Maggie fancied herself a seasoned western rider - the kind who could mount with a coffee in one hand and a phone in the other. So when she swung onto Harry, her mischievous gelding, she felt perfectly confident… despite completely forgetting to tighten the girth. Harry, however, noticed. They made it exactly six heroic steps down the trail before physics filed a formal complaint. Without warning, the saddle rolled sideways like it was trying to escape. Maggie, still seated but no longer attached to reality, tipped backward in slow motion. Her boots flailed, her arms windmilled, and her cowboy hat launched into the air. Harry froze mid-air. His ears shot back, eyes wide with the unmistakable expression of a horse thinking - this is not part of my job description. Maggie landed in a dignified heap of dirt and wounded pride. Harry took one cautious step toward her, sniffed her hat, then looked back at the saddle - now hanging underneath his belly like an accessory. “You did that on purpose,” Maggie accused from the ground. Harry snorted. Loudly. A sound suspiciously close to a laugh. Maggie sat up, dusted herself off, retrieved her hat from a nearby bush, and tightened the girth with the intensity of someone who had just been betrayed by both equipment and horse. Harry stood patiently, though his twitching lips suggested he was storing this memory for future entertainment. They continued the ride - slower, wiser, and with Maggie double-checking the saddle every five minutes… while Harry walked like an angel, innocent as ever. Additional Products Used: Grace Lion Hair by Quarker Forest Path, by Andrey Pestryakov