"Don't Mix
Drinking and Driving"

Hi gang. I see you made it in time for another story. I want all you good little Border Collies and friends, to pull up a rug, turn-around three times to get comfy and listen to me, your Uncle Bo. I’m gonna tell how my Mum learned at a very young age that drinking and driving don’t mix.

My Mum was about 9, and her nearest neighbor friend, Trudy, was about 13 or 14. For my Mum, playing with Trudy was a special treat ‘cause Trudy was so grown up and not many people lived way out of town on that long dirt road we called home. So that day, after Trudy walked over from the northeast edge of the old homestead to visit, my Mum saddled up the old swayback gelding. The two set off riding that old boy double to visit the neighbors to the south, at the far side of our great big block square. The square covered 10 acres with just four houses. My Mum’s family lived on 8 of those acres, with their own additional acreage across the road in front of the house. My Mum’s grandmother lived in her own small house next my Mum's folks. A few neighbors lived at the far edge of the property and across the road. The five households, plus Trudy’s folks to the northeast, and a few more scattered houses another mile away were the only people living this far out of town.

First, the girls stopped Old Pal in front of the closest house as they thought to say "Hello" to old Pop Samson, the rock hound and prospector. No one was home, so Old Pal and the girls plodded up the road. Mr. C, the next neighbor didn’t seem home either, so having already gone a quarter mile, they figured they should turn the corner and start back.

At the corner, Mum decided perhaps a visit with Mrs. F. might be nice. This frail white-haired lady was rumored to be the daughter-in-law of some famous author my Mum says she had never heard of then but since learned about in college as one who could write a great "Stream of Consciousness" with the longest recorded paragraphs ever used in publication.

Mrs. F. lived in a one-room brown-and-white house with a shingled roof and one tree. In the desert, where the sun shines hot and water is scarce, trees become a big deal. So Trudy and my Mum tied up Pal to that tree, letting him rest in the shade while they went knocking on old Mrs. F.’s front door. You might ask how a one-room house has a front and a back door. Well, it didn’t. The door on the east was the front door and the door on the north was the side door, and somehow everyone just knew which was the front door that needed the knocking.

With a big smile, Mrs. F. opened the door and invited the girls into the house. She spoke loudly, telling them repeatedly how happy she was to see them. She bade her guests to say "Hello" to each of her cats, seven Siamese kitties so fat that my Mum says she has yet to see one fatter. In fact, these cats were so fat, they were unable to jump unassisted from floor to couch or couch to floor, and would yowl plaintively until Mrs. F. would lift them up or down as needed. 

But being these were the fattest Siamese cats ever seen, hoisting the kitties up or down proved no small feat, especially for a rather thin white-haired lady who seemed to be talking quite loudly and walking with precarious balance. 

So Trudy and my Mum decided to help, and each took half of the biggest cat, Sheba, who seemed to be yowling the loudest. After a couple rounds of "one, two-three, lift", the girls managed to ungracefully heft that big queen kitty up onto the sofa where the ruffled cat sunk back into a green-fringed cushion, stared at the visitors, and then began cleaning her paws as if nothing had happened.

Within a few minutes, though, Sheba peered off the green tweed couch cushion toward the dusty hardwood floor and yowled again. So, Trudy and my Mum undid the hefting, although down proved just as hard as up when one wants to avoid dunking Miss kitty on the floor with too much force, and gravity seems to be helping a bit too much. My Mum decided this must be what kept Mrs. F. so thin as the lady worked rather hard for these cats, and just maybe they were eating all the food.

Mrs. F. offered the girls lemonade. My mum noticed Mrs. F was drinking something else from an unrefrigerated square bottle and mixing this stuff with soda water, ice and lemon. Mum thought the lemonade smelled much better than that stuff in Mrs. F’s glass, but stuck to manners and never said a word. 

After a bit of talk, the girls thought best to check on the horse, and Mrs. F. followed them outside. "I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a kid," Mrs. F. told them. "Well, come riding with us some time," my Mum told her. "I could try it now, if you help me on," said Mrs. F. So Trudy held the horse and my Mum tried to help Mrs. F. crawl on, but Mum wasn’t strong enough to lift her alone. Then my Mum held the horse, and Trudy helped. This time, Mrs. F. went right off the other side. The girls thought they had better tie old Pal and team up on this problem. Mrs. F. was very agreeable to trying again and was laughing and having a pretty fun time of this, or so things looked to the girls.

Well, my Mum tied old Pal. Trudy helped Mrs. F. from the left side, and my Mum positioned herself on the right side and stopped her from coming back off as fast as she was in the saddle.

Thus, with Mrs. F. duly mounted, the girls felt quite proud of themselves and decided to take Mrs. F. first for a ride to see my Mum’s folks and then over to visit Trudy’s folks. Mrs. F. seemed quite pleased with herself, and the girls promised to make sure their folks took a photo. 

Mum set off leading the horse down the road, and Trudy walked next to Mrs. F. to make sure she didn’t topple out of the saddle. No mishaps occurred, and Mum says Mrs. F. seemed a bit more stable in the saddle than she had on the ground. After an uneventful trip, the proud girls and a beaming Mrs. F. arrived in my Mum’s front yard. My Mum and Trudy, expecting everyone to be excited and pleased, found a different reaction.

"Goodness! Let me help you down," cried my Mum’s Mom, apparently in shock. The girls were confused as they thought they were doing a good deed, but apparently my Mum’s Mom and Grandmother thought otherwise.

Within moments, Mum’s Dad lifted Mrs. F. down from the horse and whisked her home by a metal chariot with noisier horses and seatbelts. Mum’s folks shoed Trudy on home. The end was a great disappointment as the girls didn’t get their picture of Mrs. F. on the horse, and Trudy had no chance to show her folks the great accomplishment of taking Mrs. F. riding at all. Perhaps that might have been for the best. Mum’s folks weren’t soon over this one.

Later, Mum heard her Grandmother say, "Shameful. She was drunk as a skunk." To which Mum's Mom replied, "Sure puts a new twist on drinking and driving."

"Well, I never…" Grandmother mumbled as she turned her back and walked up the steps to her house. "That old gal could have fallen off and been killed."

So, that’s how my Mum learned at a very young age that drinking and driving don’t mix…even if you’re only riding a horse.