The Saga of the Three Gassy Horses

My husband and I just returned from San Antonio for a little getaway. This is one of my favorite cities on the planet and muy romantico.

I have pics and info on this beautiful place that I will post tomorrow, but I have to get something off my chest, and thus this sad saga.

San Antonio is a great place to get out and walk downtown near the riverwalk. At night, the river that runs through the heart of downtown just a stone's throw from the Alamo comes alive with serene river boats, mariachis, and soft lights high and low all along the river's edge. Couples stroll through the streets and up and down the river, basking in love's sweet aroma.

Around the Alamo, evening has fully arrived when the horse drawn carriages, illuminated with their own creative lights, start clip clopping through the streets with their starry eyed passengers.

Mr. Tejano and I are not touristy enough to do the horse drawn carriages, but we do thoroughly enjoy walking together through the streets of the historic district and the riverwalk.

We had just begun our evening stroll, the fiery sun had settled for the night, and the lovely night lighting ushered in all the perfect elements for romance. It was so refreshing just getting to walk slowly, without a destination in mind, enjoying each other away from the hustle of our regular lives.

The horse drawn carriages circled slowly past us and provided a gorgeous backdrop. A particularly stately bay horse high stepped past us with his white carriage when a most unromantic sound and smell emanated from his powerful behind. Struggling to remain ladylike and not wanting to break the mood, I delicately put my hand in front of my nose and mouth and coughed a little to try to expel the stench. I knew if I looked at Mr. Tejano, all would be lost and we would both crack up. I did not want the focus of our conversation that night to be a farting horse, so we made no mention of it and continued on to near the front of the Alamo.

Standing there, to our great surprise, was a couple we had known well until they moved. We had not seen them in years. In fact, when they left, they had two children, and now they had seven, ranging in age from thirteen down to five months. Obviously they had been busy since we had last seen them, so we caught up on each others' news while the seven kids carried on their own little activities all around us.

The parade of the horse drawn carriages continued. One stopped near us to let out two passengers. I do not know what they feed these horses but perhaps it is something fibrous. At any rate, the mare hitched to the halted carriage let one loose that put to shame the first one of the evening and sounded as if her insides may have shot out of her body. The kids began gasping and gagging and running in frenetic circles as if they had been poisoned. We all worked to maintain our composure and continue our conversation, but we soon parted ways.

Mr. Tejano and I resumed our leisurely walk, taking a path a little farther away from the horses. At this point, a group of Japanese tourists disembarked from a bus and walked behind us. Another horse drawn carriage drew abreast of us, the horse walking at a fast clip. His tail raised, and I braced myself for another one, but I heard nothing. Milliseconds later, though, the odor slammed into my face with such a vigor that I momentarily stopped, eyes wide at the shock. Mr. Tejano could no longer hold it in and guffawed loudly and heartily, now that we were three- time victims of drive by gassings.

The Japanese tourists, however, only saw me, stock-still and mouth agape, with my husband laughing like a hyena, and then smelled the disgusting fumes left by the long gone horse. They put two and two together and came up with seven. They stood for a moment, silent, then pointed at ME and laughed uproariously.

I would not know how to defend myself from such an assumption with English speaking people, but with folks who speak a totally different language, I had no chance. I grabbed Mr. Tejano's arm and pulled him away, the chortles trailing us.

So look, if you are one of the Japanese tourists by chance reading this, it was not me. It was the horse!