CHANGE. The Marsh Tacky back in the 70s was the cheapest horse you could buy in the Lowcountry. People would even give you one. My, how things have changed...
CHANGE. The Marsh Tacky has gone from being a common horse of the Lowcountry that locals gave little thought to our State Heritage Horse. There is now a breed registry and Marsh Tackies are being owned by folks in at least five states. My, how things have changed...
CHANGE. Some men go through a crisis as they "change" as they get older. The economy has caused a change to me personally, physically and financially. I feel blessed and humbled that the good Lord has sent a buffer during my change in life, my beloved Marsh Tackies.
If not for the support of my family and the many letters, emails, phone calls and yes, even the painful but necessary sale of some of my horses, I have endured this change.
I have shared with my Team Marsh Tacky family that I pray often that I would always be up to the task of representing this wonderful breed of horse with integrity and passion.
So here's to every single Marsh Tacky in our great breed and to each person that has crossed my path, may we together see that "change" will always be beneficial to preserving the great legacy this horse has brought into our lives.
By David Grant
As I have grown older, I have learned that change is inevidable if you live long enough, whether you are a person that makes changes or let changes make you. Change will come, change can be good or bad, some have control over it, some do not.
Our beloved Marsh Tacky horses had no control over the changes in their world. Some would say that they were victims, but I say they were survivors. The way they have survived is one of the best equine stories ever told.
If you have followed the history of horses in America, you should have determined that horses were brought here for human use, to serve a purpose and when that purpose "changed" so did the type, the quantity and geographical location of the horse.
When I first became involved with Marsh Tackies years ago, I was curious and I have to admit, doutful in their lineage. How could they have remained pure for hundreds of years?
And what was a Colonial Spanish Horse anyway? I began to research all the information that I could find to follow the story of the "first" horses in America. No one has ever questioned the fact that the Spanish brought the first horses to America. But... as I read about how the Spanish began their conquests and settlements, enduring great hardships, I was amazed at exactly how they were able to increase in numbers. You can be sure that it was due to the survival of the fittest. If you read the stories of the first Spanish conquests for exploration, you will read with amazement the human and equine feats of stamina and resolve. After reading more and more about the first horses in America, it started to come to me that the Marsh Tackies were descendents of the same horses of the conquest. It was then that I was totally sold on doing my part to see that change would not eliminate this wonderful breed of horse in modern America.
For the next hour you would have thought we were filming one of those spaghetti westerns from long ago. The crowd posed in every imaginable position known to man with those darn guns. Man they were really getting into it. Humans!!! After it was all said and done it was pretty fun seeing those guys act like kids again. All we could hear is, "Hey shoot this, shot that, try this!"
We overheard the PDC say, take the saddles off! We thought we were getting a break. Wrong! Driftwood shots! I heard the PDC tell Wylie to bring DP (me) over here. Well, let me tell you my ears were forward walking over to a pile of driftwood that was arranged in weird formations from centuries of being washed and pushed from the tide.
After about 10 minutes, that crowd finally got it into their head that none of my crowd was into leaping into and through driftwood just so they could get some "timeless" photos.
Wouldn't you just know it. Postel! Darn that wild cousin of mine! YEEHAW was all I heard as he went flying by singing "The Wind Beneath My Wings" or something like that. I mumbled, "I'm going to hide that brandy bottle tonight."
© 2013 Equestrian Images
YEEHAW! Yep, only one person I know can say that out loud that early in the morning, the PDC. I snapped out of the dream in an instant. What in the devil is he up to? I went from an illusion to confusion in an instant! Such is life with Team Marsh Tacky...
First up he was trying to get all of us Tackies lined up for single photos then group photos. I admit I purposely would not tilt my ears forward to give them a good picture. Just call it equi-vengeance, or for you folks who can't decipher our horsey lingo, that means we were being uncooperative on purpose. They finally got me to tilt my ears when that dang PDC cracked his whip. I smiled, nickered and tilted my ears forward all in one motion. Gee, some cowboys are just plain testy!
Next up they pulled out guns. Yes, that's what I said: guns. Gee, PDC, I did not mean to be hard to deal with. Put that gun away.
He just smiled, hopped up on Simpson and took off like the mad man he is. I looked over at my son Southern Gambler and was getting ready to say something smart when I heard the most God awful scream I ever heard. Then leaping over some driftwood with guns a waving and the whip a cracking was that crazed boss of mine, the PDC.
Folks, we showed that crowd a new dance called the "Marsh Tacky Shuffle" as we scooted nimbly off the barge onto tarps and blankets placed like the red carpet of Hollywood over the sharp oyster shells covering the marshy shores of the island so that we didn't cut our feet. At least the PDC thought of that!
Our accommodations were actually pretty neat once Team Marsh Tacky pulled all the weird weeds out of the paddocks. I've seen some pretty nasty briar beds in the swamps of the Pee Dee, but we ain't never seen a weed with that many "stickers" on it. I overheard my cousin, Sweet Home Alabama, nicker, "I bet this island crowd smokes that weed. It really 'sticks' in their minds!"
I just sighed. It was going to be a long three days with this crowd.
And then there was the parrot. Yes, I said a parrot! Just like in the Jimmy Buffet songs, a parrot! He was in a cage right next to us. Cool, I thought. Let me tell you, I can still hear him squawking, "You're tacky! You're tacky!" If I heard it one more time I was going to wring his neck. AAH! But vengeance is mine, saith us Tackies! Just look closely at the Pee Dee Cowboy's hat. Check out the feather in his hat. I rest my case! I just love that guy, the old PDC.
Folks, there was not a dull moment. First day we were up before the chickens. Yes, they had chickens right next to the dang parrot! They had us tacked up and on the way to the southern most part of the island, Bloody Point, way before any rooster thought about crowing. When we rode across a very high dollar golf course in the middle of the night, I felt like I was back in high school when me and the boys would slip out in the middle of the night to see all the fillies down at the neighbor's barn.
Whoa! Folks, ain't enough words to share my thoughts when we rode over those sand dunes at the sight we saw. Freaking awesome. The sun was just starting to peak through the clouds; the wind was howling; the waves were crashing on shore. Folks, I lost it! I almost fell to my knees. Was I seeing things, too much "brandy" in my oats last night? I saw "HIM" heard "HIM." I thought I glimpsed the sails of a ship. El Caballo Grande, is that you?!
Them bam, we hit land! Geez, talking about a rude awakening! I went from an enchanting dream to the stark reality of being on a barge fast approaching shore and with no landing deck in site. I glanced over at Southern Spirit, my easiest going son and asked, "Wonder how they plan to get us off this thing."
He just snorted and went to the back of the line.
The captain dropped the gate of that old barge, and all we could see was MARSH! I overheard Postel mumble something about, "Hay DP, didn't you hear the part of the story the PDC was telling about how they got our ancestors off the ships back in the day? They just pushed them overboard in very deep and shark infested waters!"
Hay Folks! All good things must come to an end, so here is the final installment of the Daufuskie Island adventure. I sure hope you enjoyed the last one which was written by Marsh Tacky stallion "DP." Geez! If he asked me once, he asked me a thousand times how our readers liked his first story. He even replaced on his stall front the time-tattered copy of Walter Farley's epic novel, "The Black Stallion," with the newspaper clipping of his island adventure! Oh yes! He made me laminate him and the boys a copy. Our barn looks like a political stump meeting with all the posters nailed to the barn doors. So sit back and pour yourself a cup of hot java and let's stroll over to Daufuskie Island for DP's recap of three hard working days on the island.
As you recall, none of us Tackies were too enthused about getting on that menacing looking green thing called a barge. Like I said last month, old cut Postel just jumped right on it. Of course, me and the boys knew he has a hay problem and when he saw that bale of coastal Bermuda all laid out and waiting, he - well heck - you know what happened from the pictures...
We were all loaded up as snug as could be, and Team Marsh Tacky headed out for what we do well: Seeking adventures anywhere there is a "where" to go!
Man, the trip over was so nostalgic. I have heard the Pee Dee Cowboy tell our story a million times, but hay folks, this time you could sense the passion, the sense of urgency. The stories I have heard so many times had such a sense of... well heck for the lack of better words... realness. As the waves tapped against the sides of that barge and the old PDC was getting fired up in his story telling, I could feel myself slipping into a time long ago.
A time when my great-great-grandsire, the original El Caballo Grande was on a battered Spanish vessel. His long magnificent mane and tail flowing in the stiff breeze as the ship sailed into an uncharted, enchanted harbor. I was totally into my dream. I could vividly see Grande and his mares tethered to the deck of that ship almost starved to death from the long voyage. I could see and hear his life-giving, piercing neighing proclaiming land was in sight. Giving instant hope to all aboard!
By David Grant
More Island Adventures - Straight from the Horse's Mouth
If you are wondering why an extreme shoot on Daufuskie Island, well the thought came from needing a cover shot for my lifelong dream to write a children's book about how my beloved Marsh Tackies got to our great state. OK, so you folks out there who know me are laughing again. Well, I am going to quote a lyric from a great song by Toby Keith: "Look at me now I am singing in your radio!" So one day you just may see my book "On a Ship Far Away" on the New York Times bestseller list. Now that would make all my old teachers roll over and snicker. One of my teacher's last comment to me was, "David, you have a great personality and vivid imagination, but I don't think you will even get out of high school." I didn't. My time limit expired!
The extreme shoot for Daufuskie was a long time in developing with many a hurdle to clear. Organization and planning ain't one of my cowboy attributes. So much had to be worked out. First and foremost, how the heck to get six horses over to an island with no bridge connecting it to the main land. I had thought about swimming the horses over on low tide from Hilton Head across Calibogue Sound. I scrapped that idea after I was told it was a mile across and sharks lurked in those waters in the fall. Now that would be a tall tale, I can see it now! PEE DEE COWBOY LAST SEEN IN MOUTH OF JAWS.
Nope, we opted to something "tamer," or so we thought, a barge ride! We were thinking we would back our truck and trailer onto the barge like we did for the Marsh Tacky Beach Races that had been held on Daufuskie in March of 2013. WRONG! We loaded the horses right onto that barge with nothing but a hay bale to entice them to stay aboard and not jump over the side and go for a swim! As usual our Tackies handled it just fine. We humans were the stressed out ones. Folks, that barge ride over was one of the most exhilarating hour of my life. I just can't do justice to the thoughts flying through my mind as we rode in that barge holding onto my precious Marsh Tackies and dreaming of times 500 years ago when they actually swam to get over to this enchanted island. Once we got there we just dropped the landing gear and our Tackies walked right out of the barge like they were going home. And they were!
Time and word constraints won't allow me to share everything that happened during our three-day adventure on Daufuskie, so I hope you enjoy the slide show below... For more photos from this trip, please click on this LINK.
Hay folks, got a great adventure for you this morning. Team Marsh Tacky loaded up our remuda of Marsh Tackies and headed down to Bluffton, S.C. We were not chasing old boar hogs or ripping deer. Nope, we were double dipping!
The Pee Dee Cowboy keeps reinventing himself! SNICKER. No, seriously folks, quite by accident I have discovered under all this redneck Riviera persona of mine that I really love directing photo shoots. If you are laughing, go ahead and join the club. The line is long and growing.
This old cowboy can clean up a bit, and contrary to popular opinion can be quite articulate at times - especially when my lovely bride is around! Word was last month that the old PDC was seen shagging at Circle Fountain. And yes, I had on cowboy boots. So much for tradition! Some amazed old time shaggers were standing on the sidelines wondering where in the world those moves came from. Shagging ain't much different from two-stepping, kind of like dodging cow piles in the pasture when a bull is after you. You just move!
I wandered off the trail here, partners. Back to the double dipping jargon. The PDC has a television show called "Horse Tales" aside from this website. From needing material to produce both of these products, the term "extreme photo shoot" was conceived. To date we have done four shoots. Folks those four shoots are stories in themselves. From the secret sand dunes of South Carolina to the banks of the Great Pee Dee River and now on the shores of one of our most intriguing coastal islands... Folks, we have traveled this old state to bring you some world-class photos and stories. Our bucket list has many more on it!
By David Grant
Off to Daufuskie - In the Pee Dee Cowboy's own Words
Stay tuned for more stories, as we share with you what it was like spending three enchanting days on Daufuskie Island with Team Marsh Tacky.
So it was the night before the big trip and throughout the farm all was quiet as a Christmas mouse until about 3 a.m. We heard the bamming and slamming of horse trailers coming down the dirt road. We quickly made plans for our get-away! Horse Crap! The PDC had shut the gates going out into the big pasture. Darn, does the man not trust us?
First to arrive was Leighton and Wylie Bell with Sweet Home Alabama, a distant cousin on my sire's side. They had so much stuff packed into their two horse trailer that Bama could hardly move, but he was comfortable in his little red trailer. Good thing he wasn't going anywhere for a while.
Next was Ashley 'Wrangler' Jones with my trouble making and VERY distant cousin Postel. We still had not figured it all out yet. Why were we leaving so early? We did not have the Pee Dee Game dogs so we weren't going hunting. What's up?
To add to the mystery we saw water skies being packed up with guns, flags, whips, a lot of hay and grain. Were we on a top secret CIA mission? Man, that would be cool. I heard my great-grand sire used to ride the beaches of Hilton Head looking for Japanese patrol boats. We figured it could not be any tougher than galloping a break-neck speed through the swamps after a wild boar or deer, so we all hopped right into the war wagon ready to do battle, or whatever the heck that adventure seeking Pee Dee Cowboy had brewing. Simpson, my oldest son and quite the thrill seeker himself snorted, "Hay guys! You got to love that old PDC, he keeps us on our hooves!"
Southern Spirit and Southern Gambler, two of my other sons and more laid back, just snorted and said, "Careful what you wish for, big brother."
Three hours later we arrived at a boat landing. We all snorted at Simpson, "OK big boy, what do you think is going to happen here?"
It took our cowboys a good hour to unpack their gear. They let us out to snip a little grass here and there around the landing. We sure got a lot of stares by the local folks! We were just starting to relax when we heard a distant rumbling of some type of boat - or something. That something was menacing looking; a green barge with what looked like jaws on the front of it. It floated up to the landing and dropped those jaws, and the PDC said, "Let's go!"
Go? Go where? Not us, big boy, not on that THING! Don't even try tempting us with hay or treats. Wouldn't you know it, that trouble making cousin Postel was already on the darn barge! He nickered, "Come on boys, the water is just right." Yeah right we thought! There he goes getting us in trouble like always. Never thinking; just doing.
Me and gang knew something was up several weeks before leaving for Daufuskie Island when the PDC came down to the barn and hooked up to the war wagon. The war wagon is the PDC's hunting trailer named after one of his favorite John Wayne movies, "War Wagon." We were getting ready for our normal ritual when he is going hunting - running like wildfire to the other end of the pasture pooting and scooting just to annoy him! Snicker... oops I meant, nicker. This time, however, he just got the war wagon and left. "What's up?" we wondered. What's up was a ROAD TRIP, including a boat/barge ride! Geez, does the man ever quit thinking up things for us to do? Well, I reckon when you are the State Heritage Horse, you must fight the good fight. It is never boring around our barn thanks to the PDC's never ending quest to stave off his monthly adrenaline fix.
We all figured out pretty quickly that this was no ordinary adventure. Too much planning was going on. We didn't even hunt for a while! Even the Pee Dee Game dogs were scratching their heads, trying to figure out what was going on. Last time we saw this much activity, we ended up in Arkansas! And man that was a trip to tell the grand-colts and grand-fillies.
Hay "Neigh" - bors! El Cabblo Grande coming to you this morning. Most of you know me by my barn name "DP." I am the Pee Dee Cowboy's 8-year-old grulla Marsh Tacky stallion. I am the reason he is the Pee Dee Cowboy.
So why am I writing to you this morning? Well me and the boys in the pasture got together and told the old Pee Dee Cowboy we thought folks might want a different perspective to some of his yarns. Perhaps we get the stories straight from the "horse's mouth!" So here we go, folks. Trot along with me and all my colts and cousins and we will share with you what it was like going back to Daufuskie Island. The last time we were there for the Marsh Tacky beach races, my oldest daughter, Southern Breeze, stole the show when her saddle clinch came loose and her rider, Wylie Bell, took a pretty bad tumble. We have included a great picture of the PDC trying to slow Breezy down. Folks you will come to the same conclusion we did: What was the Pee Dee Cowboy thinking when he was running down the beach and Breezy almost ran him over! Man that was the talk of the corral for months! We will sum it up by quoting my son, Southern Gambler, "Boys, we all know the PDC ain't the smartest cowboy in the west, but he sure loves us so we need to be thankful."
By David Grant
Off to Daufuskie - In the Pee Dee Cowboy's Noble Steed's own Words
From time to time, we like to put our stories in writing, so we created this blog. We invite you to read about some of the riding and traveling adventures of Team Marsh Tacky.
Hay folks, here it is, the un-abridged Pee Dee Cowboy dictionary for city folks. I must warn you that reading some of these acclamations of musings and jargon may cause excessive constrictions to the face and may even cause a smile to wander across your lips. With all the negative press we encounter each day, it is my goal that when you read one of my yarns that you: smile, laugh out loud, and even better, briefly forget the problems you encounter today.
1. TMT: Abbreviation for Team Marsh Tacky: Which includes all the people that have hunted with me and my Pee Dee Game dogs and oh yes, my beloved Marsh Tackies.
2. Swamp Cowboy: It is what I am. I poke fun at myself about being a wanna-be Cowboy. But... put me on the back of a Marsh Tacky with my Pee Dee Game dogs and in the middle of the Great Pee Dee River basin, riding at breakneck speed after a wild boar or white-tail deer! Then I am the real deal. If you don't believe, just ask me. Or better yet, ask someone that has ridden with the old PDC.
3. Marsh Tacky: Our State Horse of Spanish descent. One of the many treasures that our palmetto state has to offer.
4. Slough: Webster says it's a place of soft deep mud, then deep hopeless rejection. Snicker! Never thought of that definition. I reckon that how some folks feel when, after getting their horse stuck in "soft deep mud" have the second definition come over them when they see TMT ride on and not look back.
5. Cut-down: Man I hate that word, wasn't even going to describe it, but it has a place in this dictionary. Once again, I checked out old webby for this one. Geez, there were a ton of definitions, 14 or more. Well, here is the PDC version: A parcel of land that had the timber removed and then grew up so thick, well I will quote Troy Byrd of Roblyn's neck fame. "A place so thick that even a humming bird cannot penetrate it." BUT! Team Marsh Tacky can!
6. Grit: One of my favorite words in the world. #3 on Webster says "stubborn courage." Yep, that about sums it up. Folks it takes a good horse, dog or man to ride with TMT and they got to have grit. Here are my versions... A. Tough stubborn courage. B. Staying power, endurance, fight to the end. C. Add A and B and you get a tough, stubborn dog, horse, or man that will fight to the end in whatever they are engaged in.
7. A spiritual definition of grit:
You won't see that in the old Webster only in your heart!
8. Savvy: Shrewdness or understanding the educated definition of the word. PDC definition: Just plain smarts when it comes to knowing what to do in most any situation. I will add at times I demonstrate a lot of Savvy, then again when the adrenaline kicks in, and I run in on a bad old boar hog alone... Well, let's just say, I am as good once as I ever was.
9. Green: Inexperienced or naive. I like this definition that Webster states. So I will say that the last time I got on a "green" horse... Well, let's quote Paul Harvey! And the rest of the story... that horse broke my leg!
10. Keep your reins low and your hands quiet. This is the closing I use on my TV show "Horse Tales." It was taught to me by master horseman Billy Pritchard. It means just what it says. When riding, hold your hands down low and don't be jerking them around. The quieter you are, the more relaxed your horse will be.
11. Riding point: In the old days of cattle drives, you always had your best cowboy and horse out front to handle any major problem before it affected the heard and caused chaos. Well, the old PDC usually rides point on our hog hunts. This usually means I beat down the briars and get cut up or attempt to cross a slough and get bogged down. Folks, it is a thankless job. Many have tried and determined that is was pointless! Pun intended!
12. Pee Dee Game Dog: I get asked often what type of dogs I hunt hogs with. With my best Will Rogers smirk, I say, "hog dogs." Well, my special breed of dog is kind of like our state food the chicken bog. A good one has a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and some more of 'that' thrown in to make it stick. Seriously folks, my game dogs have a little bit of everything in their lineage. Simple. A hog dog is a dog that will track, run and bay, then with help catch a hog. So there you go!
13. Remuda: A string of horses a cowboy uses to get his work done. Usually a haz-pod of different breeds of horses. The old PDC is blessed with a darn nice string of Marsh Tackies. Some Good-uns!
14. Speaking of Good-un: Let's catch two sayings with one throw. Cat-daddy! A good-un and cat-daddy are synonyms in the PDC dictionary. It translates into an old hog or buck being the best there is. Top of his game, the biggest, baddest out there. Bull of the woods if you may. I am not defining bull of the woods; even a city slicker knows that one.
15. Shutdown: No folks, ain't got nothing to do with the situation our country is in right now. It is what happens when the Pee Dee Game dogs run down a really bad old boar 'a cat-daddy' if you may, and subdue him with tremendous effort and flair. Maybe we need to send TMT to Washington. Now there you go, that is a novel thought.
Until next time, keep your mind clear and your heart pure, and may God bless this great country of ours.
When David showed up the next morning, he handed Leighton a lead rope, which Leighton took to mean, "Go get Bama." But before he could walk away, David grabbed him in a man-hug and said, "Leighton, I'm a cowboy, not a horse thief."
As David handed over Bama's registration papers, Leighton wiped away a tear that might have been caused by the brisk morning air and said, "You know, David, my heroes have always been cowboys." Check out the video clip below, when Leighton was a guest on "Horse Tales" and shared this very special horse tale with the viewers.
Yes Leighton, there is a Santa Claus
Carolina Marsh Tacky Outdoors
I was about to give up looking for the "perfect" horse for Leighton and start researching the "perfect" saddle for him - one with a seatbelt, when Bama got delivered to us as an unbroken horse.
Bama arrived at our house tucked away in a horse trailer with a hay bale and a promise that he was "gentle." The hay bale made me suspicious, as if we'd just lost a contest, and this was our consolation prize.
The hay, however, was a testament to the fact that this horse could eat. And like Leighton Bell, Bama's not going to miss a meal - even when he's on the road.
Maybe it's the mutual blond factor these two share, but Bama and Leighton have the same easy-going, that-don't-concern-me attitude. Bama defies the adage horses are afraid of two things: objects that move and objects that don't. Bama is afraid only of one thing: objects that don't contain food.
Leighton is also only afraid of one thing: objects that contain vegetables. (Minus his garden.) Promises about horses rarely come true, but Bama has proven to be gentle. However, he is far from gentle when it comes to other horses. Whenever Bama meets a new horse, he skips the pleasantries and goes right for the throat. There's no sniffing noses or playful romping. Bama flattens his ears and bares his teeth in a not-so-subtle warning that he's the Pasture Master. This alone has made Bama a hero to Leighton. "Don't you see; he's the Ric Flair of the horse world. The bad guy that everyone loves to hate," Leighton said. "If only he could Wooo!" But just as Leighton was figuring out a way to strap a saddle to Bama with a WWE championship belt instead of a girth, I had to tell him that his "Nature Boy" had been sold. See, Bama was given to us on loan as a horse for me to start under saddle. His owner, David Grant, local breeder of Marsh Tackies, told me a few days before Christmas that he had a buyer for Bama.
"Can I make you a counter offer? Leighton will be heartbroken to see this horse," I said. That's when David and I hatched our plan to take Leighton for the ride of his life. With only about a 12-hour notice that his horse would be leaving in the morning, Leighton spent a long sleepless night trying to find a way to stop this transaction. When his ranting on injustice and unfairness became more annoying than amusing, I suggested he write a letter to his Congressman. "Better yet, do what every other child is doing right now. Write a letter to Santa Claus and tell him you want a pony for Christmas," I said. "Bama is not just a pony," Leighton replied. "He's a trailer-ridin', hooves-flyin', oat-stealin', rearin' and sneerin' son of a gun. Woooo!"
By Wylie Bell - December 2010
Pee Dee Cowboy Dictionary for City Folks
I don't think Leighton Bell ever expected to be asking Santa Claus for a pony for Christmas, but this year, as he neared his 32nd birthday, he was dialing the North Pole hotline when he thought his horse was about to be sold from under him.
Since last spring, Leighton has been riding a 5-year-old Marsh Tacky gelding named Sweet Home Alabama, or just "Bama" who is the color of a butterstick. Unlike the last three, four, five (or has it been six?) horses Leighton has tried to pard'ner up with, he and Bama have bonded well.
When I say bonded, I mean Bama is the one horse that hasn't bucked Leighton off.
First there was Apache, who wasn't very agreeable with anyone on his back, let alone Leighton. Then came Charlie, who must have had a personal vendetta against Leighton for as many times as he dumped the Buford boy on his golden mullet. Next we put Leighton on a little filly (thinking he might do better with the ladies), but she not only threw him off, she showed him her manuremaking end as she took off for home.
And then there was Chuck. Good ol' Chuck was supposed to be Leighton's "racehorse" during the Marsh Tacky Beach Race in Hilton Head last year, but Chuck wanted no part of racing - nor Leighton Bell. He gave Leighton the ultimate 8-second ride by tossing him on the sandy shores of Coligny Beach in front of thousands of people who thought Leighton was part of the halftime show.
By David Grant