Yesterday, I glanced in the living room to watch my children playing and something outside caught my eye. I looked up, through the large picture window, and saw a horse and rider walking towards the house. I looked again and yes, he was coming directly towards our front door.
I looked back at my husband napping on the couch and said, “Um, sweetie, there’s a man on a horse coming to our door.” He gave me the “oh, that’s nice, honey” look, but I reiterated, “No, seriously, there’s a man on a horse COMING to our FRONT DOOR.” By this time, the man had closed in on the house and was about to dismount right in front of the sidewalk. He waved to my kids, who, with noses and hands pressed against the window glass, watched him like a fantastic zoo attraction. He had on a wonderful wool hat and wore a dirtied up Carhart coat. His saddle was loaded with saddle bags and two large canteens. I motioned for him to come to the side door, and that’s when I noticed that he had a little pug riding on his shoulders, resting on the man’s large back pack. WOW. My Sunday afternoon just got a bit more interesting.
Patrick Schaumaker, which when he said it sounded much more unusual and awesome, was his name, and he was traveling from Alabama to Nebraska when he and his horse noticed the abundance of winter rye grass growing in our yard, and he wondered if his horse might feed a bit. Pat, as he likes to go by, has a horse named Dillon and an eleven year old pug named Buford. Buford wears a little, brown sheep skin coat of sorts to keep him cozy. Dillon is half mustang, half quarter horse and does not wear horse shoes. Pat has battle scars and wild stories of trying to fight Dillon to put on shoes. But Dillon won’t have it; after all, he is half mustang.
The horseman, unsaddled his horse, took out the bit and took off the bridle, and tied on a lead rope. He then tied Dillon to the dogwood tree in our back yard, and the horse wasted no time getting down to business with all of that beautiful green grass.
And for the next 3 or so hours, Mr. Pat entertained us with endless stories ranging from his near fatal car accident, to his ex-wife’s secret motive to take out life insurance on him, to an old car that would start on its own, to his eye witness accounts of Big Foot (yes, I said accountS).
All though we have no way to verify his stories or confirm the perhaps inflated inventions of a man who’s alone for hours at a time, he provided us with a grand adventure in our own back yard and at our own kitchen table.
Tomorrow, he may have breakfast with us before he heads out down the road to travel another thirty miles. I’m looking forward to it.