The irony of finding myself, blue hair and pronouns and all, on a dude ranch in the middle of Texas was not lost on me. I didn't feel unsafe per se, but I definetly felt out of place. My Walmart pleather boots got to experience real dirt and terrain for the first time, walking around rocky paths to navigate the ranch. There were plenty of accommodations for the yankees, a small barn with ping pong tables and mini fridges, indoor and outdoor pools, and WiFi (if you were brave enough to ask for the password).
I managed to create a lasting bond with multiple creatures on the ranch. I acknowledge that a brief interaction with an animal is miniscule, especially with the dozens of strangers that annoy them daily. I always make it a point to approach animals calmly, take "no" for an answer, and use a gentle hand to pet. The free range Merle Australian Shepherd, Millie, was instantly warm and stuck by when I sat in the dirt to pet her. One of the two orange cats licked my hand, and I experienced first-hand the difference in abrasiveness of cat and dog tongues.
Then came Big Time.
The main activity of the day was horseback riding, each person on a horse following a trail. When we first approached the corral, I walked up to a white horse near the fence and extended a limp hand. He batted flies away with a blonde tail and huffed softly. The horse looked kind, or I at least interpreted him as such, and was happy to receive pets along his snout. When it came time to saddle up, I managed to get paired with the same horse. He was tall in comparison to the others and, upon successfully mounting, I was instructed that I would be last in line on the trail. My wife got paired with Bud, a gorgeous beast with a jet black mane paired with a shiny body resembling a cup of coffee way too bitter for my taste. In an instant, Bud pivoted and faced the corner, putting my wife in time-out until someone led her back to the group.
The group set off and, as instructed, I left the corral last. It did not take long for me to find out why I was designated to my line in queue: Big Time was incredibly slow. He was not old nor arthritic, but simply took each ride at his own pace. I don't blame him, really. His whole existence is to carry tourists on the same path over and over again, the nonstop cycle of trudging through life for, what? Some food (that's hopefully nutritious) and a bed of hay and literal horse shit.
I suppose my life of ergonomic office chairs, anxiety medication, and gluten free accommodations is not one I should complain about. The perks of life are not what I begrudge, but the rat race that we have all found ourselves in. We work until we die, receiving scraps and health insurance as pennance. I could rant about the perils of capitalism and the billionaires that fund the machine that grind the 99% to a pulp, but I have nothing to say that hasn't already been shouted.
My ride with Big Time gave me ample opportunity to take in the desert scenery, marveling at plants unfamiliar to me. My home state of Colorado was arid and my current abode in Maryland feels like a jungle in comparison. Texas, on the other hand, felt foreign. The plants were sharp and dry, but not brittle. They've learned to not only survive, but thrive in harsh conditions. Harsh leather boots, designer sneakers, and horseshoes alike have trampled them into the sandy dirt, but they continue to reach towards the sun.
I left the dude ranch sweaty and sore, not sure if I was ready to return to the world of screens and stress. I'm surely not built to be a cowboy, despite my immediate success in the beginner's lasso-ing session. Regardless, it was fun to play pretend for a day.
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