Now you’ve done it. You’ve aroused all the solemn, humorless folks here who are going to now get all worked up over your little anectode and let you know how unsafe it was for your Dad to fall asleep on the wagon while the horse took him home after those Saturday night forays into town.
Like your comment about the Dudley-Do-Rights.
We hunt on horseback in winter, starting out for the high country from basecamp in the wee hours. From twilight onward, we stop and glass the distant hills, usually at the same spots. We dismount. The horses step off the trail and go to the very tree they’ve been tied to for years . . . even on the first ride of the new season.
Horses, man. If you could truly understand horses, you (I) would be a far better person.