Trailer Training the Husband

Bob Goddard
with Illustration by Will Enns

After my daughter Jamie got married, she got a horse. The order in which she did these things does not suggest anything about her priorities. These acquisitions were based on opportunities presented at the time. That is, both were free.

My son-in-law, Marc, is patient, affable, and mechanically inclined. With a little work, Jamie knows she can take these qualities and mold him into a first-rate horse husband. This does say something about her priorities.

Marc’s mechanical ability was put to the test when Jamie bought a three-figure horse trailer. For the digitally impaired, that’s a trailer with a price tag under a thousand dollars. For those needing accuracy, they actually paid less than five hundred dollars.

I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right—it was a piece of crap on wheels. Despite Marc’s mechanical prowess and Jamie’s flair for supervision, the couple was unable to transform the mess of rusty metal into a safe and functional equine transport option. So Jamie and Marc did what horsepeople always do in this kind of situation; they upgraded. This time it was a four-figure trailer.

The new trailer was in pretty good shape. To be sure, it had been well used. As evidenced by the collage of scuffmarks on the interior walls, more than one horse had expressed his feelings about being stuffed inside a mobile metal box. But the trailer was fundamentally sound. Marc restored the electrical system, fixed the brakes, and did a bit of welding. The thing was ready to go.

Jamie was pleased with Marc’s work, but she confided to me that she had one more challenge for her husband. “Before we can use the trailer for my horse, Marc has to ride in the back of it.”

I studied my firstborn’s face. From an early age, Jamie had displayed a keen appreciation of the absurd and I was hoping this was one of her jokes. But I perceived no sparkle of mischief in her eyes. I saw only defiance.

“Marc drives too fast. He has to know what’s it’s like to ride in the back of one of these things.”

This was absurd. I know because I used to be in that driver’s seat next to Jamie and her powerful right hook. Sure, she was only ninety-four pounds, but she was accustomed to dealing with half-ton animals. I always took corners under four miles per hour. I was convinced that Marc would do the same.

“Jamie, you don’t need to make him do that.”

“Oh, he’ll love it!”

Almost on cue, Marc appeared. He was donned in a motorcycle helmet, heavy work gloves, and steel-toed boots. He glanced at me, then at Jamie and said, “Let’s go.”

Jamie was right. Marc wanted to do this. I drove.

As we pulled from the driveway, a racket commenced in the back of trailer. WHAM-WHAM-WHAM…WHAM-WHAM-WHAM…WHAM-WHAM-WHAM.

“He’s kicking the side of the trailer, Jamie.”

“Just ignore him.”

About a half-mile down the road, I noted a hint of rhythm in the racket. I’m not sure, but I think was Marc attempting an interpretation of a Rolling Stones song. Jumpin’ Jack Flash, I believe.

Jamie wasn’t happy. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, most horses prefer Sympathy for the Devil.”

“Pull over, Dad.”

I spotted a vacant parking lot in a strip mall and pulled in. Jamie hopped out, strode up to the trailer and popped open the viewing window. Marc was unruffled.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing, Marc?”

Marc tilted his head like a puppy when he’s not quite sure what you’re trying to tell him.

“Knock it off, Marc.”

“I’m trying to maintain the integrity of the simulation, but you’re taking me out of character. You really need to cooperate here.” His eyes widened, “Got a carrot?”

“Yeah, I have a carrot for you all right.” Jamie released her prisoner. Hopefully he had learned his lesson.

I prayed for his sake, that the next topic wasn’t “Sympathy for the Gelding.”

Bob Goddard is a freelance writer from Ravenna, Michigan. You can write to Bob at bobgoddard@verizon.net. Look for Bob’s new book, Horse Crazy! A Tongue-in-Cheek Guide for Parents of Horse Addicted Girls due out this fall.