Ever since I came to live here on the County Island, I feel like a spend a whole lot of time havin to state the obvious. For instance: A horse ain’t a sheep. Ya see what I mean?
It’s bad enough if you’re born bein a sheep, ‘cause then you’re kinda stuck with it. Back in the day, some of the ranch hands would call the sheep “range maggots,” which is a downright loathsome thing to call any critter. But they’re lower down on the totem pole than cattle, so it seems, in what’s called the hierarchy of animals on the ranch. And they are kinda white and maggoty lookin if you give it a thought, and they got a odor that’s even more bothersome to a horse’s nostrils than cow smell. I don’t rightly know how you’d compare ‘em to a goat, though. I try not to think too much about goats. Those are just plain bad business, goats are. Kinda like beagle dogs.
But a horse ain’t a sheep. So then why would a person ever set to contemplate shearin a horse? And why would they shear ‘em right when winter’s comin? So, let’s ponder this notion.
Sheep get sheared in the spring time before the ewes give birth to their lambs, probably so the lambs can nurse without gettin a mouthful of wool all the time, which would surely be disgustin, and before the hot time comes and the sheep would likely sweat to death under all that heavy, maggoty wool. But mares don’t get sheared before foalin season, because a mare ain’t got heavy, maggoty wool—hello! as my buddy Original Coors would add with his California accent. A mare has got a proper horse’s hair coat, which naturally grows thick and fluffs up in the cold time to keep a horse toasty and warm, and naturally sheds out before the hot time to keep us cool. I can’t be the only one in these here parts who knows this, can I? And if a person was goin to be fool enough to shear a horse clean nekkid like a sheep, what would possess ‘em to shear ‘em right now, at the start of the cold time, when a horse actually needs his winter fur?
My other buddy here on the County Island is who I call Coors Light. Now, he may be a lot of things in my opinion, but a sheep ain’t one of ‘em, even though he is mostly a white color like a sheep. And he does kinda follow me around, tryin to make friends all the time and kiss my ass, pardon my French, kinda sheep-like. And when I tell him to do somethin – stand over here, stand over there, quit lookin at me and thinkin whatever you’re thinkin – he’ll mostly do it. Also kinda sheep-like. He even listens to what Original Coors orders him around to do. Definitely sheep-like. But he still ain’t a actual sheep.
But maybe that’s why the lady came and sheared him the other day? On account of all his sheep tendencies, and his color? Do you reckon there’s people, maybe some of them Darwin-bred people that we got around here, that can’t tell a horse from a sheep? I was right worried that they were gonna start shearin me next, and I was kinda hopin they’d shear Original Coors before they got to me and then maybe they’d run outa daylight for shearin and call it a day. But Coors Light was the only one of us that done got sheep-sheared.
Then they done swept all his hair away that fell onto the ground, and left Coors Light standin there stripped of his dignity. Later that night, when the cold fell upon us horses and me and Original Coors was snug and warm with our fluffed-up fur, our gal came out to put a “blanket” on Coors Light, which is like a human-made winter coat for horses like the clothes they put on their own bodies. I wanted to tell her that, for cryin out loud, you wouldn’t need a blanket if you wouldn’t have shorn him in the first place. But I know the people like to make everythin more of a chore than it needs to be, so I didn’t bother.
I likely won’t dwell on this nonsense for much longer. But the lack of logic here just gets my goat. And I don’t like thinkin about goats.