Even though I am thoroughly enjoyin’ my retirement life as a pleasure horse and the easy routine I got here, sometimes I still gotta shake things up a bit.
My horse-buddy Original Coors is kinda known for bein’, well, on the round side. He’s not all that bad as long as you keep him in line, personality-wise, and I know I really shouldn’t make fun since he’s got his no-vicular condition — which makes his feet real sore — to deal with, as well as his unfortunate genetics bein’ an Arabian and a tubby one at that, but damned if he ain’t fun to play with sometimes. He never sees it comin’.
The gal that looks after us usually leaves me loose in the “ridin’ arena” part of our corral while she rides him. Her and Coors just go around me if I’m snoozin’ flat out on my side like I like to do, or if I’m standin’ along the edges, which is called “the rail.” I heard her call me her “palomino traffic cone,” like if I’m sleepin’ in the middle, sometimes she’ll kinda circle around me and use me as her marker or her center point. She knows I ain’t gonna cause any real trouble, even if ridin’ with a loose horse in the arena seems unconventional to most of the people on the county island.
One day, I think this was before Coors got the no-vicular, she was canterin’ him all purty-like in circles, practicin’ her prancin’, and she’d been canterin’ past me a number of times. Each time they went by, Coors’d make a face at me that she couldn’t see, like he’d kinda scrunch his nose up, or stick his tongue out the side of his mouth a little, or roll his eyes at me. So he was askin’ for somethin’.
The next time they circled past, I dodged in from of ‘em for a split second and said real low to Coors, “Git!” I made him twitch. Heh!
Our gal waggled her ridin’ whip at me and said, “Ah-ah! No!” So I moved back off to the side, real casual.
The next time they come around, I cantered right next to ‘em for a couple a strides before the gal knew what I was doin’, then I circled fast in front of ‘em, ignorin’ the gal and her “Ah-ahs.” I cut left, I cut right, then I made real steady eye contact with Coors and told him, “Sorry—I mistook you for a fat brown cow! My bad.”
Coors flung his head up in the air and yelled, “Not cool!” as the gal kicked him on and told him to ignore me, and waggled her whip at me again.
But she was laughin’ pretty hard. She and I got the same sense of humor, I think.