Twitched and Bewitched

09 Feb

The second time me and my horse-buddies, Original Coors and Coors Light, heard a singin huntin pack of li’l people-girls comin down the road straight for us, it was a different pack, which indicates we got more than one pack of ‘em that roams the County Island. Which also means we really got a problem here, potentially. For those who got tiny li’l people-attention spans or who maybe plain don’t know, I told about the first time the pack descended upon us thusly, here.

I ain’t sure whether it’s the weather that brings out the packs of li’l people-girls, such as when we get a lot of sun shinin in the middle of the cold, good time like right now, which’d make ‘em more of a seasonal critter like the honky noisy snowbirds flyin over our heads every mornin on their way to wherever honky noisy snowbirds fly. Or, will they stick around for the hot time, too? This is precisely what bein a mostly retired County Island pet pleasure horse with a lots of time on his hooves has done to me. I think these thoughts a horse has no business thinkin. No wonder so many pleasure horses is spooky.

These two girls was older, likely the age at which people go for more than their first 90 days of trainin? And they had ahold of a silly waggy County Island pet dog on a lead, walkin it for fun on account of dogs don’t work on the County Island, neither.

I was in my second best spot under the tree that grows by the fence and gives the very best cool shade in the middle of the day. The tree and fence is also next to the road. My eyes was shut tight. My lower lip had a good droop to it. I was almost out cold, like I like to be, under a tree.

I heard the happy, squeaky, bouncy voices comin, along with some over-excited pantin and whinin that meant the dog was likely one of them that ain’t never seen a horse before and thinks maybe we’re a big dog that wants to play with ‘em. Like we need more of those.

“Oooooh, he’s so pretty!” one of ‘em exclaimed in a giggle-voice that sounded damned close to my sensitive horse-ears. “Oh, come here, horsey. You’re so pretty!” I cracked an eye open. A second girl-voice cooed some. The dog whined a lot.

It was practically under my own nose. How’d I let it, and by it I mean her, get so close to me? And it was reaching an arm as far as it could through the fence rails to try and touch my nose! I don’t care for havin my nose stroked and petted and squeezed and kissed upon by people.

But I let her pet me. I blame it on my state of near sleep. And also she demonstrated good taste in horseflesh sayin I was pretty. I took one step backwards when the second one leaned in to pet me, though, so she couldn’t quite reach. A good horse sets good boundaries sometimes. It’s important to train the li’l people proper.

Then here came Coors and Coors Light toward the fence. Yeah, they think they’re pretty, too. More li’l hands through the fence, stroking Ayrab horse noses like they was the most velvety soft noses any horse ever had. Mine’s likely softer, with better whiskers and also a fine palomino mustache. But they liked the Coorses’ noses, and the Coorses liked the attention, squabbling over whose nose could stick toward the girls the farthest, and whose neck could arch prettier, whose ears could prick up more perky-like, and who could beg for treats better. There was no treats, however, which might have swayed me to let the second li’l one pet me. Maybe.

“They’re so pretty! I wonder what their names are? We should make up names for them! This one’s the softest! No, this one’s the softest! I wish the yellow one would come over!” they rattled off in one long excited chain of singy-songy words. The dog was getting antsy and started pullin ‘em back down the road. And then they was gone.

They wasn’t gone gone, though. Where they went was just around the first bend past our corral, straight up to the main people-barn door. I had a feelin this might be good, so I ambled over to my other favorite shady afternoon spot under the other tree closest to the people-barn where the bucket gal and her carrot guy are stalled.

The two girls and the dog stood before the door. One girl pushed the round thing by the door and waited. It makes a sound inside the people-barn that our horse ears can pick up. Then she pushed the thing again. And again. And the dog fidgeted so the other girl told him sit.

I heard the carrot guy say a surprised howdy to ‘em, then real fast he turned ‘em over to the bucket gal. Oh, this ought to be good. I stepped closer to the fence.

“Hi,” said the one who’d made first contact with me. “We just wanted to tell you we think your horses are very pretty and we love them.”

“Thank you! We think they’re very pretty and we love them, too,” said the bucket gal. “Your dog is very pretty, too.”

“Thank you, “ said the first one kinda shy-like like a bold filly that suddenly realizes she’s ventured a bit too far from her dam’s side. She turned with the dog to go and motioned for the second girl to git along, too.

The second li’l people-girl turned back to ask, “What are their names? Especially the yellow one. We love him.”

And the bucket gal told ‘em our names. “Those are beautiful names!” exclaimed the second li’l girl. And my old, crusty, workmanlike, solid, grounded ranch horse heart made like it might melt on me right there, under a tree. Me and Coors and Coors Light got beautiful names. I got a beautiful name. I’m a beautiful horse. Especially me.

After the door shut, I think I heard the bucket gal and her carrot guy snickerin but I was too busy listenin to my own thoughts to listen further to them. And then my butt got a real itch to it, so I backed it up to the tree and set to scratchin in a serious manner like maybe I could also scratch all them damned foolish thoughts out of my head.

I’m a real good horse with the small buckaroos. I like it when I get to give ‘em pony rides ‘n all. I take real good care of ‘em in the saddle and on the ground. But in a business-like manner befittin a good ranch horse. Not like Coors and Coors Light. But I let these li’l girls pet me. I liked bein their favorite, like bein called a favorite even matters when what does matter is doin your job and keepin your nose down and not thinkin ridiculous thoughts. Can li’l people-girls hold a strong and mighty power over a horse, like he suddenly been twitched? ‘Cause I think they twitched me and bewitched me.

I got pet by a girl, and I liked it.

I got pet by a girl, and I liked it. Don’t tell nobody.


Posted by on February 9, 2015 in Uncategorized


2 responses to “Twitched and Bewitched

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