Is that a Horse?
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: Ottmar Leibert
Last year I lived in a gated Homeowner Association-ruled community--hated it! Gated communities are a joke--They don't keep the riffraff out, they keep the riffraff in. The only decent thing about the place was the automatic back gate entrance which made it a tad bit easier to get to my house.

One night I went to the local cowboy bar, The Silver Pony, to meet some friends for a drink. When I say cowboy bar I mean it...literally. It is the watering hole for all of the local cowboys as they can ride in from the trails and tie their horses up outside. While there, a buddy of mine--`Cowboy Mark'--rode up. He said a bunch of guys were going on a moonlight margarita ride and asked if I wanted to come. Even though I was completely not dressed for riding, (think crocheted blouse and clogs) I was all over it as liquor and horses make me a very happy girl.

After riding the the mountain trails for hours on end, I was pretty blotto to say the least. When it's a gorgeous night with amazing city views and you are cruising along on what amounts to a mobile lazy boy chair with an endless supply of margaritas--these things happen. When we got back to the Pony, I realized I was far too tanked to drive my car home. Graciously, the guys offered to escort me back to my house...on horseback.

It was about 2:30am when we reached the back gate and I used the clicker to open it for us to ride through, which I doubt was ever the HOA's intended use. Everyone rode through and things got crazy. Next thing I know, 20 horses are at a full run down the middle of my street with drunken cowboys a hootin' and a hollerin' at the top of their lungs. Sparks are flying off of the horses' shoes and tumbling like burning embers down the street into the night. It looked like a Wild West version of the horsemen of the Apocalypse tearing through suburbia.

We pulled up next to my house and I see my 20-something ASU neighbors are partying poolside. Being the polite neighbor I am I say "hey" in greeting. Jason gets up and walks over to the fence and peers over at me. "Is that a horse?" Being a smart ass (no, not me!), I replied, "No sugar, it's a jungle cat--you'd better put down that beer."

The guys needed a rest stop so I opened the back gate and they rode into my backyard. They stayed for about an hour or so and then took off into the night for parts unknown. I woke up later that morning with a fridge full of liquor they had left behind (bonus), a lawn that was alternately eaten down to the dirt or covered in horse poop (not such a bonus) and a `love' note from my Homeowners Associations tacked to the door with a warning about "illegal hooved animals pursuant to..." (no bonus whatsoever)...Ah! The life of the urban cowgirl...yee-haw!