matter...life is strange)
Anyway, road construction caused traffic to come to a complete stop. We stopped next to a bus full of college students. By "bus" i mean: quite literally a school bus. Some smart ass (he's my hero) college student bought an old school bus and converted it to a party on wheels.

We (Matthew, Cletus, Joshua, and me) sat in an overheating pickup truck. In the lane next to us sat an old bus full of college students. We should have been admiring the scenery. We were in Vail, afterall. Instead, we were admiring the ingenuity of a college student who removed the seats in a school bus in lieu of couches purchased from Goodwill.

"You want a beer?!!!" Someone screamed from the bus. Hell yes, I did.

I never got one. Cletus did.

Cletus immediately jumped out of our truck and boarded the bus. He disappeared for a few minutes, but to this day he won't describe what he saw. His only hint: he met a bunch of fun-loving college students who were "looking to party."

And the next thing I know, while sitting in the back seat of a rather cramped, overheated, pickup truck, I look to my left and see Cletus sitting on Mighty Mouse, riding between two lanes of stopped cars, whooping and hollering "keep kickin' ass Mighty!" Traffic is at a complete stop on the interstate in Vail, Colorado. Cletus figures he can make better time on the back of a horse. And he's right. And Old Mighty is just happy to be giving someone a lift.

I laughed so hard I damn near peed my pants.

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You know that feeling in your stomach when you just trust someone but you don't know why? In my experience, you trust people who intrigue you, who don't say much, who portray strength, both in their posture and in their few words, yet say little, give little away. Mysteriousness, at least in my way of thinking, isn't negative.

Mighty Mouse personified my preconceived notions of that which is trustworthy: gentle, yet aggressive; quiet, yet anxious to be heard; small, yet strong; abrasive, yet lovable; seemingly indifferent, yet passionate.

Mighty: Thank you for the memories. I suppose you were too calloused and too guarded to let anyone, much less a city slicker son of a bitch, get close enough to your pathos to be considered a friend. I respect that. We might never be friends. But I'll be damned if I won't always remember my short days, those pristine days we stole from heaven, in the Colorado mountains, listening to the sound happiness.