My mom worked for a saddle maker who made a halter, designed for a bull, out of thick leather and heavy D-rings.

Sunny was tied to the back of the F100. Mom sized a shoe against Sunny’s foot. She went back in the shop and beat it to the right shape. I was sitting in the back of the truck.

Sunny reared back against the rope. His eyes rolled into his head. He dragged the truck. The halter broke. He was gone. Mom stood holding the horseshoe in the doorway of the shop. The halter’s stitches broke.