The Golden Horseshoe Experience

By Marjorie Jennings 9-15-91

“You’re invited to a trailride” says the paper flyer
for a little reassurance I call Marilyn just to inquire
“Oh yes” says she “A fine ride it’s bound to be.”
“The forecast says scattered showers. Not-to-worry” She says, says she!


Now Marilyn, I thought, is a friend who I can trust.
But the sad truth is, this is the day that I would rust.
From water running down my back and in my boots and sox.
Down my front and in my jeans, it soggs my riding frocks.
My shirt is soaked from water running rivulet’s off my hair.
It trickles down around the ribs, it permeates my underwear.
My raincoat keeps the rain inside that runs in from my neck.
I pat my horse’s slimy hide and say “Oh what the heck.”
Cause up ahead and far behind are riders marching on and on.
It’s amazing! For I do see, 22 riders slogging on just as wet as me.
I think as I sit a-straddle, “I should have pontoons and a paddle.”
“All this water is going to wreck my pricy leather saddle”


Rain in my eyes, rain in my nose, rain it is my fate.
Sloshing to the rhythm of my horses sloshy gait.
I need to blow my nose, but my hanky it does leak.
Are we riding on a trail, or are we up the creek?
My eyes are fogged by glasses that run and smear and drip.
If it doesn’t let up soon, I think I’ll loose my grip.
The reins are cold and greasy, my horse shakes out her mane.
“If this is your idea of fun, then humans are insane.”
“Just take me to the trailer where its cozy there within.”
“Aim me in that direction…see how fast I can get in.”
At last the ride is ended and my horse gives me a look,
that you must see to understand, you’d say she wrote a book.


You’d think by now we’d head for home, but no, we pass the plate
and share the food each has brought. We chat and laugh until its late.
We wolf down steak the men have cooked on bark and wooden logs.
This part I hate to tell you, but we ate like starving hogs.
Water seeped on through the tarp that o’er our heads was hung
but no-one seemed to notice ‘cause by then we were quite numb.
With bellies filled up deep and wide as belts we did adjust.
We slid our rigs out to the road and watched our bodies rust!


Golden Horseshoe…a name that sounds sublime
But Sodden Shoes… it seems to me a name much more in line...