Scottsdale activities

Sleeping with a real bitch at the Arizona Cowboy College.

In the evening we took turns using the lone shower in the bunkhouse which was nothing more than a garage-like room with cots spread around a couple of ratty old couches, one of which I immediately commandeered. I’m a pretty light sleeper and knew that, even as tired as I was, it was going to be difficult sleeping in the same room with six other people, what with the coughs and snorts and farts and whatnot. Still, I managed to fall asleep almost immediately. And stayed that way until I woke up sometime in the middle of the night and realized that someone had crawled up on the couch with me.

It was one of the ranch dogs. I guess I was sleeping in her spot. I kicked her out of bed but two minutes later, she was back, spooning up against me. At this point I figured I had two choices: Sleep with a smelly old dog or grab my bedroll and sleep outside. I chose to move outside.

The ground was hard, the stars were bright, and the nearby horses made a ruckus all night, but I still slept pretty soundly. Until I felt something running over my sleeping bag and across my legs. A pack rat. Who stole my iPod headphones, which I found the next morning in his nest inside the barn along with a sock (not mine), several beer caps, an empty cigarette pack, and a chewed up ten dollar bill. I took back my headphones and, just to be sure, checked to see that my wallet was still tucked into a pocket of my denim jacket. Just to, you know, make sure that wasn’t my ten spot the rat had borrowed.

Rocco trying to convince us that horses are cowards.

Rocco, wearing a white Stetson, his thumbs hooked in his Wrangler’s just above a belt buckle the size of a small salad plate that reads ROCCO COWBOY U, sits atop his appaloosa taking a long, hard look at us faux cowboys before giving us a little speech.

“This is an unpredictable 1,200-pound animal that can accelerate 50 miles per hour in a few strides,” he says, slapping at the flank of Viejo Vaquero. “Anytime you think you know what this horse is thinking or what he’s going to do, you’re making a mistake. I ride this horse every day and he still surprises me. Do not—I repeat—do not take a horse for granted.”

Part of my problem with horses has always been that I think they’re a lot more fearless than I am. Which Rocco assures me simply isn’t true.

“This animal is an absolute coward,” he says. Which is what makes them dangerous. “Horses have no canine teeth, no claws. So when they feel they’re in danger, they turn 180 degrees and run as fast as they can in the opposite direction. That’s because they’re used to being in a herd and if there’s danger, the slowest one gets caught and eaten.”

So what Rocco is telling me is that when that paint up in Telluride threw me over the fence or that Mexican pony tossed me into the surf, it’s because they were afraid of me. Not the other way around.

Well I’ll be damned.