Alfalfa Brain

29 Jul

There are some horses, and more people, who think a thing can change its ways or appearance when everyhorse and every person knows it can’t and it won’t. Which is not to say horses, and some people, ain’t trainable, ‘cause from my own horse-observations, we all are, and some of them are, too. But a thing is whatever thing it was born to be, and that’s how it’ll thusly always be. So for instance if a person on the County Island sees a snake, and thusly knows it’s snake, it don’t matter how purty the snake is, nor how convinced a person is it can train up a snake to be somethin else, or hope that maybe it won’t bite him, or maybe take it home to make it be a pet like a pet dog or a pet barn-cat — yeah, I know that’s ridiculous, the notion of a pet snake, and it ain’t my finest example, but kindly come along with me on this trail — a snake is always gonna do what snakes do.

This is a verifiable example of what’s called havin an alfalfa brain — when some horses chow down on a whole lot of alfalfa hay, self certainly not included, they start seein their surroundins for what they ain’t instead of what they is. Instead of a boulder-rock, they see a hunched-over horse-eatin monster. Instead of a bird in the brush, they see a horse-eatin monster. Instead of a person joggin down the road pushin what’s called a baby stroller, which is like a tiny li’l horse trailer for human foals, they see a horse-eatin monster. Pretty much everythin’s a horse-eatin monster.

People get real bad cases of the alfalfa brain sometimes, too, as regards horse behavior and as regards, from what I can observe as a horse, their own peculiar herd behavior. It likely ain’t literal, on account of I ain’t never considered if people eat alfalfa hay or not. And they don’t see no people-eatin monsters, generally. Instead they see what they’d like to see, instead of what is. And then they get kinda sore and sad when it ain’t what they want it to be, or downright mare-faced crabby.

But enough about people. The point is, you can addle up your own horse-self into thinkin whatever ya want to think about a thing, but that don’t ever change a thing. And even the most sensible of horses come down with a case of alfalfa brain.

For instance. There’s a horse I know who’s kinda palomino-colored. And he’s also an old ranch horse. But he definitely ain’t me, on account of y’all know I’m an honest horse and I would never embellish such a thing.

One time, this kinda palomino-colored old ranch horse who’s a lot like me but who ain’t me thought he saw a real giant black and white cow comin down the road way off in the far, far distance, near so far as to where even a horse can’t tell for sure what it is, and with a rider on its back. And it was wearin a big ol’ saddle blanket, and a big ol’ proper western saddle, and even a proper western horse-bridle. So this horse froze in his tracks, and raised his neck and his head up as tall as they could be, and also arched his neck, and he stared. And he stared. And his hooves refused to budge from where they was planted in the dust, on account of wonderin now was the people really ridin cows around the County Island? I mean, around his own ranch, wherever it is. And he could not take his old eyes off the giant saddle-broke cow, not even when the bucket gal — that is to say, his bucket gal — petted him and tried to direct his attention back to his horse-duties. And also maybe laughed at him a little.

Turns out, it was only the black and white pinto horse who lived down the road, and not a giant saddle-broke cow. And also this all happened right after he’d cleaned up his entire breakfast consistin of a big bucket of alfalfa pellets and had fresh alfalfa on his brain, maybe.

But a pinto horse is just a pinto horse. It ain’t a cow, no matter what a horse may think it looks like, and it can never be a cow. A snake is just a snake. And there’s always a tiny li’l slim chance that maybe this time, that bird ya hear makin tiny bird noises deep inside the brush might be a horse-eatin monster. Especially if you’re one of the Coors horse-brothers and you’re distrustful of bird noises. I like to remind ‘em of that lest they grow complacent and get themselves ate by a real horse-eatin monster one day. I am, if nothin else, a helpful and trustworthy horse, always. As much as I tease ‘em, I’d miss ‘em somethin fierce if a horse-eatin monster did to ‘em what horse-eatin monsters do.

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Posted by on July 29, 2015 in Uncategorized


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