Socks loved paint horses. He had a colt that he was prouder of than anything you could imagine. I’m not sure why this colt was so important to him, but everyone that came along would be shown the little paint filly.

Glenn being the expert horseman wanted to handle the colt a little so they went back and got the mother and baby. The mare had a halter and lead rope on so they lead her out in front of the house into the parking lot.

Glenn Lewis was a teenager probably around 13 or 14, so I would have been 8 or 9 years old. We were horseback and had ridden over to checkout the colt. When we got there Big Kenny (Kenny Jackson was Big Kenny and Kenny Lewis was Little Kenny) was the only one at home. He was about 4 years older than Glenn.

Glenn got his lariat rope out and roped the colt. The filly being only a few months old at that time, reared straight up and fell backwards. She just laid there. Blood started to pour out from under her head. She didn’t even twitch. There was a rock, no bigger than a chicken egg had penetrated her skull. It was the most freakish thing you could imagine.

When Glenn could tell that she wasn’t going move, he slipped that rope off of her head, coiled it up, got in the saddle and quickly made an exit, after he and Big Kenny had conferred. Not knowing what else to do I wasn’t far behind.

That left Big Kenny there to face, his Daddy, Socks. The story was, the mare and her baby had gotten loose and he was trying to get them back in the back pasture and the little one fell down.

Glenn and I hadn’t made it far when we met Socks. We continued on back to our house. Glenn soon was out of there and headed on to Marble Falls.

I remember Socks showing up, with tears in his eyes, to talk to Glenn and me (Socks was always tender hearted). He knew that seeing us along the road we had something to do with it. Glenn was long gone. He asked me what had happened. I told him. That wasn’t the story that he had been told.

Big Kenny and Glenn both scolded me for not sticking with the story, but I didn’t even have a story, much less the ability to lie to Socks.