No thanks to the beasts, Grant and Sherman. At the checkout counter, "Where you from?" Boy, "10th Mountain." Moment of reflection, "From the North?" Quick as a flash, "You calling me a dam Yankee?" Pause, "Nossir, but he's from England."
He looked at me, full of war, but we were at peace, "That's different," he grinned, and so it was.
I can post this because I can, actually, ride hell for leather and twice as fast. Well, at least until a Mad Arab kicked me off her back a year ago tomorrow.
But seriously, one of my best memories of the last decade is running a horse through a Texan field, right through the silvery light of the moon. One heckuvva thing, man and beast, at one, and fast as you like.
Now, imagine that run in the face of fire. No small matter, and while I scorn historical re-enactors as curiously insane, "Look, crazy people!", I respect our forebears; dam straight.
Btw, Lspboro raised a Cav Brigade in the war against Northern aggression, Parson's Brigade, no foolin. Down with the Eagle, up with the Cross.
