My Name's "Whoa, Damnit!"

As I can recall only one thing sets 6th grade apart from the others in middle school.

Tommy.Jack.Savage.

Now, you may think to yourself, "Who in the world is Tommy Jack Savage?" You may recall, from my previous Piggy Tales posts, an old gray mare by the name of Frosty. Well, as I grew, so did my search for adventure. Frosty was NOT a challenge. I needed EXCITEMENT. I needed something FIESTY. I needed something DANGEROUS.

Enter Tommy Jack Savage into my life.



He was a three year old green gelding with TONS of spunk. I spent more time on MY backside than on his. Every chance he got, he bucked. He ran away with me. He was ill-tempered, ill-mannered, and spirited. We got along FAMOUSLY. I loved that big old leggy baby. He was MINE. ALL MINE.

I took him to the 4-H fair that year. In amongst all of the professionally trained horses, we stuck out like a sore hoof. Instead of calmly, smoothly loping around the arena, we RACED. We galloped wherever TJ damn well pleased around the perimeter of the ring, nearly causing the demise of one judge who looked like he was having ZERO fun. We may not have placed that year, but we were made for each other. I was never one of those kids whose parents did the work for them. For one thing, my parents wouldn't be caught DEAD on that big galoot. We did the work ourselves and we grew together.

**Nota Bene: TJ is still alive and well. He is now 18 and LOVES my girls. Check out this post for pictures of the infamous big guy himself.