Happy Trails

My first time riding a horse was in 2002, in Rocky Mountain National Park. Because I'm a bit taller than your average family, the stable had to hook me up with the biggest horse they had, a giant cart horse. She was utterly docile. There was just one small problem.

 

She farted. I mean, she farted a lot. They warned me that she was notorious for it, and they weren't kidding. She jet-propelled us through alpine forests and meadows. Every bouncing step churned the haystack in her stomach, fermenting it that much more.

 

Fortunately for me, we kept moving forward, which kept most of the smell behind me. Fortunately for my fellow greenhorns, the concessionaire stuck the farting mare at the back of the pack. Unfortunately for the staff, the government required the concessionaire to have an employee riding at the end of the line at all times, to keep stragglers from getting lost. This meant that one poor guy was legally obligated to ride directly behind my horse's ass for two hours.

 

We discovered that a horse's gas can be a great way to strike up a conversation.

Done