The Spurs

Back in the late 60's, one of the things we always looked forward to was our yearly trip to the American Royal in Kansas City. Being where a trip to any town only happened at most once every two weeks, seeing the big city was awesome. We'd get to see a rodeo, horse show, some type of celebrity entertainment during the rodeo, all at the Royal. One year the entertainment was the Budweiser Clydesdale Forty Horse Hitch, one year Arther Godfry, you never knew what you were going to get. (the horses were better) Seemed like every year our seats would end up behind a support column in the arena, but it was still such a big event for us.
Before and after the rodeo, you'd walk around the outside of the arena, the halls would be lined with different vendors hocking everything from pool cues to cowboy hats, shoe shines to spurs.
Spurs,,, that's where this story begins.
Raising registered quarter horses, we all thought we were cowboys. Problem, we didn't have spurs. You can't be a cowboy with out spurs. So my dad, being somewhat practical, was more apt to buy us spurs than a beer branded pool cue. We got three sets of shiny new spurs, with the big (ugly now but back then) leather bootstraps, hand tooled. Truly something to be handed down.
The Royal happens in October, November, so no real reason to have spurs yet. They had their place sitting on top of the dresser, just waiting for spring to be worn.
Spring finally comes, the spurs go on, oh the awesome sound of jingling of the spurs while you walk. I was around six or seven at the time. I learned a quick lesson on spurs. If your heels get to close while walking, they catch together and your soon eating dirt.
Older brother Eldon took a little longer to learn his spur lesson.
He had one of the gentlest horses in the world, Flicka. Named after the book. Back then if you had a dog, you named it Ole Yeller or Lassie. Didn't matter if it was Heinz 57. I suppose if we had had a dolphin, it would have been called Flipper.
Eldon is six years older than I am, so at the time he is around twelve. In the spring, we would start getting our horses ready for shows, mainly just getting the winter coat combed out of them.
North of our house, we had a little fenced in pasture, about the size of a rodeo arena. We used it to practice barrel racing, pole bending and just to have a smaller area to ride the horses. Well, this day, Eldon had Flicka all combed, threw the saddle and bridle on. He figured on a little ride around the arena, maybe a little flag race practice. He's got the whole family out leaning on the fence to watch. He gets Flicka out in the arena, hops up in the saddle. Then the shiny new spurs touch Flickas ribs. Flickas hind end jumps up a foot. It surprises Eldon, so he tenses up and dig the spurs in a little more. The ride is on. Flicka is taking four foot hops halfway across the arena. Eldon hits the dirt face first. After we all saw the only thing hurt was his cowboy pride, you could have heard the laughter five miles away in town.
He hung his spurs up after that, never to be worn again. In fact, forty years later, they are still hung on an old gun rack at my mothers today. The spurs are rusty, but the hand tooled leather boot straps are still in tack.