Things were finally starting to go well.
I was just getting my feet under me—figuring out the routine, keeping up with the work. For the first time since arriving at this mountain cattle ranch, I felt like I was actually proving myself. But apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the uppity, registered cow horses who run this place.
See, I don’t have fancy papers. No big-name bloodlines. No impressive lineage stamped on a certificate. And that, it turns out, is enough to make me a walking joke around here.
And today? They took things a step further.
We were out rounding up cattle when the fine, respectable, fully pedigreed cow horses thought it would be hilarious to send me in the wrong direction. Next thing I know, I’m pushing the herd straight toward an electric fence line. The cattle spooked, everything turned to chaos, and in the middle of it all—somehow—I managed to buck the ranch owner’s son into a stock tank.
And now? Now I’m standing here in the corral, watching unfamiliar cowboys drive by, giving me that look. The one that means only one thing: I’ll be taking a trailer ride with no return ticket.
Soon, some stranger is going to throw a saddle on me, take me for a test ride, and decide if I’m worth the trouble. And if they don’t like what they see? I’ll be packed up and sent off to who knows where.
I should probably be panicking. But honestly? At this point, I’m just tired. Tired of trying to fit in where I’m not wanted. Tired of proving myself to horses who already decided I don’t belong.
So maybe—just maybe—this is a good thing. Maybe the next place will be better. Maybe I’ll finally end up somewhere I actually belong.
Or maybe I’ll just get tricked into another electric fence. Either way, guess I’ll find out soon.
—Amigo