by Dave Knechel

Created on: August 28, 2008

The Ass That Passed Gas

This is a story about Hannah. She's all grown up now, but when she was young, she was pretty much the tomboy. She got a big kick out of passing gas and laughing about it, for example. Saying "poop' was very funny, too. That lasted until boys started to show an interest in her. Oh no, I thought, the trouble is about to begin. When she was around 13, they would sometimes call after dinner, but she made a habit of going outside to pal around with some of her neighborhood girlfriends after we ate to (hopefully) escape having to help wash dishes and to put off homework for as long as she could. Anyway, when one of the boys called, she generally wasn't around and I always answered the phone.

"Hello, is Hannah there?" This was before the poor guy's voice changed, so it was sort of high pitched and a little bit feminine sounding.

"No, she isn't. Is this Stephanie?"

"No."

"Erica?"

"NO!" he'd respond, and I could detect a little bit of frustration, disappointment and anger in his voice.

"Oh. Would you like me to take a message?"

"No," and - CLICK - he'd hang up. Later, I'd tell her some guy called and she'd get all excited.

"Who was it?!"

"I don't know, he didn't leave a name." The next day, the boy would tell her what I did and she'd get mad at me.

"Hannah, you're too young to start thinking about boys." Then, I'd tell her she wouldn't be able to date until she was 30 and she'd have to sit in the back seat when he came to get her because I would be sitting in the passenger seat, right next to him. She knew I was just kidding, but I sensed she really appreciated the fact that I loved her so much.

Fortunately, her interest in boys waned while she went through a horse phase. Life was all about horses. Horses, horses and more horses. I don't know what it is about girls her age and their strange fascination with Equus caballus, but it seemed like every other weekend we had to take her somewhere to ride. Of course, she had to take lessons first and let me tell you, this horse obsession wasn't cheap, either. Thank goodness for grandmothers.

A place we took her to one Saturday morning was a horse ranch in Sanford, a town north of Orlando, Florida. Her mother, Susan, and I had read about it and drove by several times to scope it out. It seemed like a nice place and it was surrounded by woods with scenic trails. When we got there, an employee asked if we could wait a half hour or so while they waited for other girls to show up. Their parents were obviously smart enough

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