My horse Commodore and I fit right in at PT Barnum and Bailey Circus at the Cow Palace, San Francisco.
He, a good looking tall black-bay with a long mane, wearing a new red halter and a leadrope on one side as a rein. Me, 19 years old, riding him bareback.
Lions looked out at us from cages, elephants were led by, people were milling around.
It was 1971, my Mom and I moved to Santa Barbara, California. We took a horse trailer up to San Francisco to pick up Commodore. A professional had trailered him across country from Wisconsin.
I hadn't seen him for a year, having been away at college. Commodore had been turned out in a giant pasture in Wisconsin.
The Cow Palace sign announced "PT Barnum and Bailey Circus."
We located the truck driver and Commodore.
I knew right away Commodore hadn't forgotten me.
I slipped the new red halter on him with the leadrope. "Would you give me a leg up please?" I asked the truck driver.
In my mind I said to Commodore, "Comma, I have missed you so much."
The past year melted away.
Commodore was a tall jumping horse, spirited, and I had never ridden him bareback with only a halter and a leadrope on one side.
We instantly connected, tuned in to each other. We took off riding around the circus.
We stopped at the lion cage. All kinds of circus animals were in cages nearby or being led around.
People in the crowd smiled at us, watched, waved, pointed at him. I knew Commodore was trusting me. That was why he wasn't nervous or spooking.
The bystanders probably thought I was a circus girl, one of the bareback riders with her trusty trick horse.
In my mind I said to him, "Oh Comma thank you! You're so good."
Commodore in his red halter, me riding bareback, we watched the PT Barnum and Bailey circus at the Cow Palace.
It was not your everyday experience, but Commodore was not your everyday horse.
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