[Publius]

Years ago, I worked with a mare that was a brilliant trail horse. She knew just how good she was, and she was arrogant about it. You could go up or down some of the most treacherous trails in the Santa Monica Mountains, and you were as safe as if you were in your mother's arms.

But if you took the fork in the road that led to the ring, you could see her shoulders slump. "Aw Wilbur, do we have to do that?" she would have said.

[left that other site]

In Hawaii, I got a beautiful reddish-brown horse named Koa, presumably because of his color which was like the tropical wood of the same hue.

Anyway, Koa was a such a brat that I demanded that the trail boss and I switch horses, which we did, right in the middle of a stream (I know, I know).

Later, I found out that Koa was rather famous on the island for being a “handful”.

In fact, he wasn’t named after the hardwood at all, but after a Hawaiian war god.

LOL...the good ol’ days!