RIDING OLE THUNDER

“You take care, Boy, Ole Thunder is the meanest calf you’ll come up against.”

There I stood, all three feet of me, in a new pair of jeans, plaid cowboy shirt, and a red bandana. The thousands in the stands were cheering just for me, I knew. The judges were waiting to proclaim me champ. Then that $50 prize money would be mine, and Pop said I could purchase my very own range mustang: to comb and curry and ride like the wind through the hills.

At the mounting pen I got my first look at Ole Thunder. My courage wained as I kicked in the dust like the big guys did. Ole Thunder towered two feet over my head. His black hooves could stomp right through the muscle and bone of a seven year old. His mouth was flecked with foam as a wild eye looked right through me. I had to go to the bathroom.

“Don’t go away, Buckaroo. You’re first out.”

Powerful arms snatched me up in mid-stride and swung me onto the calf’s arched back. Ole Thunder bellered and bucked in the pen waiting for the gate to swing wide. I grabbed the rope and held on to my hat.

“And now,” blared the loudspeaker, “Dicky Savage, 7 years old, riding for his first time, on the calf, Ole Thunder.”

The crowd roared. I could see the rodeo clowns in the arena. They didn’t look so funny now. The gate swung and my heart fell as Ole Thunder leaped free.

I clasped with my knees as he twisted in a leap and landed hard on all fours. I smashed down on his unsaddled back, uttering a sound that could not be spelled. He ran in a stiff legged trot, shifting left and right. He bucked a series of jolting jumps.

Something was wrong! After 8 seconds my ride is done, and someone is supposed to pull me off. No one, not even a clown, was coming to help me. One more twisting jump and I lost my balance and pitched forward into the dirt. My shoulder ached, and I looked up to see Ole Thunder as he sauntered off to the chute.

I heard the loud speaker say, “Only 2 seconds, folks, but remember it’s his first ride.”

Tears formed in my eyes and dripped off my nose into the dirt. No $50 -No mustang. All for nothing.

Strong arms swept me up, and deposited me into waiting family hands.

“Boy, didn’t I tell you Ole Thunder is one hell of a ride.”

The End

Story ID:	4144
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	Cheyenne Wyoming USA
Year:	1938
Person:	Dicky Savage