Sorting The Herd

They swooped in from behind, swift and silent.

The horses started but were good quiet horses, perfect for the small children  they carried so well. A nice ride down the quiet country lane was almost to its end when the herd arrived. Quickly ushering her children  to the side of the road,to the barn we had been almost back to before the attack. My mom turned and dove back  into the herd.

Bicycle tires hissed on the pavement as their riders peddled as hard as thy could, never bothering to pull up at all for the small family and their horses who had the misfortune of being in their path. Without manners or concern they sped on.

Or tried to.

On her big red Morgan  gelding neither mother nor horse hesitated for a second but leapt into the middle of them. With no way past one rider was forced to apply his breaks at last. Not willingly. The Morgan gelding cut him out and held him like any other dumb animal cut from a herd and worked by a horse. He dared to be mad but mom was madder.
She let him know exactly what she thought of him and the rude inconsiderate friends in his herd. He didn’t care. Like most bikers it was his road, his right, and no way his fault. After holding him there long enough to chew him out and  make him lose some of his precious time, mom turned her horse and allowed the steer to go.

Perhaps nothing was accomplished. Maybe they looked for a road without a crazy lady on a horse to ride the next time. But maybe,  just maybe, they had some small thought for someone besides themselves on their next ride.

One thing was accomplished for sure though. The image of my mom riding a horse into a herd of bicycles and cutting one out will be forever imprinted in my brain. What a mom.  What a horse!