Horse Rider Dismounts and Removes Hat

A man rides up on horseback and I think, "Now here is a fella to photograph."

A rider looks carefree and in command at the same time. A free spirit, he gallops across a strech of open country to check on a cow or release a calf from tangled underbrush. A rider looks heroic and always worthy of a portrait.

Carlos fulfills all of this as he rides up to ask specifics of the rural medical caravan we’re doing in Mexico. The hat is right, the hardset jaw perfect, the piercing look that sees any hint of trouble on the horizon. Not beyond human pain though, Carlos wanted some help with his knees.

Well, I suppose even the Marlboro man gets sore knees.

It was also the turtle in his shirt pocket that intrigued me. "This is pochitoque turtle and it is eaten here," our guide says.

Inside the small rural church, Galo, his wife, Amparo, and I arrange pharmaceuticals on a table. Alejandro distributes pure water and food staples to those affected by the recent flooding. Carlos sits in the back pew and takes off that majestic cowboy hat of his.

It is as if he has stepped down to the level of mere mortals. He`s just not the Frederick Remington portrait I’d seen a short time ago on the road, even if his hair is still jet black at age 57.

It even starts to become somewhat comical . . . mostly because of the turtle. From the pocket of the peach-colored shirt, the poor little lunchbox extends out a leg from time to time. Nonchalantly, Carlos chats with folks sorting through secondhand shoes arranged on the floor. It’s the fine work of Alejandro, a weight room training coach from Mexico City. I am to see later what Alejandro can do for those knees Carlos complained of.

Then while Carlos stands in the church doorway, it happens. I watch -- somewhat horrorstricken – as in our “clinic” something black squirts out of Carlos’ pocket and I hear it plop onto the floor beneath him. I think, “That can’t have just happened. And from the Marlboro man’s shirt!.”

I try to think optimistically and wonder "Do turtles ever vomit?" No, it wasn't that, for the little delicacy was head down in the pocket, with the other end sticking up. I busy myself again, noticing later that Carlos is washing off the pochitoque (and his shirt) at a nearby faucet.

He gets the pills to help his knees, after which Alejandro takes him to a couple of pews at the front of the church. A 45-minute session of physical therapy and Carlos is good to go. He graciously thanks us all and walks out.

Alejandro recounts afterwards, "I`ve done therapy for a lot of people, but never before someone with a turtle in his pocket."

It could have been worse, you know. Worse than a pochitoque turtle in his pocket. If it had been the Marlboro man . . . it would have been cigarettes.