Rhoda Who?

One of the available activities at camp is horseback riding. Several semi-local cowboys bring in their horses and let the kids ride them. The large-and-in-charge cowboy said he grew up around horses and rode in the rodeo and as part of his job so he underestimated the thrill it is for 'city kids' to ride a horse. Certainly the kids were excited about it. And I wanted to try it, too. The wranglers chose which horse you would ride based on your ability. So I told him I had never been on a horse before, because I thought it was better to understate my ability. And maybe that one time I went on a trailride a gazillion years ago really counted for nothing. (Turns out it was impossible to understate my ability.) So they chose Brownie for me to ride. And they had to change the saddle from the little kids one to an adult sized one. And then they asked it I could put my left foot in this stirrup. The one that was higher than my waist. Good question. But I managed that without much difficulty. And then they said just grab onto the saddle and pull myself up. So I tried it. And I ended up hanging on the side of the horse with one foot in the stirrup, and the other somewhere over my head. (My butt did not get the message that it should follow.) A little help here. Neither cowboy was inclined to grab my bottom and heave it upward for me. So I struggled and finally managed to right myself in the saddle. NOT a pretty sight. Fortunately it turns out that Brownie was about 25 years old, which evidently in horse years is about 1 week shy of dead. So Brownie and I walked around the arena and chatted with cowboys, who talk more than I expected them to and were more polite than I expected as well. And so I am crossing 'ride a horse' off of my list of things to do this summer.
Let me just say that getting off a horse is much easier than getting on.