Erica Louder

He pulled up to the house in a new model Chevy Silverado. I was couldn’t immediately tell who it was. The figure inside seemed incongruous with the shiny, gold-painted truck. His beard was long and his hair scraggly and gray.

If you’ve followed me long on here or over at my blogs on Progressive Cattle, you know I’ve got two topics I talk about on repeat.

I woke up with a start, panicked that I’d overslept. I rolled onto my side and grabbed my phone on my bedside table. It was only 3 a.m. I flopped back down and then decided to get up and at least check. I swung my feet out of bed and padded in my bare feet to the laundry room.

Last month, we attended the Gem State Classic Bull and Female Sale. It’s a yearly tradition for us. We come as spectators, sometimes as buyers and once as a consigner.

Last month, Bill lost one of his prized Tennessee Walkers to sudden colic. Like most Idahoans with horses, he’d grown up with quarter horses and taught his own kids to ride on quarter horses. In his late-middle years, his good friend and hunting buddy, Don, introduced him to the gaited horse. One smooth gaited ride and he was converted.

For the last 20 years of my grandpa’s life, he wrote cowboy poetry and performed all over the Intermountain West. This is one of my favorites, and it is perfect for reciting around Christmas.