I was meant for this.

When I push-pinned the poster of Khemosabi, the champion Arabian stallion, on the wall above my bunkbed, it was preparation. Every time, as a teenager, I drove by the Gene Autry Museum of Western Heritage in Griffith Park, it was preparation. And a couple months ago, when I rented The Man from Snowy River from the local Family Video (which has since fallen on hard times and closed shop), it was preparation.

Preparation for what? For February 8, 2009.

James and I were visiting a neighbor when we looked out the window and saw a horse on the loose, followed by a worried horse owner holding a lasso. When we got in the car and James said, let’s go that way, and pointed in the direction the horse had gone, I knew this was the day.

We pulled alongside the worried owner, rolled down the window, and asked “Do you need a hand?” We noticed about this time that there was not one horse, but three on the loose. When he realized it was too much for even the best cowboy to handle, especially on foot, and replied “if you could,” I knew it was time.

The three horses had gathered between a couple of pine trees on a snowy bank adjacent to Matisse Lane. James made quick work of the young one, throwing a rope around his neck and tying it off like a sailor. Seeing their cousin get tied up like a punk, the older horses protested by galloping back up the street. James and the owner knew instantly they had to go after the band of two. In slow motion, James lifted the rope that was harnessed around the young mule and said, “Here, Clark, hang on to this one while we go fetch the others.” This was my time to shine.

My knuckles turned purple I was holding that rope so tight. James’ last instructions, Just don’t let go, played in my mind again and again. All of a sudden, the front loop of the rope harness fell off the mule’s nose. Should I put it back on? Are there parts of a horse you aren’t supposed to touch and if so is the nose one of them? I suddenly found myself wishing I had listened to that book on cassette I got at the Barlow family gift exchange. If only I knew the Secrets of the Horse Whisperer now! Luckily, 14-year old Mary, who was watching the scene from her living room window, came to my rescue. “Do you need some help?” Carefully, she slipped the noose back around the horse’s nose and the crisis was averted.

James and the owner soon corralled the other two horses back between the two pine trees and using a bowl of oats to distract them, safely secured them in harnesses. Just as I began to utter a sigh of relief, I noticed the other men were leading their horses down the road back to the owner’s house. I would have followed suit, but my mule’s head was buried in the oats. I gently tugged the rope to coerce the large animal to come with me. No luck. None of my other gentle persuasions worked either. With the other men far ahead of me, I knew I had to act fast. Scenes of The Man From Snowy River flashed before my eyes and I knew what I had to do. Be firm. Let that horse know who’s boss. I gave that rope a good yank and marched down the street. It worked! It actually worked! As I caught up to the guys, James suggested I twirl the rope in front of the mule like a propeller so he knew not to walk in front of me. Once I started doing that, I felt all cowboy.

It was only about 4:00 by then, but I’m pretty sure the sun was setting and that me, James, and the owner were walking into it. And right about then, I knew, I was meant for this.