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We all have moments in our lives, we feel...if we really set our mind to it, there is no task within reason, we can’t achieve. Our hero is a classic example of what determination can do for self esteem. The Five Minute Wrangler A Stetson tipped on his head; his hair in disarray The cord ‘neath his chin, kept wind from blowin’ it away. His walk was deliberate, a swagger in his stride. ”Those ponies can’t be rode”, he was sure someone lied. Short ‘n’ lean, he stood out from the rest; Wearin’ faded jeans; a flannel shirt; chaps ‘n’ fancy vest. His belt ‘n’ handsome buckle, were designed just for show. With loops for shiny bullets, ‘n’ holstered guns slung low. Tinglin’...jinglin’...spurs on his boots rang out. When at at last he saw the critters, he let out a wild shout. Hands restin’ on ivory grips; he neared the end of the street, It was time to test his courage, on horses with prancin’ feet. Lookin’ over the critters, other cowboys waited their turn. This would be his first time up; he tried to look unconcerned. The old gent by his side, spoke softly, givin’ advice. “ Ain’t nothin’ to fear Tim, even I fell off once or twice.” Eyein’ the chargers, he spotted a wide eyed Black. Askin’ the ol’ man, "Think I can stay on it’s back?" Approachin’ the bronco; with its saddle already in place. Tim bit his lip ‘n’ faltered, apprehension on his face. Grabbin’ hold the bronc...Tim reached for the saddle. He found a stirrup, ‘n’ flung himself astraddle. "When he moves, stay balanced, be sure to hold on tight. He’ll take you high ‘n’ low...hang on with all your might." His companion stepped back carefully...not in any hurry. Cowboy searched his weathered face, lookin’ for signs of worry, At first...nothin’ happened, the Black was very still. Suddenly, it made its move, Cowboy felt a chill. Forward ‘n’ upward; that critter went to peak. It came down again, bottomin’ out, so-to-speak. He managed to catch his breath, it bolted again once more. Up ‘n’ down, then aroun’, t’was more than he’d bargained for. Uneasy in the saddle, his courage began to wane, He tightened his grip, ‘n’ ‘roun’ they went again. Passin’ by his companion, he saw a smilin’ face. It was quite evident, the old man would not give chase. He could have chosen the Gray, or maybe a fancy Roan. It was up to him now, he was on his own. He was scared for sure, yet a determined buckaroo. No one’s gonna’ help him, he’d do what he had to do. Graspin’ reins firmly, into the stirrups he jammed his boots. He challenged the Black, with a yippi, ‘n’ several lusty hoots. The old man muttered; "He's got the hang of it. Horse is doing the work, all he has to do is sit." Buckaroo shook the reins, dug the mount with a heel. He wanted it to go faster, to see how it would really feel. But, it was not to be...the Black was slowin’ down. It went just as high, but not so ‘roun’ ‘n’ ‘roun’. He urged it to go on; it shuddered ‘n’ came to a stop. "Guess I showed you old horse...see I’m still on top." He was a bit dizzy, ‘n’ shaky from his ride, He wanted to go again; his feelings he could not hide. The old man approached, reached out offerin’ a hand. "I’ll help you down, ‘n’ steady you, ‘til you’re able to stan’." Cowboy was disappointed, "I was hopin’ to ride some more. I bet I could ride that White one, or any of the others for sure." "I’m sure you could lad, but your Ma wants us home by Five. She gets orn’ry waitin’ on us, we don’t want to be skinned alive. We’ll come back ‘nother day, tell me...how’s that soun’?" "I guess so Gramps," said the four year old...they left the Merry-go-round. Yarnspinner™ copyright 2011