What's Important

Yesterday my mom, P and I went out to my grandfather's stable to clean out his stuff, organize it and store it safely in our trailer before the vultures out there start grave robbing. It was solemn and heart wrenching work, but I managed not to sniffle - though I might have teared up when I thought no one was looking.

The situation is a mess, but I'll spare you all the ugly details. To summarize: my grandfather left no will, only stated what he wanted to leave to whom verbally (because he was a cowboy, after all, and didn't believe much in legal documentation over his word), so everyone's scrambling to make claims on what is theirs. Even people who aren't related are claiming that he wanted them to have his trailer, or his equipment, or that he agreed to sell his National PTPA Championship saddle (which is a Billy Cook, by the way) to them for $700. It's so frustrating and infuriating, seeing all of these people come out of the woodwork making claims when we haven't even gotten his service squared away yet.

As of now, I'm the only one with keys to his tack room and trailer, but people have broken into tack rooms before, so we decided to squirrel his stuff away in our trailer before it comes up missing. His working saddle, his tack, his supplies, his tools..all of it.

People are squabbling over his saddle, of course, and his expensive show tack, and the rest they disregard as useless junk. In that "Useless Junk" category, however, are some of the items that are most important to me - more important than the show saddles or the trailer - so my mom and I made some claims of our own, and kept those unwanted treasures:

Like his chinks. You'd rarely see Granpa on a horse without them, whether he was working or competing. They aren't fancy - just old, broken in, brown leather - but they suited him. They were like a second skin, as important to him when riding as his saddle and reins and, surprisingly, they fit me.

For my birthday one year, he bought me a beautiful pair of chinks (which, surprisingly, suited me very well, proving that Granpa had great taste). It was the first time I felt like he'd accepted me into the horse world, and here was my badge to prove it. I never wore them because I thought they were too nice, and they meant so much to me, that I didn't want to wreck them. Thinking back, I regret not using them. It feels a little selfish; he probably had hoped to see me use them, but he never said it. I'm determined to break those beautiful chinks in as well as his were.

I also took one of his bridles with matching reins and martingale. They aren't fancy show tack; they were what he's worked every horse I've ever known in, including Maverick. It's the set I used learning how to ride (God, how many times did I hear "Shorten your inside rein!" "Take up your slack!" "What are you doing? Drop your outside rein!"). I remember loving the feel of those reins, and wanting a pair just like them, but I could never find a set that was just right.

I gave Mom his working spurs. Their straps are just plain, simple leather, and there's no decoration on them at all. But he trained many, many horses in them, and took good care of them.

I took his rope. I told him one day that I wanted to learn how to rope, so he tried to show me by roping my legs as I ran away. I never did get the hang of it, but I'm determined to eventually.

Mom took another old bridle that belonged to Jackpot, a white Arabian and probably Granpa's best horse and greatest partner.

I took the Navajo blanket that he had across the seat of his truck. It will go in Calamity as soon as I wash it.

I took his old lunge whip. The one I learned how to lunge horses with (I hated lunging and was never very good at it).

I took his favorite bit, a thin twisted snaffle.

And I took his old, working saddle pad. I don't have much use for it now, but I have fond memories of it; it's what I used on Whisper when I used to ride her.

While no one else can see the value, to me these were the most important treasures in that tackroom.