Lisa the Bad Beagle

27 Mar

Like I already said once before, if you know me at all by now, you know I’m an honest horse. It is, frankly, too much trouble not to be. So now I got to tell you a little about Lisa the Bad Beagle that we got around here, so’s to introduce her properly. Yeah, that’s her real name, and it’s kinda the beauty of the thing, for reasons maybe some of y’all can figure. Well, it’s true her name is Lisa, and it’s true she’s a beagle. The “Bad” part is what me and my buddies Coors and Coors Light added on cause we thought it was funny, and it fits cause she’s always into somethin, and it’s never somethin good – but it usually is somethin worth repeatin. Mostly as a curiosity, kinda.

She’s what our gal calls a “snoopy beagle,” as compared to the “huntin beagles” we also got around here, which is the floppy-eared, short-legged cattle dogs that the people on the county island use for huntin, even though as far as I can tell, we’re just roundin up dogs, not huntin nothin, cause I ain’t never seen nobody carry a gun.

At least the huntin beagles supposedly got a job to do, although I also ain’t never seen em work, not any of the times we been “ridin to the hounds” as the fancy-pants “boots n breeches” folk call it. A snoopy beagle dog only seems to have the job of bein a troublemaker primarily, mostly by tryin to get herself killed runnin in front of cars. But we horses like Lisa the Bad Beagle, to tell the truth, despite her disabilities. No matter how much trouble she makes, she always keeps us apprised of any goings-on on the county island that we wouldn’t know about otherwise. Like I said before, I ain’t real fluent in dog, but I can make out most of what all her yappin and howlin means cause I lived around her for so long now.

Technically speakin, Lisa the Bad Beagle don’t actually live outside in the road chasin rabbits. She lives in what’s called the “snowman house” by us horses, cause one year they had a “inflatable snowman” livin way up high on their rooftop and crouchin in wait to likely try to fly down and eat us, clear from the rainy, cold time until long past the time of the green grass and into the time of the flies and the heat.

In between chasin cottontails out in the road one day, Lisa the Bad Beagle swung by our corral to get a drink from our water trough, and have a roll in our manure on her way back home to the snowman house. There again is somethin I fail to understand the logic of and what I want to talk about here, but dogs will be dogs, I suppose. Not all animals can be as civilized as us horses, and I try to be tolerant of that. But you got to draw the line, and rollin in my manure is where I draw it. It don’t make sense the way that peein on your hay pile makes sense.

Every smart horse knows peein on your supper is the best way to keep the rest of the herd from stealin your supper, especially greenhorns like the two I got stuck livin with, who don’t comprehend the finer points of what’s called herd dynamics like I do. I still chuckle to recall the first time Original Coors saw me piss on my hay. I ain’t never seen a horse’s nose wrinkle up so much as his did right then. But he didn’t set one hoof towards my hay pile again after that that night, and I got to eat all my hay in peace, I did.

“Dude,” Coors said at the time. “That’s fowl!” Oh, he talks like that a lot – “dude” this, and “like” that, on account of he’s from California where they don’t learn their horses how to talk proper, much less how to work hard for a livin. I think they mostly raise em up by telling em they’re special and coddlin em. And I get the “fowl” part of his terminology on account of how dirty chickens is all the time. There’s another animal that ain’t got no self-respect or sense.

But back to Lisa the Bad Beagle so I can end this thing. I, unlike that snoopy beagle dog, do not roll in horse shit. Pardon my french. As Coors would say of it, that’s pretty fowl right there, dude, I tell you what.


Posted by on March 27, 2010 in Uncategorized


7 responses to “Lisa the Bad Beagle

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