Hands of Leather

“Come on, how about twenty dollars then?” the spoiled brat wearing practically painted-on pants whined. The toddler on her hip stuck his tongue out with a face full of chocolate smears.

“Missy, that is a genuine all-leather Circle Y Western show saddle. It has been oiled lovingly every season, including the last 20 years where it wasn’t even in use.”

“Fine, 30 then. It’s only going to be a prop. I have a kid’s photography business and it’ll look SUPER cute in a cowboy theme. That’s more than fair for this antique and it’s what I have on me.” Her long painted manicure suggested she carried more than $30 with her, but it was her entitled attitude that sealed the no for Dottie. She shook her head of tightly permed gray hair.

“Mom. What are you going to do with a saddle? Honestly. You need to get rid of this stuff.” Her daughter Daphne had looked up from her phone long enough to add her two cents to the negotiations. Dottie couldn’t help but feel like the eageness to toss the items away came from the urgent desire her kids had to get her into an Independent Living home by year’s end.

“No! I will not sell it for $30. It was $950 new and was only used one season, plus I want it to go with the matching breastplate and headstall.” Dottie remained firm, and ran a hand over the decorative tooling of debossed flowers on the stunning saddle. The nerve!

The blonde mom snorted. “950?! Lady, you’re miles away from your target market! Good luck then.” She hip bounced the boy to get him to sit in a better position and sauntered off to the next house’s garage sale.

Dottie looked down the street at the row of carbon-copy houses. A suburban street sale was indeed hardly the place to offload her cowgirl history. The sale items at each house along seemed to be filled with more appropriate lamps and children’s toys. Dottie looked over her two tables of bridles, lunge lines, and grooming items to feel more like a fish out of water than usual.

She picked imaginary fluff off the saddle’s attached gusset pad, seeing a lot of herself in the saddle that also hadn’t touched a horse in 20 years. It was old, but well taken care of. It still wanted a purpose, but didn’t fit in with changing times or subdivisions. It wanted another adventure, but was stuck in an old lady’s basement.

Daphne interrupted the pity party. “Mom, you can’t just keep holding onto all this. I’m sure there’s a farm nearby I could give it to if you just want to see it get used?” Dottie huffed in answer and then so did Daphne, both glaring at the street in distinctly related postures. Her kids just didn’t understand.

They watched a long bed white truck pull up with bull horns attached to the front grill. It blocked the end of Dottie’s driveway, and a young good-looking boy in his twenties hopped out. He waved as he walked up the drive.

“Mornin’ ladies! I was driving by when I saw this beauty!” He ran a hand over the gently used black suede seat of the saddle. “What’re you hoping to get for her?”

“What would you offer?” Dottie asked curtly. The boy was dressed much the same as all the other young tire kickers today, except for the hint of a shiny silver belt buckle peeking from under his white t-shirt.

He scratched the back of his head as he looked around the tables. His fingers walked over split reins and a brown turnout coat. “I know it’s low, but would you take 1500 for all the tack?”

Daphne choked and jumped up from her lawn chair. “Absolutely! Wow mom, it’s your lucky day!”

Her daughter’s excitement momentarily upset Dottie, but she held her tongue. “What will you use it for?” she asked.

He smiled wide, oozing good-boy honesty. “My dad, grandad and I run a horse rescue a state over. Showy equipment always looks good in photos and videos when horses are ready for adoption.”

Dottie felt in a moment it was a great final home for her memories, and exhaled softly. “Yes, that sounds nice.” She got up with some effort to help fold blankets and saddle pads while the boy counted out bills to Daphne.

Through loading everything into his truck she learned his name was Cody and their farm was the Tri-Circle Ranch. He was in the area visiting a girlfriend’s family and saw the saddle from the road. He left it for last, and carried it with all the evidence that he slung saddles and hay daily. “I’m so happy I went out to get coffee this morning, or I wouldn’t have seen your sale!” He patted his truck door after placing the saddle in the passenger seat with all the respect it deserved. “Missus Dottie, I would love to have you come out to the ranch. I’m sure my dad and grandad would want to thank you properly for all of these treasures too.”

She looked over the boy with pretty blue eyes and wondered what his lineage looked like. They were likely all good looking men too. “I’d like that.” she said.

She recited her phone number while he typed it into his phone, then waved once he was again seated in the truck. She leaned heavily on the end of an empty folding table while he rumbled off.

Inspiration saddle (isn’t she beautiful!)