Chapter 16 ~ Page 227
Besides myself and BJ, Mandy Mare, who got a bit closer than an old bitty of an aunt should, also found that this 'baby' didn't care for cooing. Then Charlie Horse, trying in a dignified way to say, "Welcome, and ump, let me explain a few of our rules here," was surprised that the filly had her own ideas of who was boss.
But Bernadette and Colette—naturally, being feisty little girls themselves—were able to walk up with arms wide open and hug this little bundle of love. It was sort of a scene from a poster with the caption, "Happiness is a little filly," In fact, it was downright sickening. They suggested names as Sweetheart, Honeypie, Loveypoo, and the Frilly Filly.
Nope. We had already decided, and I vetoed the idea of any name change. One week exactly after that frosty morn we tied a little red ribbon on the tail of this foal to signify she was a kicker ("A real kick in the pants," said BJ) and started back up the trail to Mt. Adams . Our filly presented no problem. She just tagged along. And this is how we came to name her—Tagalong.
During our layover I had hitched into town, picked up our Washington State caches, purchased grain, and with the help of my brother Donald, delivered them to ranger stations along our route. One sentence for a week.
What was left out was while trying to thumb, a ride a drunken bum came walking along, hailed me as a comrade, and tried to talk me into hopping a freight to Texas with him. In Portland my sister Mary Margaret treated me to a lunch at a topless restaurant, on the condition I wouldn't take off my cowboy hat. And, after taking over the wheel of Don's pickup I was stopped and issued a citation for driving with an expired license. It cost me $27, and when I tried to explain the circumstances, the officer kept repeating, "Is that so, Tiger."
Also I should mention that the National Forests in Northern Washington were experiencing the worst fire season in many a year. In one place a crown blaze, completely out of control in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, was racing towards the Cascade Crest Trail.
After having successfully disposed of so many worries—crossing the Columbia, putting out food caches, and waiting for a foal—this fire danger gave us something else to occupy our minds. Would fire block our way?
Another thought, just as frightening, though a little harder to imagine, was that we now were into the first week of September. How long could this good weather last? How soon before winter arrived?
But Bernadette and Colette—naturally, being feisty little girls themselves—were able to walk up with arms wide open and hug this little bundle of love. It was sort of a scene from a poster with the caption, "Happiness is a little filly," In fact, it was downright sickening. They suggested names as Sweetheart, Honeypie, Loveypoo, and the Frilly Filly.
Nope. We had already decided, and I vetoed the idea of any name change. One week exactly after that frosty morn we tied a little red ribbon on the tail of this foal to signify she was a kicker ("A real kick in the pants," said BJ) and started back up the trail to Mt. Adams . Our filly presented no problem. She just tagged along. And this is how we came to name her—Tagalong.
During our layover I had hitched into town, picked up our Washington State caches, purchased grain, and with the help of my brother Donald, delivered them to ranger stations along our route. One sentence for a week.
What was left out was while trying to thumb, a ride a drunken bum came walking along, hailed me as a comrade, and tried to talk me into hopping a freight to Texas with him. In Portland my sister Mary Margaret treated me to a lunch at a topless restaurant, on the condition I wouldn't take off my cowboy hat. And, after taking over the wheel of Don's pickup I was stopped and issued a citation for driving with an expired license. It cost me $27, and when I tried to explain the circumstances, the officer kept repeating, "Is that so, Tiger."
Also I should mention that the National Forests in Northern Washington were experiencing the worst fire season in many a year. In one place a crown blaze, completely out of control in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, was racing towards the Cascade Crest Trail.
After having successfully disposed of so many worries—crossing the Columbia, putting out food caches, and waiting for a foal—this fire danger gave us something else to occupy our minds. Would fire block our way?
Another thought, just as frightening, though a little harder to imagine, was that we now were into the first week of September. How long could this good weather last? How soon before winter arrived?
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia