You know how there are some horses that ain’t quite right in the head? The ones in the pasture that will take a loose strand of barbed-wire fence, wrap it around their hoof on purpose, then yell, “Hey, y’all, watch this?” while they give a good tug on it and pull back? Well, apparently, there’s people like that, too. I see ‘em all the time here on the county island. They do things on purpose that don’t make a lick of sense. This is but one example.
Last night, it rained like a — well, I shouldn’t say what it rained like, but you can guess. It reminded me of the Big One of ’07, when my part of the island became an actual island, surrounded by water. I was told this particular story about the Big One of ’07 by the old stallion that lives across the way. He seen it with his own eyes from his stall in the barn by the road.
It rained so hard and so long that the wash became a raging whitewater river across the road. The water carved out chunks of asphalt from the road bigger than Shetland ponies and carried them miles and miles away into the night. To this day, there’s pieces of that road lodged in the next county over. Telephone poles and entire palo verde trees were swept away by the force of the current. It punched a hole through a cinderblock wall that once stood taller and stronger than a Budweiser Clydesdale. It carried away a half-ton Waste Management-branded garbage dumpster full-up with horse waste.
So, naturally, people in their tin-can automobiles — not even proper ranchin’ trucks — thought they could come across that without gettin’ stuck. But stuck they got, one after the other, spinnin’ their tires and floodin’ their engines, stuck as pigs in the mud. The old stallion across the way was laughin’ his head off at the sight, when he heard the sirens and saw the emergency vehicles arrvin’ and strugglin’ to reach them. Then a blindin’ light came from the sky, piercin’ through the lightning and the rain, searchin’ all along the ground and shinin’ on the cars in the muddy water, along with the enormous roar of the “sheriff’s helicopter,” as I’ve heard it called, come to help.
As soon as the lights came, these guys in a tin-can car that was stuck in front of the house right where I live leapt from their car, and ran straight for my house’s very own Waste Management-branded dumpster. I guess they decided it wasn’t so entirely full-up with what it gets full up with as to be too disgustin’, because — and the old stallion swears this is true, on his dam’s grave — they climbed into the manure dumpster and shut themselves inside of it until all the lights, and the sheriff’s helicopter and the emergency personnel went away. When everyone was gone, they got out, and ran. Oh, I hate to think what physical condition they was in after that ordeal, if you can picture it. Where they ran to, the old stallion didn’t know. But he saw the car get towed away days after the storm had passed.
Now, that ain’t right in the head, no matter what you think you’re runnin’ from.