MR. BONES
When Grumps was a little boy his Uncle Chub had a nice little meadow just outside New Windsor, Maryland, where Grumps dreamed he’d someday pasture a pony. The setup was perfect. There was a nice old barn, seven acres of pasture, and an understanding uncle, all within walking distance of Grumps’ home.
Before he was old enough to ride, he would trek along down to Chub’s meadow and watch while he fed his horses and mucked their stalls. During this daily ritual it was his uncle’s habit to stop, lean on his pitchfork, and lecture to me about the importance of what he called horse sense. He’d grab his mare Dusty’s bridle, open her mouth, stare her right in the teeth, and then thoughtfully look away. “You can never let the horse know it’s got the upper hand. It’s as simple as that,” he’d say.
The year Grumps was 7, Chub had put him up in the saddle a number of times, but he’d still never ridden alone. Then one day after school, he hoisted Grumps up on Dusty, gave him the reins, the horse trotted away, and by the time Chub had helped me down, Grumps had goose bumps from his cowboy hat right to his boots---Yippee—ki—o—ki-yea!
Following that ride on Dusty, Grumps’ family didn’t sit down at the dinner table without the topic coming up. “Uncle Chub says I can keep the pony down in the meadow,” Grumps would say. “Eat your carrots,” his mother would counter. Unruffled, he’d turn to his father. “How ‘bout it, Dad?” Grumps would say. He’d look at Grumps’ mother, give him a wink. “Clean them up---they’re good for your eyes,” he’d say.
As the months went by, the picture of the pony became increasingly clear: He was coal black with a little white star in the middle of his forehead that matched his four stockinged legs. He had a jet black saddle with silver studs, and when Grumps crawled up in the stirrups he could smell the new leather and actually hear it squeak. And each night at bedtime when his mother turned out the light, they’d jump fences, rope cattle and ride across wide open plains until sleep finally took over the reins.
Then on his eighth birthday the “surprise package” came. He had just blown out the candles on the cake and made his wish when he heard his uncle’s old cattle truck rattling up. “It’s a pony!” Grumps shouted. He flew down the steps and was halfway across his back yard when he heard the deafening bray. “Hee-haw, Hee-haw, Hee-haw,” the pony said. Grumps ran to the truck, looked up at his uncle with tears in my eyes. “Not a donkey . . . I wished for a pony,” he said. Chub jumped down out of the cab, walked over and gave me a pat on the head. “You’ll forget the pony before you know it, donkeys make wonderful pets,” he said.
As the donkey banged around in the confines of the truck, Grumps stared at his feet, fought back the tears and did his best to work up a smile for the donkey’s debut. When the racket continued, he peeked into the back of truck through the old wooden slats and there was Chub all red-faced, legs spread apart, hunkered down low, straining and pulling on the end of a rope. “Show him some horse sense, Uncle Chub,” Grumps shouted. Chub forced a smile, mumbled something Grumps couldn’t hear, and continued the tug of war. Back and forth they went, donkey one way and then Uncle Chub the other, and just when Chub appeared ready to give it all up, the rope slackened, the donkey stumbled forward, and down the ramp they came. Then Chub came walking out into the bright sunlight with water pouring down his face, and there five feet behind him, trotting along as fresh as you please, was the poorest excuse for a donkey Grumps had ever seen.
At first his feelings were mixed. He was shocked by the donkey and embarrassed for Chub. Perhaps the price made a pony unrealistic, but this wasn’t even one of those cute little cartoon-show burros. He was medium size and had a tight burr-covered coat that showed off more of his ribs than Grumps cared to count. While the donkey gnawed away at his father’s prize flowers, Chub pointed out his ears as being rather unique and on closer inspection Grumps had to agree. The left one was standing straight up reaching for the sky and the right one was drooping down covering one eye. As he shifted from one foot to the other and tried to think of something nice to say, Chub led the donkey back on the ramp of the truck and suggested they head for the barn and bed him down for the night.
Grumps named him Mr. Bones after a donkey in his Dick and Jane second grade reader and reluctantly assigned him the stall next to Chub’s horse Dusty where the pony was supposed to go. And that afternoon as Chub and Grumps tossed fresh hay, scooped oats, and prepared the donkey’s bed, Grumps’ anger about the pony gave way to a fear of how the donkey might react to the idea of having an 8-year-old boy on his back.
Late that afternoon Chub slipped Mr. Bones several sugar cubes, and before the donkey knew it he had a bridle on, a bit in his teeth, and was tied up tight to an old cattle ramp. Grumps listened attentively and when Chub’s traditional horse sense lecture ground to a halt, the moment of truth arrived. Grumps said a quick prayer, tipped back his cowboy hat, and felt himself slowly walking up the ramp. “Heck, I’ve ridden horses before,” he thought as he eased down on the donkey’s bare back. And with that still on his mind, he found himself airborne---flying back toward the barn. He was weightless, looking at wispy white clouds, blue sky, and then suddenly, in a big green blur the meadow was heading his way. Ouff! He hit the ground like a bale of wet hay. Grumps sat watching the old barn spin, hating the donkey and gasping for breath.
Unfortunately, that first ride on Mr. Bones was a sign of things to come, and by the end of July, Bones had bruised his body and injured his pride, and he was running out of patience and sugar cubes trying to get his first ride. When things went well, he’d just dip his neck and let Grumps slide off like he was unloading unwanted luggage, but more often than not, he’d lean back, buck and just throw Grumps as far as he could. Then, late in August, just as two beautiful deep-purple bruises on his hip were beginning to fade, Bones outdid himself by flipping Grumps into the cattle ramp and breaking his wrist. All that September he sat with a cast on his arm, wondering if he had what it took to tame the donkey.
Finally in October the doctor gave Grumps the okay and old Bones and Grumps went at it again. For more than a week it was the same routine. Bridle on, bit in, climb on, get up, dust off and get back on again. Then, on a cloudless day around Halloween that he’d never forget, just as he was crawling on his back, from way off on the other side of the meadow, Bones’ old stallmate Dusty came through loud and clear with a long and loving whinny. The donkey’s big gray ears went up like the rabbit ears on their old black and white TV and before Grumps knew it, he took off in a trot. They were bouncing along now and Bones kept his eyes riveted on Dusty, totally oblivious to the fact that the kid he’d been rejecting for the last couple of months was perched right on his back.
Perhaps it was just the anticipation that built during the wait, but the sensation of riding Bones that first time was something Grumps would never forget. For an 8-year-old boy the ride was excitement and power all rolled into one, and in a matter of seconds a genuine love for the donkey had replaced the months of hatred. Then as he stole a nervous look over his shoulder to see if Chub was enjoying his moment, Dusty up and whinnied again. Now Bones came completely unglued, took off like he’d been hit by one of those electric shockers, and in the next 200 yards Grumps was losing the reins, grabbing the mane, praying and holding on with all his might. And somewhere just before Bones jumped the creek he closed my eyes, clung to his neck, and for the rest of the ride they were on instruments. When the donkey finally slammed on the brakes (just inches short of Dusty) Grumps went up in the air and came down hard on his neck. He sat clinging to his mane for a second or two watching Bones and Dusty nuzzle, and when he’d regained my composure he slid off and gave the donkey a pat. Heck, it hadn’t been the smoothest ride, but I’d broken the donkey and there was no denying that.
Grumps’ memory of the dilapidated donkey who replaced his dream of a pony has mellowed over the years. The bumps were gone, the bruises faded, and the wrist was completely healed.
But as Grumps looked back on the Bones experience, he’d never forget Chub’s comment that day following my historic first ride. He said there were plenty of kids who grew up owning ponies, but if a boy really wanted to learn horse sense, the very best way he knew was breaking a donkey and then going for a ride.
