Pool Girls, Spurs, Crops, Boots and Saddles
I was already half inclined to go for a ride yesterday. I was in a puttering mood, which for me, includes whipping something up in the kitchen. I am also doing the National Eating Day (hat tip to PoP) at mum's out of town and my local family has let it be known that if I leave without delivering pies and other goodies that they will be roundly disappointed. So I was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on two pecan and two pumpkin pies when the Pool Girls showed up.
Just as a refresher on how this works out here. These girls are simply one of the best services I've ever engaged. They are totally professional. They do a great job at a competitive price. The fact that both of them happen to be drop dead gorgeous is NOT why I hired them. They had been working out here for two weeks before I even met them. I had been gone off to Vegas on a gig. Their little company was the first listing I called where a human being answered the phone. Since then our relationship has been cordial but never personal.
They are out getting prep work done for some winter surface conditioning, and since there's finally an autumn chill in the air the bikini action I grew so fond of over the summer is not happening. I was on my way out to the barn and I stop by the pool to tell them that I am heading off for a ride, that their check and the pie of their choice is on the counter. (it's no small character reference in my book that the dogs will let them come and go in the house without a second glance. Dogs just know stuff like that)
The upshot is that the girls have a very light schedule this week and yes, they would love to go for a ride. I also understand what it means to be a horse person without access to a mount. I, of course, tell them to come along. They begin putting their gear into their truck while I head out to the barn to start getting things ready.
I'm planning to ride Casey. Casey is short for Awa a Kasim Kasim which is Arabic for 5150 (police code for "danger to self and others"). He's not crazy, but he's a stallion and sometimes suffers from what the lovely April terms "testosterone poisoning." None of the mares are in season, today he looks like he just wants to get the hell out of there and roam. The other two horses are Rosalita, a gorgeous little Arab mare who is a dream to ride. She's a fully five gaited push button sweetheart. When she's in her walking canter it's like being on a living merry go round. Then there's Mustang Sally. She's the one I have to check people's skill levels with. Sally is the perfect choice for a child, a rank beginner, or a very experienced rider. She can be frustrating for an intermediate whose ambitions exceed their skill levels. If she gets upset with her rider she doesn't buck, but she will stop, lie down and roll. She doesn't want to hurt anybody, but she does not suffer fools gladly. I think that's why she and I get along so well.
I am busying myself with all the little things that must be done before a ride. Filling the water tank in the trailer, stashing goodies in the stash bins, picking hooves, brushing down. I have Casey's tack out. I ride him with an Australian Stock saddle (any riders out there with bad knees should check one of these babies out), a snaffle rigged with double reins and a martingale. I figure I will learn a lot about where the girls are as riders by letting them choose their own tack styles.
The girls arrive and start to pitch in immediately. It's obvious that they both know what they're doing. I ask what kind of tack they like and BlondeGirl (here after called "BG") says that she grew up riding Western. Fair enough. I ask the RedhairedGirl ("RG") what she likes and she says "It really doesn't matter. I'm fine with a bareback pad." I suggest that we go pick them out a horse. RG and Sally bond instantly. I can tell it's love at first sight. BG and Rosalita are then paired by default but I know that as soon as she starts moving for her love will come.
We get everybody saddled up, the trailer loaded and head down the road about 10 miles to be right at the base of the SanTan foothills. We set off and are having a grand old time. The girls are enjoying the hell out of themselves. They are also a wee bit starstruck from seeing some of the pictures of me with people I've worked with. I tell them that the relationship I have with most of them is strictly business. They want to hear about last night's show. I give them a worker bee's eye view of what that's like. It goes something like this. I show up, I do my job, I go home. I don't get to meet La Diva or pal around with anyone. The highlight of the day for me was when I showed up to the venue and flashed my parking pass at the guard. They had different parking areas for performers and for crew. He asked "Talent?" I said "Of course I have talent, but I practice all the time." He didn't get it, but that happens to me a lot.
We're just having ourselves a grand old time when my cell phone goes off. It's my son calling to tell me that he has been given a better offer for amusement than the Suns game tonight. I figure hey, it's an 82 game season and I would quite frankly rather go alone than to go with a teenager who would rather be somewhere else. I remind him that it's Philadelphia and Iverson is playing. Nope, he'd rather hang out with Becky and her crew than the old man. Besides that, the new Bond film is opening and....and....and..... OK kid, I get it. On a whim I announce to the girls that I have an extra ticket for the Suns tonight. They both want to go. I figure, no problem, we'll do like I used to do before I could afford good seats. We'll buy an extra ticket and negotiate something with the other season ticket holders so that we can sit within shouting distance of each other.
We head back to the house, get the horses all snug and cozy and I tell the girls that it would probably be best for us to meet at the arena. They kind of hem and haw a little before they let me know that since this is their off season for work money's a little tight and the parking fees and other expenses of a night at the basketball game would be a burden to their budget. I say "How about this then, you guys go get yourselves ready to go to the game, come back out here, I'll fix dinner, we'll all go to the game and have a great time." They tell me that I'm not only old, I am wise. You have to love girls like that.
I didn't do anything fancy or special for dinner. Spinach salad (mine's coming in beautifully from the garden and spinach is still an item of suspicion in the stores for most folks, I figure it will be a hit), Reuben sandwiches, chips, and, of course, pie for dessert (I was planning to give them to my sister but I can always make more today).
The highlight of the evening is when my son stops in to gather his stuff for his night out. He sees the two gorgeous pool girls eating and chatting happily about going to the game and says "Dude, you my hero." I tell him Pshaw, we're just going to the game. There's nothing there beyond basketball and a fun night. He looks at them again and says "No, really Dude, you my hero." I tell him he's a good son.
We negotiated the seating arrangements with ease. One of the people that sits close by had a cancellation and there was an extra seat up there for me. The best thing about it for the girls is that they made contacts for a couple of potential clients right there in my section. The Suns win. Iverson was amazing. We all go home happy.
The girls are coming back out to finish up their work from yesterday. Life is good in the country.
cross fire rigged