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- Story Listed as: True Life For Kids
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Biography / Autobiography
- Published: 11/09/2011
COWBOY
Born 1986, M, from Obrovac sinjski 186 a, Croatia (Local Name: Hrvatska)COWBOY
Long ago it was, I no longer remember which year. I think I was not going to school when I was with my niece, watching a cowboy movie, whose characters were just kids, maybe just a few years older than me. They behaved just like adults. They wore cowboy clothes and weapons, they went to bars and drank whiskey, and rode a real horse. Even with the best effort I will not be able at this moment to remember the title of the film, but the only thing I know is that I really liked it. It was about a group of young cowboys who had a conflict with another group of older bandits around some kind of explosives. After this film, I became obsessed with cowboy life style and general life in the Wild West. In my fantasies I'm a player in one such film, with my own horse. After that, all my free time I began to carry out dressed as a cowboy. Hats were made of cardboard, cases of some of the old rubber mat, a rifle and pistols were made of wood, or simply bought at the stalls. Since at least the latter had become a reality, I started saving every penny that I could get from the allowance I got from my parent and grandparents. When I came in to temptation, like other kids who go to shop and indulge in such things as ice cream, chocolate or sweets, I managed to resist it. It was not easy, but I knew that I had to be persistent. Wanting to quickly earn, I came up with the idea to start my own business. I found in the basement of my grandfather's an old black and white TV and a radio cassette recorder, which were no longer in operation. I disassembled them and tried to sell their parts to other children in the village, but can not boast that I pulled some sort of special tax. Better to say no.
Soon I learned that a horse actually costs the same as a decent family car, and I was compelled to abandon this plan. Disappointed and angry, I tore all the hats and holsters. I soon realized that this was all unnecessary, however, so I persuaded my father to make new ones.
It was cold the January morning. I think I then went into the third grade. Hoar frost has affected everyone. From the window panes in my house, vrbovih trees along the Cetina and the ground itself. In the courtyard in front of our house, my father had raised a little wooden shack in which he placed the boiler for the production of brandy. People came from all over the village and surrounding dogonili where he spun the grapes that would be followed in making in the electric boiler, and thus created spirits, and his job was going quite well. This morning I got up and dressed up, and I went to the balcony. Then I noticed in an adjacent field a muzzled ass which tinkles on bare ground, then trying to find some sort of herb, and in front of the barracks, on a wooden chair, sat an old man smoking a pipe. I did not know his name. I assumed that the ass belonged to him. It awoke in me the desire to ride thereon as a real cowboy, but I had to summon the courage to ask. What if the old man gets angry and starts shouting? But I somehow gathered courage and approached him. I saw on television how other people and children ride, and I concluded that in general it should not be difficult.
"If you listen to your ass?" I asked quietly.
"What?" The old man looked up from the floor and pointed it towards me.
"Listening to the donkey?" I repeated the question, this time a little louder, but still with a touch of uncertainty in my voice. Seeing me as armed with a wooden rifle and a plastic gun in the belt, with a cardboard hat, he immediately realized what I wanted.
"You definitely want to ride?", he laughed. I nodded affirmatively.
"What do you say now," said the benevolent voice. "Come here."
He stood up and put a pipe on a chair, and he took me to his ass. At that moment I would prefer to be jumping with joy and excitement. He set up the reins and stirrup of rope and helped me to ascend.
He warned me that I just had to hold the reins. Then he was gone. Soon, I felt like a real cowboy. Only, the donkey did not move. It continued to fondle the bare ground looking for some kind of herb, which made me somewhat annoyed. I thought of how to make him move. I dismounted, I was supplied with a ground rod and climbed again, this time alone.
"C'mon, gee horse," I said, as I gave him the bocnio stick in the back. But no, the animal does not move. I looked around to see who is watching me. Refreshed with relief, as there was not a soul around. I resolved that ass would soon provokes a polsušnost and perhaps even the same morning sweep at a gallop though the main village streets near Mary's home. This time I applied the stick to the animal's side, under the tail. The next thing I remember is that I ended up stretched out prone on the ground as much as I was long and wide. The pain I felt was unbearable. I even broke out the air from my lungs with it and, I guess, my dreams of horses, and cowboys. And, Mary, braids tied with pink ribbons, seemed like a distant and so more interesting pursuit. I struggled not to cry, because real cowboys should not be allowed. I barely got up. The donkey was still, as if nothing had happened, sniffing the ground. A nerd! How dare you just act carefree after you threw me, in front of my house, I thought. Climbing up the stairs with great difficulty, I entered the house and lay down on the couch. I lifted my shirt and saw that I was red all around the ribs. And, do you think it any more occurred to me to ride thereon? Of course not!
BIOGRAPHY
My name is Boze Bilobrk, I was born on 8th August, 1986, in Split. Living in Obrovac, a small village by the river Cetina, near Sinj, where I finished elementary school. In Sinj I finished high school commercial. In my spare time I read a lot and write. Behold, I send you one of my short stories and I hope you will like it. If you are interested, I will gladly send you more. My address is: Bože Bilobrk, Obrovac sinjski, Croatia.
BOŽE BILOBRK
COWBOY(Bože Bilobrk)
COWBOY
Long ago it was, I no longer remember which year. I think I was not going to school when I was with my niece, watching a cowboy movie, whose characters were just kids, maybe just a few years older than me. They behaved just like adults. They wore cowboy clothes and weapons, they went to bars and drank whiskey, and rode a real horse. Even with the best effort I will not be able at this moment to remember the title of the film, but the only thing I know is that I really liked it. It was about a group of young cowboys who had a conflict with another group of older bandits around some kind of explosives. After this film, I became obsessed with cowboy life style and general life in the Wild West. In my fantasies I'm a player in one such film, with my own horse. After that, all my free time I began to carry out dressed as a cowboy. Hats were made of cardboard, cases of some of the old rubber mat, a rifle and pistols were made of wood, or simply bought at the stalls. Since at least the latter had become a reality, I started saving every penny that I could get from the allowance I got from my parent and grandparents. When I came in to temptation, like other kids who go to shop and indulge in such things as ice cream, chocolate or sweets, I managed to resist it. It was not easy, but I knew that I had to be persistent. Wanting to quickly earn, I came up with the idea to start my own business. I found in the basement of my grandfather's an old black and white TV and a radio cassette recorder, which were no longer in operation. I disassembled them and tried to sell their parts to other children in the village, but can not boast that I pulled some sort of special tax. Better to say no.
Soon I learned that a horse actually costs the same as a decent family car, and I was compelled to abandon this plan. Disappointed and angry, I tore all the hats and holsters. I soon realized that this was all unnecessary, however, so I persuaded my father to make new ones.
It was cold the January morning. I think I then went into the third grade. Hoar frost has affected everyone. From the window panes in my house, vrbovih trees along the Cetina and the ground itself. In the courtyard in front of our house, my father had raised a little wooden shack in which he placed the boiler for the production of brandy. People came from all over the village and surrounding dogonili where he spun the grapes that would be followed in making in the electric boiler, and thus created spirits, and his job was going quite well. This morning I got up and dressed up, and I went to the balcony. Then I noticed in an adjacent field a muzzled ass which tinkles on bare ground, then trying to find some sort of herb, and in front of the barracks, on a wooden chair, sat an old man smoking a pipe. I did not know his name. I assumed that the ass belonged to him. It awoke in me the desire to ride thereon as a real cowboy, but I had to summon the courage to ask. What if the old man gets angry and starts shouting? But I somehow gathered courage and approached him. I saw on television how other people and children ride, and I concluded that in general it should not be difficult.
"If you listen to your ass?" I asked quietly.
"What?" The old man looked up from the floor and pointed it towards me.
"Listening to the donkey?" I repeated the question, this time a little louder, but still with a touch of uncertainty in my voice. Seeing me as armed with a wooden rifle and a plastic gun in the belt, with a cardboard hat, he immediately realized what I wanted.
"You definitely want to ride?", he laughed. I nodded affirmatively.
"What do you say now," said the benevolent voice. "Come here."
He stood up and put a pipe on a chair, and he took me to his ass. At that moment I would prefer to be jumping with joy and excitement. He set up the reins and stirrup of rope and helped me to ascend.
He warned me that I just had to hold the reins. Then he was gone. Soon, I felt like a real cowboy. Only, the donkey did not move. It continued to fondle the bare ground looking for some kind of herb, which made me somewhat annoyed. I thought of how to make him move. I dismounted, I was supplied with a ground rod and climbed again, this time alone.
"C'mon, gee horse," I said, as I gave him the bocnio stick in the back. But no, the animal does not move. I looked around to see who is watching me. Refreshed with relief, as there was not a soul around. I resolved that ass would soon provokes a polsušnost and perhaps even the same morning sweep at a gallop though the main village streets near Mary's home. This time I applied the stick to the animal's side, under the tail. The next thing I remember is that I ended up stretched out prone on the ground as much as I was long and wide. The pain I felt was unbearable. I even broke out the air from my lungs with it and, I guess, my dreams of horses, and cowboys. And, Mary, braids tied with pink ribbons, seemed like a distant and so more interesting pursuit. I struggled not to cry, because real cowboys should not be allowed. I barely got up. The donkey was still, as if nothing had happened, sniffing the ground. A nerd! How dare you just act carefree after you threw me, in front of my house, I thought. Climbing up the stairs with great difficulty, I entered the house and lay down on the couch. I lifted my shirt and saw that I was red all around the ribs. And, do you think it any more occurred to me to ride thereon? Of course not!
BIOGRAPHY
My name is Boze Bilobrk, I was born on 8th August, 1986, in Split. Living in Obrovac, a small village by the river Cetina, near Sinj, where I finished elementary school. In Sinj I finished high school commercial. In my spare time I read a lot and write. Behold, I send you one of my short stories and I hope you will like it. If you are interested, I will gladly send you more. My address is: Bože Bilobrk, Obrovac sinjski, Croatia.
BOŽE BILOBRK
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