I once had a horse named Cutter Frisco. Well, he wasn't exactly my horse. He actually belonged to my father, but I sure thought of him as mine. I was the one who took care of him, fed him, and washed him. I was the one who rode him most days.
Cutter Frisco was a gold-colored gelding and his father was the legendary championship-cutting horse, Cutter Bill, so it seemed only natural that Cutter Frisco inherited his good genes. Indeed he did, for he had tremendous speed and dazzling agility that many of the other horses lacked. No wonder I became attached to him. That glorious animal made me want to be a real cowboy. I thought we'd be together forever, Cutter Frisco and I. But somewhere along the way, I lost my favorite cutting horse.