Chewy was a small horse. He was like sitting on a cloud...smooth and graceful...never stumbled or faltered. In the summer and fall I would like to ride him from my house, down to Washoe Lake, then along the broad sandy beach on the east side. The lake would go way down in the fall; it is a shallow lake that dries up at times. There are always potholes where carp and bullheads would survive, however.

This day the lake was about 2/3 full and the beach was quite wide, accordingly. It was a perfect Nevada fall day, about 80 degrees. I decided to wear shorts and a T-shirt with just cheap plastic flip-flops on my feet and ride Chewy bareback.

We were about 4-5 miles from the house, nearing the south end campground when I suddenly went into astronaut training. Chewy launched me straight up. It all seemed to act out in slow motion. I was in mid air, looking down at the ground (and Chewy) getting smaller. Well, the launch was aborted, and I plummeted back to earth next to Chewy. You know how a cat can defy gravity and lean over sideways at about a 30 degree angle? Well, horses can do anything a cat can! Chewy was leaning way to his left, ears back, nostrils flaring and eyes wide as flying saucers. He was frozen, except for trembling. His eyes were fixed to a spot on the beach about ten yards to his right. Now, this was a bare as bones beach, and I wondered what the hell he was looking at.

After shaking the sand out of my ears and the feathers out of my head I got up and walked to the spot Chewy was burning with his steady gaze. I found a five inch mummified carp...picked it up and walked back toward Chewy. He straightened up, still shaking, then crow hopped figure eights in the beach sand for a couple of go-rounds. Then, the worthless candidate for the glue pot of an SOB crazy good for nothing gelded stallion wann-a-be took off straight for the house...five miles back.

When I made it back to the house a couple of hours and a bit less skin on my feet later I found Chewy just about sitting on my wife's lap, still shaking. She was mad as an old wet hen because I must have beaten the poor horsey sans mercy; he was "so upset!" She coddled that stupid hay burner for weeks afterward. I sold Chewy to a riding stable owner shortly afterward. His name was Corky Prunty, and he was famous for his stable of misfits he called riding stock.

Chewy was on his very best behavior the day Corky drove out to look him over. He purred; he cuddled; he didn't blow out as I tightened the cinch; he was that same old cloud of a Chewy...RIGHT! Corky had his boy along to teach him how to horse trade. He offered me $500.00 cash for Chewy. Now, I'd have taken half that to get rid of him, but I gasped, choked, turned blue, then purple...grasping at my chest. Corky said OK, he'd pay $800.00 and not a penny more. I accepted his offer with proper reluctance and sorrow.

One thing I forgot to tell Corky is that Chewy doesn't like confined spaces...HORSE TRAILERS... With a little pulling and pushing we got him into the trailer and the door slammed shut. Corky winked at his son and headed down my road to Bench Road. We ran into the house, locked the doors and pulled closed the shades, then watched through a slit in the drapes. As Corky made his turn onto Bench Road, the trailer started to rock in earnest. Even at a quarter mile away and inside the house we could hear Chewy kick open the back door of the trailer. We watched Chewy return to his home...Corky cussed out his hapless kid, cussed the piece of shit horse trailer and kicked it, picked up the right trailer door and roped closed his broken trailer, then drove away...I'm sure he wasn't winking to his son now.

The next time I saw Corky was many years later up in the Jarbidge Wilderness. He was renting his prime riding stock out to deer hunters. I stopped by and said hello; Corky wouldn't even acknowledge my presence. I think his pride ran off with that little strawberry roan.