The Tucson Citizen
Baxter_Black
May 08, 2001
Ambro's runaway horse had will of its own - an iron will
OLD WAYS DIE HARD
The old ways die hard. Even after Gary converted his western
Nebraska cow operation to four-wheelers, Ambro still thought of the
mechanical monster as his horse.
"I broke the horse," Ambrosia said in his melodious Spanish
accent. Gary had found him waiting at the little office when he came
to work at 6:30 am. Ambro had always said "he don't want the sun to
get too heavy on him," so he started early.
"You broke the horse?" asked Gary, ready for anything. "What do
you mean?"
According to Ambro, he had been out sorting cow-calf pairs that
morning. One big calf kept ducking under the 3-strand barbed wire
fence. Frustrated, Ambro took his "horse" through the wire gate to
git the calf back. He had been a bueno vaquero in his youth and
prided himself on his roping. He tied hard and fast to the mechanical
saddlehorn and took up the chase.
The handlebar clutch, throttle and brake "reins" made swinging his
loop and carrying his coils a little unwieldy. The calf was quick and
led Ambro around the flat and through the swales like dry leaves
being chased by a lawnmower.
In the clattering banging commotion Ambro dropped a coil, maybe
two, around a front tire, which promptly tightened against the knot
tied to the handlebar saddlehorn, which jerked the "horse" to a stop.
Ambro dismounted, got enough slack in the line to peel the rope
off the wheel horse's foot. It took off . . . by itself! Being still
in third high, the chase gear, it began making circles around the
vaquero who held tight to the other end of the rope like a lunge
line. All he needed was a whip to complete the training picture.
"I tink," he had explained to Gary, "I should let go . . . what
could happen?" He did, his "horse" disappeared over a hump in the
direction of the cows, going home like all good horses do.
Ambro chased it but it could run faster. He topped the rise and
surveyed the scene below. "I don't know, Boss, but it hit the fence,
turn sideways under the wire, and run along below. It was liftin' up
the wire and tearin' out the T-posts till it hit the wooden railroad
tie. It was bouncing up and down on its hind legs like Trigger tryin'
to jump it. I went up to him real easy and said 'whoa' and switch the
key. But it was too late . . . my horse was broke."
Gary was pounding his desk and snorting like a Percheron. Tears
were streaming down his face. He was gasping.
Ambro was confused. In his polite old country way, he said, "I
wanted to laugh, too, but . . . I had to catch my breath first."
Baxter Black - philosopher, cowboy poet and former large animal
veterinarian - is an occasional contributor to National Public
Radio's Morning Edition, which airs from 5 to 9 a.m. weekdays on KUAZ-
FM (89.1) and KUAZ-AM (1550). He makes his home in Benson.
(C) 2001 The Tucson Citizen. via Bell&Howell Information and Learning Company; All Rights Reserved
