Saddle up Yosemite 1995

At The “Western Experience” Base camp we were quickly sorted into groups for a day of trail riding. Our daughter and her teens and tweens sisters tore out of camp literally in a cloud of dust like an old TV posse riding hard in pursuit of imagined desperadoes.
In contrast our son and his mount were engaged in a Vulcan mind meld non-verbal
discussion of the tentative parameters of human equine interphase. Further exploratory talks were agreed upon.
One on the trail we realized how well the corral staff had matched horses and riders. My wife’s horse was a beautiful chestnut filly with flashing eyes and a touseled black mane. Spirited and proud this, “Alpha Alfalfa” bit every other horse in the ass till she was in the lead. Mine was completely uncooperative and openly hostile. Have you ever seen a horse scowl? He took every opportunity on the trail to try to scrape me off on rocky out croppings. His specialty was a sudden bolt, then gallop under a trees with limbs only centimeters above his saddle horn.
 Only once did I get wacked really hard in the face. That made the crazy old bastard actually smile and toss head, swinging his tail wide with joy.

The guy ahead of me in line switches to another line that’s longer rather than
order his Mega-Burger from a woman wearing a head scarf.
His new line is slower too since the senior running the register laments to each
customer that he is seventy two years old and can not afford to retire.
Ethnic discrimination, high cholesterol fast food, and a gutted economy.
Ignorant, fat, and broke.

Honestly, training your monkey to crap in an alabaster urn is hardly Bohemian.

by-Doug Mathewson

At the New York wedding,
laughing wildly, arms in the air,
my wife of 37 years and I danced
hard and fast to manufactured diva hits.
Jeweled disco lights sweep the crowd.
The tornado of music spun faster
One a.m. and dancing to Britney fucking Spears.
Now that’s some DJ!
by-Doug Mathewson