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False Alarm

01 May

Some days, all a horse wants in the whole, wide, western world is a nice, long snooze in the sun. And some days, you can’t even get that.

It started out as one of those mornings. First, the hay cart didn’t get here fast enough. It was one of them “weekends,” which is when our gal gets real lazy and feeds us whenever she damned well pleases, or that’s what it seems like, instead of on time. And the Ayrab brothers were already crabbin at each other more than usual. I wish they could see themselves, because they is a lot more similar than they’d care to admit. And my bucket was empty, too, no matter how many times I tried to turn it upside-down and bang it on the fence rail to see if maybe I could wham some more feed crumbs out of it. So I was already in what you might call a grumpin mood, myself, even before breakfast. I mean, look, I know that I got it pretty good here on the county island, but a ranch horse has got to eat.

I’m also a horse who likes to be left alone, for the most part. I got some simple rules to live by, and I will enforce ‘em if push comes to squeal, but beyond that, I like to live and let live, which is why all the “he looked at me!” bickerin between Coors and Coors Light just gets to me. The range has got plenty of room in it for everyone, even a little range-corral like I got now. So by the time breakfast was finally done and gone that day, I was fed up to the tips of my palomino ears with Coors and Coors Light in particular, and kinda with everything on the county island in general.

I needed a nap.

I strode on out to the center of our sand pit that doubles as the “ridin arena” and tested the direction of the wind. I measured the angle of the sun for its maximum warmth, and stomped around with my hooves to find what’s called the optimal soft spot for a ranch horse to lay himself down for the long haul.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. There. That was it. And I shut my eyes and drifted off for who knows how long.

But not long enough.

Some kinda squawkin, sireny thing somewhere around the vicinity of the house set to screamin. And screamin. And screamin. You get the notion. I tried my best to sleep through it, as warm and comfortable as I was there snoozin flat on my side with my legs stuck straight out in the sun, usin the perfect little pile of sand as a pillow for my head.

After a while of tryin to ignore the squawkin and go back to sleep, I heard a car pull up alongside the corral fence, and it kept on idling there, so now I got to listen to the squawkin and screamin, and the engine, too, so I lifted one eyelid to see what was goin on. It was one of them sheriff’s deputy’s vehicles. I let my eyelid droop back down mostly. We see a lot of deputies on the island, what with all the Darwin people we got here and such. I figured I’d get up when things got interestin, if they did. And I didn’t see Coors or Coors Light around yet, and they’re usually first on the scene if somethin worthwhile is goin down.

So where was I? Nap. I was tryin to nap.

I could see the deputy comin slowly over to the fence, starin at me, like. Then he started yammering at the squawkin contraption (more squawkin!) that he held in his hand, tellin it things that didn’t make no sense at all, about how no, he hadn’t “secured the house” yet, but the “alarm” had been goin off for some time now (why yes, I noticed it had!) and the “alarm company couldn’t reach the homeowners, so they called the sheriff” and how he didn’t know what else was goin on inside, but it looked like he found himself a dead horse at the “scene.”

Dead horse?! Fer pete’s sake. Now I sure as hell was not gettin up.

Soon I heard the rumbly “ponycar” (I ain’t real sure why a car’s called a pony sometimes) that they guy and gal have comin up, then more yammerin between them and the deputy, and then they blessedly all went away. And the squawkin, sireny thing also finally stopped.

Ahhhhh. Sweet nap time, how I’ve missed ya…

…More irritatin human voices. Now my gal was laughin, and climbin through the fence comin at me, waving her arms and cluckin at me, while her guy and deputy leaned on the fence. She didn’t even have the decency to bring me a carrot.

Are you all kiddin me? I thought… Do I really gotta get this tired old body up to prove to some ill-informed, un-horse-educated deputy that I ain’t dead? So I opened both my eyes and I blinked at ‘em, and then I yawned. And then I went back to sleep for real, with a deep sigh. They was all still chucklin somethin about false alarms when I finally did fall back asleep.

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4 Comments

Posted by on May 1, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

4 responses to “False Alarm

  1. zoe

    May 1, 2010 at 5:11 am

    lol, dead horse at the scene! get out the crime tape…

    Is it May 1st on the county island already?

     
  2. Whiskey B.

    May 1, 2010 at 6:54 am

    I ain’t real sure how to fix the date whatsit on this blog. I guess different ranches all over got different “time zones” that they’re in and such, so maybe this here blog thinks we’re in another “time zone.” Maybe that explains why sometimes us horses get fed late, too. Huh.

    I sure wished I coulda asked that deputy, “Son, you ever seen a dead horse breathin?”

     

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