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On the Occasion of My 30th Birthday (Big Deal)

30th Birthday 1

I got woke up from a good sun nap in the warm, soft sand after a cold, rainy County Island mornin. The bucket gal was kinda rude about it, too. “Get up, Whiskey! Come on, get up!” she clapped at me, wavin my halter and rope to and fro near my hind end. Only she wasn’t even dressed in her ridin clothes yet, only her fancy, might melt if horse snot touched ‘em not-ridin people-clothes. So I failed to understand the hurry. She wasn’t ready to do nothin useful, nor was I. That’s when it’s good to be a retired mostly retired pet pleasure horse, when ya get to say, hold on, I ain’t ready to move just yet. It’s helps if you’re old and wise in your years, too.

After a moment, I moved. Damn, the cold made my old joints stiff, but I got up and I loped off a few steps to reacquaint my bones with my blood flow. Then I allowed her to halter me since she still seemed set on it.

She led me over to the corral fence rail, where Original Coors and Coors Light had already planted hooves to grow roots, and was bein stuffed full of cookies and carrots by a whole lotta people. There was the carrot guy dispensin the carrots to ‘em all, and some big folks I know cordially, and some little folks too, and a real nice lady who sounded like our own sweet-talkin but evil vet lady, only she didn’t smell evil that day, and her normal rumbly-truck wasn’t parked out back by the barn where it goes when she means to do us some kinda veterinary harm such as poke us and prod us, or knock us out cold.

It was a suspicious amount of folks. And they stuffed us horses with treats at an alarmin rate, which was fine by us but for the suspicious part.

Then the bucket gal said, OK, on the count of three, go… one, two, three…! And even though I stood still and quiet, I wondered if I ought to gather my hocks under me to get outta Dodge quick if they aimed to stampede us?

They began to neigh at us, as far as people can neigh, and then all together came their words in a real loud discordant song-birdy rhythm, when a song-bird ain’t well and sings off-key but is still real happy to be alive and able to sing at all:

Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you,

Happy 30th birthday, dear Whis-keeeeeeeee…

Happy birthday to you!

Birthday? I tried to recall what it was like the day when I met my dam for the first time, but that picture seemed faded. It didn’t feel like that day fell durin the cold time, maybe later in the grass and sunshine when she and I and the herd walked all across the wildflowery hills. Was it my birthday that day? Did it matter if it was my birthday that day? Why was County Island people so obsessed with a horse’s birthday? Maybe it was my birthday. But 30th? I tried to count all the seasons I’d known, but horses don’t care much for countin pointless things. Maybe I counted up 30 seasons, who knew?

That’s when I realized I had somethin set upon my head, other than my halter, ‘cause Original Coors gave me a look. It was one of those people-holiday decorative headgear things we got to wear sometimes on the County Island, such as devil horns and Santa Claus hats. I still don’t know what it was, but it seemed to make everyone real happy. I reckon it was related to my birthday.

There was much pettin of us and scratchin at our itches, when the treat train finally left the station for good, and happy talkin and laughin. Then the bucket gal declared it to be time for somethin called “cake,” which did not sound like it involved horses. I was unhaltered, and hugged tight, which was warm and nice but also unnecessary. Coors Light said “cake” was like the “cupcakes” the bucket gal had tried to feed us one time, on the occasion of her own birthday. A cupcake smells like a sweet, sweet palo verde flower, but tastes – pardon my french – like cowshit. But the bucket gal likes ‘em.

They dispersed to the people-barn for “cake,” I guess, and me, Coors and Coors Light dispersed back to bein horses.

So that’s what it’s like to be a horse who’s 30. It’s no big deal, but ya do get more treats than normal. And it makes the people happy. Like I always say, happy people make for happy horses, so what’s good for all of them is alright by me.

30th Birthday 2

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Posted by on January 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

The Mirage

Have ya ever put your head down to take drink of cool water from a creek and caught the startlin sight of a real handsome horse starin straight back at ya? Unless you’re a special kinda horse, you knew it was you. Or at least ya knew it wasn’t you exactly, but it also wasn’t another bonafide real horse, no matter how much maybe ya arched your neck at it, or tried to nuzzle it, or strike it with your hoof. That’s just creek-water-you. It ain’t like a horse could ever see himself in a flake of hay, or at the bottom of a grain bucket.

So it ain’t normal to meet another you that ain’t you anywhere but down inside some creek water. That’s when I knew I was finally losin my very last shred of horse sense after livin on the County Island for such a long stretch. ‘Cause I was out for a short, peaceful, lazy kinda trail ride when I spied a bonafide tiny mirage of familiarity out there in the desert brush.

Ya see, I saw myself.

Only shrunken down. By a lot.

It was “me,” if I may use my ironical pointed horse ears.

mini me air quotes

And I did indeed point my ears. And so did mini me.

And then I set my ears back a bit. And so did he.

There was no need for neither posturin nor strikin.

That’s when I knew me and mini me was gonna be alright. We’re copacetic, which means I’m cool with him, and he’s cool with me.

dr evil mini me

And he’s real, alright.

He stands about Shetland size, like the ranch boss’ kids’ li’l cowpoke pony back at the ranch. And full of boss pony attitude but in a real friendly and no-nonsense way. I’d be more than content to be a County Island co-boss horse with such an upstandin li’l fella.

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I asked if he was meant to have a job, as he lives with a bunch of full-size reputable Quarter Horses that got part-time cow jobs. Not a real cow job like I used to have. I mean stupid but fun County Island cow games. But he said as far as he knows, his job’s to be the pony pet. I congratulated him on gettin that gig, ‘cause it’s real solid gig to get.

Now me and mini me say our howdys whenever I get rode past his pen. And he tells me how he likes to startle some of the more looky horses in these parts who think he’s me only chopped off at the knees. And we chuckle under our breath together, and that’s that. As long as nobody gets hurt, it’s good to have a li’l fun now and again. It’s one of the best parts of bein a mostly retired pet pleasure horse, or his tiny pony pet compadre, livin the good life on the County Island.

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complete me

 
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Posted by on January 21, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

January 17 Is Do Somethin’ Nice for a Horse Day

…and also January 17th is my own 30th birthday.

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So, listen up and kindly put your ears forward, amigos of the County Island. This here’s important stuff.

Y’all can help me celebrate (much as a horse cares to celebrate made-up people-things) my own 30th birthday by goin’ forth and doin’ somethin’ nice for a horse, on my own birthday.

It can be your own horse or not, don’t really matter. It can even be for a mule or a donkey. Cattle, too, I suppose. Also maybe some dogs. The main point is the doin a nice thing point.

Most nice things come shaped like food or treats, but the nice thing can be whatever you think a horse might enjoy either direct-like or indirect as a nice thing to be done for it.

Then maybe make a picture of the nicety and tell me about it over at my Facebook Ranch, thusly, so we can all celebrate some nice things for horses as a proper herd for my 30th birthday. Or ya can show me right here. Suppose it really don’t matter none.

Y’all can follow this here trail map to my Facebook Ranch.

I’ll look forward to seein’ what y’all come up with.

 

 

 
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Posted by on January 15, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

And Also, Happy Anniversary to Us All

Looks like all y’all done helped earn me what’s called a participation award from the WordPress Ranch.

Which ain’t worth a damn thing, to tell the truth.

But thanks all the same to all my good amigos for stickin with me for eight entire people-years here — some of the most incredible, strange, happy, confusin and downright fun years of my own horse-life.

And that’s all the mush you’re likely to get outta me. Now, git. Ain’t ya got someplace better to be? Like maybe feedin your own good horses?

Also, a horse can’t fly. And what kinda nonsense-word is bloggin? Story-tellin? That I can do.

acheievement anniversay blog photo

 
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Posted by on January 8, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Blanket Statement

Old dogs are entirely incapable of learnin new tricks. Everyone that’s ever met a dog knows it’s true, even if ya think ya got the best and smartest dog there is. Ya don’t.

Old dogs didn’t wear blankets back at the ranch. Nothin did. We all lived naked but for our proper warm and fluffy haircoats, as proper ranch horses and dogs and critters do. And we liked it like that. On the County Island, though, old dogs sometimes do wear blankets, but that’s alright ‘cause they got old bones and they was never tough dogs to begin with, havin been whelped on the County Island. And prancey, sheep-sheared horses on the County Island that ain’t got enough hair often wear blankets. Sometimes trees and flower-bushes wear blankets, too. County Island plants that’s been planted instead of growin where they are is real weak plants that curl up and die if they get frost-bit. The first time I spied a blanketed bush, I nearly dropped to my knees. It might’ve appeared to spook me, but I was laughin so hard I could hardly stay standin up.

Recently, I learned a real strange new trick.

The bucket gal set a heavy saddle blanket upon my back, one cold day. There’s nothin strange about a saddle blanket if ya been sacked out properly. What was strange was when she patted my fine thick fur like maybe there might be a problem she was tryin to prepare me for, which alerted me to wake up and pay attention.

And then she unrolled the saddle blanket, to the front, and then to the back. It covered up my withers and my shoulders, and it wrapped all around my behind and over my tail. It came with a front cinch and a back cinch attached, and she did those up under my belly. It also had like a breastplate part, which was all saddle blanket attached with some buckles.

I let out a li’l nicker despite myself, to let her know the saddle blanket was way too big for me. But nice. And warm, but in a real oversize kind of way. Maybe she ought to fetch me a smaller one that fit.

And then she did not saddle me at all.

She stood back, and looked at me, from this side, and then from that side, and then from my front and my back. She seemed satisfied. She undid my halter and told me I was free to move about the cabin, which is a nonsense thing she says to me, Original Coors and Coors Light all the time.

But I could not move about the cabin, on account of I was wrapped tight in my oversize saddle blanket like a bonafide horse burrito.
She waved her arms and clucked me away, so I took a step. It was funny. I took another funny step. She had the audacity to laugh at my funny steps. And then she haltered me back up and told me she aimed to teach me how to walk in my big saddle blanket. I caught on real quick.

Once I caught sight of my own ground-shadow in the cold evenin air, I realized I’d done been trussed in a blanket! I expected the Coors brothers to laugh, ‘cause that’s what I woulda done, but they both complimented me on my attire. Coors Light claimed I was gonna love how it felt later that night.

And, I did love it. It kept me toasty even when the frost formed on my nostrils. I figured out how to lay down in it, and roll in it, and get back up to kick up my heels in it.

What’s dogged me ever since is wonderin why I didn’t learn to wear one sooner. I have always growed a good haircoat in all my 30 or somethin years. And I was a good and self-sufficient ranch horse as is the way it’s always been.

It ain’t what color blanket ya wear that matters, or whether ya wear a blanket at all, it’s what’s the horse underneath the blanket does. If you’re another horse readin this, though, your blanket still likely makes ya look like a doggone fool. Try not to act the part.

Blanket Statement photo

Bein a horse burrito ain’t nearly as bad as it sounds.

 
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Posted by on January 7, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Feelin’ Chill

Howdy, amigos! I’m busy bein’ a real horse, and also a mostly retired pet horse. It’s all good on the County Island.

I thought I’d take a lil time to tell ya if you’re at a real cold ranch right now, well…

I’m feelin too hot. It’s on account of my haircoat. It’s some real good hair, too. All this sunshine ain’t always easy to deal with.

But ya know what? A couple people-days from now maybe I’ll be too cold, like you are.

The point is, it all works out, kinda like when a horse may be made to balance his hooves on a contraption called a people-made teeter-totter for no reason a horse can perceive.

Sometimes we teeter, and sometimes we totter. So if it’s cold where ya are, don’t worry none. Soon you’ll be too hot, like me.

That’s called balance and it’s a good thing for horses and people alike to learn about. No matter if it seems dumb.

Thanks to all of y’all for balancin here with me on this strange teeter-totter called the County Island. Enjoy your people-year thing. And don’t set off no big boomy things nor sparky crackly things around us. We hate those.

Best horse regards,

Whiskey

 
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Posted by on December 31, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

What in — ?

I ain’t got the words today to tell about this.

What In The Blog Photo

All I got to say is, what in —?

Oh, I’ll likely find some words….

But not today.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2017 in Uncategorized