I’m barreling down the interstate at 75mph on a perfect 75 degree spring day, hauling my horse behind me. I’m driving my truck, Ricky Bobby (my Ford 150 that is one of my great loves ), and singing along to George Strait playing on the oldies country hits station. It dawns on me, in that minute, that I am living my childhood dream.

I grew up in rural southern New Mexico. I actually lived on a farm with assorted animals: goats, chickens, peacocks, horses, a steer, rabbits…you name it. My dad was on a horse before he could walk and made sure we were, too. I come from a long line of horsemen and ranchers. There are family whispers that a one great grandfather was a horse thief, and another shot a horse for losing a race. You could say that horses and The Wild West run deep in my blood, but unfortunately; I showed no interest in them as a kid. Try as he may, my dad couldn’t convince me to put down a book long enough to go outside and ride. Read more…