Chasing a Dream: A Horseman's Memoir by Grant Golliher

Author:Grant Golliher [Golliher, Grant]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2017-07-31T23:00:00+00:00

20

INDIO, CALIFORNIA, 1991

CARL

Tom Dorrance’s and Ray Hunt’s philosophies, I now believed, would succeed when applied to any horse or person. The experience with Neal inspired me—to Locke’s chagrin—to bring home another stray I had met in front of the grocery store. He was standing on his one good leg leaning against a pillar and holding a brown cardboard sign that read, “Wounded Vet. Please help.” An ice-cream bucket at his feet held a few dollars and change. His left pant leg had been tied up to a belt loop with a piece of string. His wood prosthesis leaned against the pillar.

I walked by and he looked at me. “Hey buddy, could you spare a buck or two?”

My thoughts turned to Neal. “Would you be interested in a job?” I asked.

“What kind of a job? I can’t do much with one leg.”

“I have some tack that needs cleaning. I think you could do it sitting down.”

He nodded. “Sure, why not?”

I purchased our groceries, and he strapped on his prosthesis, picked up a large plastic bag, and hobbled after me. He smelled just like Neal had when I picked him up. We both got into my truck.

He looked to be in his early forties, skinny and slight, not more than five foot six. His blond hair was thin, his skin was tanned and wrinkled.

At the end of the day Carl had most of my tack cleaned. He asked, “Can I stay a few days and work?”

We had sold Neal’s trailer. “We don’t have a place for you to stay.”

He shrugged. “Oh, I’ll just sleep on the ground,” and then he pulled a pair of insulated coveralls out of the plastic bag, slipped them on, stretched out under a big eucalyptus tree, and closed his eyes.

The next morning he was lying in the same position. I asked, “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Just some saltine crackers will do. That’s about all my stomach can handle these days.” This guy is in really bad shape, I thought. I felt energized about having the chance to help him.

Carl got around well on his prosthesis, and he had no trouble cleaning stalls or tacking up horses. We had found our next groom. Carl had all sorts of opinions about everything, including how the system was messed up. “I’ve traveled all over the United States going from shelter to shelter,” he said. “It’s impossible to go hungry in this country. I can make more money panhandling than most people do working.”

Carl confessed that he had never been in the military.

“Then how did you lose your leg?”

“I got drunk and fell out of a train car. The train ran over my leg. I crawled several hundred yards to get help.”

Carl talked disdainfully about the people who offered him help. “Suckers,” he called them. But I accepted him for who he was. There is hope for us all.

Locke and five year old Tara didn’t share my sentiments; they both said he gave them the creeps.

I made the same no-alcohol agreement

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