When I was 5, my dad's friend Sherman had a donkey out in our pasture. Dad would throw me on that donkey, no halter, bridle, saddle... just grab on and try to stay on.
It was the meanest SOB, if it wasn't trying to bite you off it'd buck and if that didn't work, try and rub you off on the barbed wire fence, I hated that donkey.
In his last years, Sherman still had a horse at dad's, he passed a few years ago, but went over every day to ride in the winter, spent his summers in Utah... I'd remind him of his mean donkey and he'd just laugh, remembering me riding that bastard as a tyke.
Kent
