Selling my saddle

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saddle on a horse

While sitting at my desk one night, I yawned and stretched a bit. The clock said
half past midnight. Still, my room was dimly lit.

I closed my eyes, against sleep’s will. The Sandman passed me by, or was his
aim a smidgen off? No sand in either eye.

I climbed out of my easy chair. Sure, easy getting in. But climbing out past
midnight, chalk yourself up for the win.

I shuffled all around the room, a tired and worn-out gait. And hoped the
Sandman would return to cure my sleepless fate.

I’d shuffled to a corner, where I reached out with my hand. I felt the leather of a
saddle cinched down on its stand.

I recognized the saddle. It was older than four score. And hadn’t sat a cowboy
for some fifty years or more.

In my sleepless, groggy state I heard my saddle say, “I’d like it if I’m put to use.
Please set me free today.”

Next morning, right at breakfast, gobbling down a cheese omelet, I asked my
wife to sell the saddle on the internet.

My wife is trained tech-savvy, where I’ve never had a clue. And she knows for
me to sell the saddle might be stressful too.

It only took a minute, got a buyer on the line. She asked me if I Venmo. I told
her that was fine.

She claimed to send the money, but to upgrade my account, she would need to
send more money, mine took only large amounts.

She said she sent two hundred more. And just to make it right, I’d need to pay
her back when she picked the saddle up that night.

My Venmo showed no money, promptly told her to get lost. She was trying to
scam my cash and didn’t care about my cost.

My cell phone finally made a beep. One more offer for the night. She offered me
two fifty. Said she’d get here by daylight.

So, she purchased my old saddle and was honest as they came. Compared
to the first buyer, the two were not the same.

I never had been scammed but still, I trust more than a few. ‘Cuz the silent and
the honest always seem to pull it through.’

My old-time saddle found a home and would work a daily task. But did it talk to
its new owner? Don’t believe I’ll ever ask.

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Bryce Angell’s father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years, and Bryce was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. Bryce is from Idaho and still rides into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. His poems are mostly of personal experience.

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