Terry: Pink boots in Bonito don't care for horse trading

Who doesn’t like a horse trade?

I found out last weekend horse tradin’ ain’t necessarily everybody’s cup of cowboy coffee.

Let me set the scene for you. On a weekend getaway to the Ruidoso area, my honey had just finished touring the museum at Fort Stanton as terrific thunder and lightning began to crack way too close to our location atop the mesa. So we made like Billy the Kid with a posse on his tail and headed up

Karl Terry

the Bonito to the village of Capitan.

By the time we reached the sleepy village we had slipped into a curtain of gray as a sobering rain and hailstorm wailed around us. We declared at that point that our idea of a picnic lunch was null and void for the day.

As the storm finally abated we sought shelter and sustenance inside the famous Smokey Bear Restaurant. After we maneuvered our way through fast-moving rivulets in the parking lot we found a packed house inside enjoying all manner of fare, from burgers stacked high with fresh-cut home fries to huge chicken fried steaks and Mexican food.

As we found our way to what looked like the only empty booth in the house, I remarked to my wife that I remembered eating at the cafe as a youngster and it didn’t look like it had changed much in the last 45 years.

We sat down in a booth next to an older couple. He looked like a Texan in pressed Western shirt filled tightly in the middle by a paunch. Probably a regular at the racetrack over the hill I guessed.

I glanced away from my menu when I heard spurs pulling up to the table adjacent to the Texan’s and ours’ booths. The sweet sounding spurs were attached to an even sweeter looking pair of pink boots. In those boots was a sweet teenager fresh from horseback competition, sitting down with her mom.

Texas, now finished with his chicken fried steak, struck up a conversation with the bonny lass. How had she done? What events did she and her horse run? Was it a good horse?

She answered all his questions politely with the proper number of sirs and got ready to tackle her burger. About that time the ill-fated horse trade commenced.

“Would you sell that horse,” queries Texas, with a wink of the eye?

“No sir, “ came the reply.

“Would you take $5,000 for him?”

“No sir, “ said Pink Boots.

“Would you take $7,500 for him, sight unseen?”

The teen began to twist in her seat as she once again replied negatively to the offer.

After shaking his head and saying, “I just don’t understand a girl like you,” Texas piped up with an offer of $10,000.

By this time Texas’ wife was on her feet and headed to the door. But when she heard that last bid she turned and made to grab Texas by the left ear. Before he could get her answer the wife had him in tow out the door.

I laughed out loud and Mom and Pink Boots turned red, realizing I had eavesdropped the entire dicker.

A cautionary tale for all Texas horse traders; steer clear of pink boots on the Bonito.

Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at:

[email protected]