A DAY AT THE DUMP

Being a man who believes in public service I decided to take training and become a member of the Sedgwick County Sheriff’s Mounted Patrol (posse), a non-paying position. With dedication I underwent a lengthy training program in all aspects of the law and firearm proficiency and was graduated a deputy sheriff. This included training for my horse, Amigo, as well. Amigo was trained to walk on a blue tarpaulin while it was being pulled along on the ground by other men. He also stepped on a gunny sack filled with tin cans as it was being pulled along on the ground. By the conclusion of the training I felt that I was prepared to go out and deal with the public. Amigo had demonstrated nerves of steel as he walked through the obstacle courses as well as being hit by a rolling tractor tire inner tube. All this was very frightening to a horse, causing most to spook mightily.

Finally came the moment of truth. My horse and I were ordered to report for duty at the Brooks Landfill on Free Dump Day, April 23rd, 1994. Early that morning we loaded up and headed out for “the dump”. Amigo was used to riding in the trailer and all went well on the journey. Upon arrival, I unloaded my horse from the trailer and mounted up.

Since it was Free Dump Day, it was necessary that my wife take the pickup back to the house and start hauling our trash to the dump. The trash consisted of broken up concrete and old lumber. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it. After mounting up, I sat tall in the saddle, wearing my dress uniform, my gun on my hip, and my sheriff’s deputy badge glistening in the sun. I rode Amigo to-and-fro past the many vehicles waiting in line to dump, watching for the slightest infraction of the law. My main purpose inbeing there was to protect women and children from the evils that lurked about. A previous year there had been an argument in the waiting line.

By mid-morning I needed some time to myself. I tied Amigo to a utility pole and stepped inside the close by port-a-potty. The wind had continued to rise all morning; the windblown paper and boxes and all the traffic had taken a toll on Amigo, making him nervous.

As I stepped out of the little portable building the wind blew the door around and frightened my horse. He jerked back, breaking his reins and took off on the run. Luckily I hadn’t tied him with his lead rope to the potty! Being humiliated by my horse in front of all these people I was there to protect, was almost more than I could bear. Being a bona fide man of the law, I showed no emotion.

A dump employee just happened to pass by as my state of “being in control” was coming apart. With all the dignity I could muster, I borrowed his radio and called our major in charge to tell him of my dilemma. In short order he drove up in his vehicle and we sped away in pursuit of my horse. After catching Amigo I remounted.

From time to time my wife would drive by hauling her load of trash to the dump. Not knowing the frustrations of my job she probably felt put upon when she saw my sitting tall in the saddle, wearing my full dress uniform, my gun at my side, and my sheriff’s badge glistening in the sun.

As noontime approached, I again needed some time to myself. This time I dismounted and tied my horse to the rear of the trailer with a sturdy lead rope. I proceeded to hide myself from view behind the trailer and beside Amigo. About that time a water truck drove by spraying water out horizontally to settle the dust of the unpaved haul road. Amigo had never seen this before and again became frightened. Amigo started tugging at the rope and the separated trailer started moving backward, nearly hitting my legs. To avoid injury, I jumped inside the trailer through the open rear door. As the trailer continued to move backward I feared for my horse, as his legs were in danger of being broken by his pulling the trailer. He pulled the trailer about fifty feet in all. After finally stopping the horse moved to the side of the trailer, keeping the rope taut at all times. Because of the horse’s new position the rope was pulling against the rear door, holding it closed. I was trapped inside the trailer. No amount of gentle talk would persuade the horse to slacken the rope so I could escape. He just looked at me with wide open, wild eyes.

In desperation I was able to reach out through the trailer slats and release the outside latch and open the side door. I went around to the rear of the trailer and carefully untied the rope. The horse, being of unsettled mind, took this opportunity to jerk the rope. But I had anticipated this, held tight, and was soon once again sitting tall in the saddle.

Finally, at the end of the day my wife returned with the pickup to pull the trailer back home. As I was leading my horse into the trailer he bumped the trailer door, causing the latch to rattle. The sound of the latch frightened him and he jerked the loosely held rope from my hand and ran away. I was unprepared, as he had always walked into the trailer without problem.

The major was alerted one more time and after a lengthy pursuit my wife was able to catch Amigo and head him into the trailer. It was the end of a long, windy day. I was finally headed home with my faithful wife at my side and my unfaithful horse secured in the trailer.

The question arises: why didn’t I just pull my Smith & Wesson 357 Magnum and drop him right there?!

NOTE: This true story was first written by Vernon Imes. Later it was rewritten as a poem “Bad Day at the Dump” and published in Pony Tales II by famous cowboy poet, Margo U. Imes.