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In July of 1997, I attended
a horse clinic at Rancho Chahuchu, in Solvang,
California.
I had a personal invitation from the trainer, and was eager to learn more about horses.
The clinic was an all-day event featuring demonstrations on how to deal with problem horses.
The attendance was low, about 20 people. As we settled down to our seats, I was surprised to find,
among the attendees, a famous Hollywood star who had a keen interest in horses.
She was accompanied by a friend, a distinguished lady who was visiting from Europe.
I was dressed properly for the occasion, with jeans, a western-style shirt, boots, a belt, and a cowboy hat which I had purchased recently,
and we sat down to enjoy the experience.
I did not strike up a conversation with the movie star, but, given the low attendance, everybody's presence was apparent to
everyone else. We moved around, trying not to miss any details. At times, I tried out my cowboy stroll,
where you walk bowing your legs to show that you are a well seasoned horseman.
Toward the end of the day, our movie star broke the ice and approached me,
and said, pointedly: "You are a true Mexican cowboy."
I smiled at the compliment,
but could not help to think that she had missed it on all three counts:
I was neither true, nor Mexican, nor a cowboy.
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