06 June 2026
1165
R. Linda:
All right, here it goes or is, as the case may be. I was told, for a good cause (the abandoned mice charity), that yours truly was signed up to ride a donkey in a barrel race! Yes, R. Linda, barrel race. You know the drill, usually with a horse and not a donkey, where one barrels around set barrels at high speed to get the best time and win the competition. Someone tell me how that's done with donkeys, please? Because I can attest there is no speeding around barrels, no, there is not, but there is such a thing as being mounted on a slow-moving donkey that has a mind of its own, and it isn't on speed or going in a straight line or any line for that matter.
Yup!
I swore after the Captain, and of course, the Weasil had me entered in that donkey race way back when, I'd never get pulled into anything that was a race, or riding a donkey. But no, this time the Wolf boys got on me case about horseback riding when I told them I'd never been on a horse, and they told me I wasn't a true Irishman to not have ridden a horse. I, in turn, informed them I was a city boy from the lovely little borough of Newry in County Down, and horses didn't exactly flood the streets. This started a back-and-forth. It started with one Wolf, the one with the good hair. Somehow, one of his cousins got wind of this and wrote me that I needed to get on a horse or something akin to a horse to achieve true Irishness. At first, I thought this was funny, and they were joking, but then the son of the first Wolf chimed in that he had a horse I could borrow, and he'd take pictures to prove to the other two I had done the deed and was to be knighted as a true Irishman. Right.
Here is a three-way conversation that just frustrated me.
Wolf #1: Um, if it's a horse you need … wait a minute, but it isn't, is it? You're in fear of the animal itself, is that it?
Wolf #2: I already told him I have a horse for him. You know the one, the mare?
Me: I heard it's a gentle animal, and no, I'm not afraid of a horse. You forget I am not in Ireland.
Wolf #2: We will send ya a ticket, and you can fly over, fly back if it suits ya.
Me: That is not the problem, and you both well know it. Seems ludicrous for me to fly all the way to the old sod, jump on a horse, have me snap taken and fly on home just so you two can declare me what I already am.
I won't bore you with the rest of this malarky, but they decided between themselves that if I got on a four-legged horse-like animal (I should have been suspicious then) that they would indeed "knight" me as a "full-blown Irish Person." Whatever the hell that means. I said, NO!
They told me a llama would do the trick if I couldn't find a horse. I mean, really! I also found out the so-called gentle mare was anything but. Un huh. I further heard one of them drank a full bottle of Bushmills before attempting to "jump on that devil of a mare" and got thrown for their trouble into a bog no less, after being taken for a whirlwind of a ride for three miles at full speed.
Then it dawned on me I was already on a four-legged horse-like creature, thanks to that insane donkey race of long ago, and said so. BUT because I couldn't find the pictures of that fiasco, they said they didn't believe me.
I heard from the third clan member, the cousin, whom I don't know. He was worse than the other two on this subject. Suggesting all kinds of ways to get on a horse in the States, short of stealing one. Typical Irishman, HE! The thought that they had no proof of me riding a horse or donkey brought to me addled mind the thought that I had not seen them on a horse or a donkey, and I challenged them to show me the money (so to speak). Unfortunately, they took me up on that, and they did.
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| When a challenge is a challenge |
And they had the nerve to inform me they took that picture on a rainy day and did not look their Irish best! Like I care. Anyway, with the arrival of the Weasil, I should have known they'd put him up to making me the baffoon of an "Irish Person."
A day later (I know, no prior notice or anything), I found meself at the fairgrounds ten villages away! I was shown a donkey named Old Jasper, saddled up and ready for me to get on. I complained I was too tall for such a thing and, in turn, was told to just pick me legs up so they didn't drag on the ground, and scuff up me shoes. Right you are!
I was directed to the field where two yellow barrels were placed, and told to (you'll see the humour in this statement) "gallop" around the barrels; if my time was the best, I would win $10.00 toward the mouse charity and bragging rights. Oh, that's what I live for, NOT. And $10.00? This wasn't worth $10.00.
It was too late to back out of this stupid fiasco, so I made the best of troubled waters, got on Old Jasper, who grunted when I did (not a good sign), and as soon as I took up the reins, he let out that ear-piercing bray that just keeps on giving. I think both eardrums were shattered because when he finally stopped protesting, I couldn't hear the directions I was given. I just sat atop Old Jasper, wondering who the hell I really was, that I'd let meself get into these predicaments that I seemingly have lost control of. I didn't have long to sit there thinking about that because someone took a strap and slapped Old Jasper on the hind end, and we were off, me more than him, because I almost lost me balance and would have slid off his behind if it wasn't for the saddle horn I gripped by reflex.
Old Jasper didn't gallop; he trotted maybe three feet and stopped. It took me 30 minutes to get him to the barrel. It took me 20 more minutes to get him to sort of go around it; it took me another 45 to sit there admiring the barrel before he slowly, and I mean slowly, moved off in the opposite direction to where we were supposed to go. It took me 4 hours tops to get from and around both barrels to the so-called finish line (which I couldn't see). See for yourself:
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| Yup, fun times for Old Jasper and Old Gabe |
So, I won $1.00, yes, I did. I was fourth in a field of four. A photo was sent to the Wolf Clan, and they, in turn, declared me an honorary member of the Irish Race. How nice of them, the prats. The rest of the time, Weasil, Dragon, and some people they picked up drank themselves stupid with beer. Not only did I ride a donkey, but I had to drive EVERYONE home. No one was in any condition to drive but the one sober IRISHMAN, me!
I tell ya!
Gabe
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