I spent Saturday night south of the Mason-Dixon line at a party sponsored by the Fair Hill Volunteer Mounted Patrol, which is raising money to buy large animal rescue equipment for the local equine community. It was heaps of fun, a country-and-western Cecil County evening with lots of friendly people in jeans and cowboy hats doing line dancing and sharing their drinks and snacks.
I knew a couple of people there from hound-walking, met a few more and realized that you really can't forget the steps to the Macarena no matter how much you may want to.
The Unionville friend I went with found out I had never been to Wesley's, the nearby Elkton saloon and restaurant, so we left the party at about 10 and headed over there for a nightcap. The place was hopping, and I delighted in the novelty of downing a Coors Light in a distinctly non-Unionville bar. (Wish we had been there earlier for the crabs!)
My pal, who is nursing a concussion after a foxhunting mishap on Thursday, played a video game involving zapping zombies. The way she went at it with both hands, I'm fairly comfortable she hasn't suffered any brain damage. The way she climbed back into the truck when we left, however, was less reassuring.
"That hurts, doesn't it," I said, watching her try not to wince as she settled onto her injured hip.
"You won't hear me complain," she replied firmly. "Ever."
Horse people are tough.
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