It’s a li’l early for County Island people to start festoonin their ranches with colored lights, mostly of red and green, and abominable inflated snow men and lighted deers that bob their heads up and down at us horses when we ride by and such, such as I told about before. But they are, for people-reasons I’m sure a horse is better off not knowin about. All the activity reminds me of an entirely true tale I heard one time related by a reputable cowboy upon the County Island. I been tryin to make sense of it ever since I first heard it. I figured maybe relatin it here might help. And if it don’t help, at least I got it off my own mind. It ain’t good for a good ranch horse to be carryin around questionable and partial thoughts inside his own mind. It leads to spookin and also balkin. And all of that leads to getting a spur stuck in your side.
Also, as I first heard it, it made no mention of a horse directly. But I’m sure there was at least one big horse involved, and likely a team of ‘em. Otherwise it makes less sense than it did to start with. So I’m puttin two big horses in it.
One time upon the far corners of the County Island, the reputable cowboy and his own brothers took not a rumbly-truck but instead a proper team of big, steady work horses into the woods to go huntin. They wasn’t huntin big game, nor even quail-birds, but trees. I reckon it’s similar to gettin a tag on an elk durin elk season, only with trees instead of elk. They went into the woods aimin to kill, bag and drag home the biggest, purtiest pine tree they could get, on account of durin the red and green lights time of year, County Island people kill big, purty pine trees and drag ‘em inside their own people-barns to dress up their branches with pointless decorations until the trees are dry and dead, which is called “holiday cheer.” I know it sounds ridiculous, but it seems to be a real thing. And of course the reputable cowboy and his personal posse needed good work horses to do it, on account of a rumbly-truck wouldn’t make sense to do a horse’s job.
Most of the time, County Island people go to great lengths keep trees alive, and do things with and to trees, such as I once told about here. But the red and green time of year is all about killin ‘em dead.
So off they went with their loggin team of horses to kill a tree, with a buzzy sharp-chain saw, on account of I guess that’s how a person kills a tree.
And also with beer.
Brothers bein brothers is somethin that crosses all of what’s called the species. Meanin brother people and brother horses, such as Original Coors and Coors Light, is all the same with their real strong family bond, and also a whole lot of ear-pinnin and posturin and squealin and also tryin to one-up each other all the time.
So likely while the team of good big horses stood where they was whoaed, at the ready with their loggin wagon to haul off the biggest, purtiest pine tree in the woods, the brothers set to poppin a top or two and boastin of their tree-killin abilities.
One bet the other, over the top of their emptyin beer cans, he could fell the intended tree with his shotgun instead of the buzzy sharp-chain saw.
The other said somethin akin to, no you can not.
And another said somethin else akin to, hell no you can’t, but I surely can.
And yet another said somethin akin to, hey y’all, watch this!
And so on.
And the horses hitched to the loggin wagon likely exchanged a real long look.
Next thing the horses knew, the beer cans was all left crushed into the ground, and the shotgun shells was flyin. Bein well-broke, the horses barely budged.
And in a similar way, the biggest, purtiest pine tree barely budged, despite bein shot at more than several times.
More ammo was clearly called for.
The brothers all took aim at the biggest, purtiest pine tree, again and again, and again, until they’d near blown away its entire trunk and it keeled over and fell to the forest floor in a big puff of shotgun powder.
After they’d sobered up, shouldered the blasted tree onto the loggin-horse wagon and drug it home while their good big horses sighed, they caught hell from their wives, on account of apparently an important part of puttin a dead pine tree in your people-barn for the red and green light time of year is havin an intact tree trunk to stand it up with.
They didn’t have a leg to stand on amongst ‘em when they was pressed for an explanation for the exploded tree trunk, either. And the cowboy, whose house it was intended for, had to fashion a new trunk for it out of a giant hollow metal pipe so that they could stick the poor tree’s stump into it to stand it up to be festooned with holiday cheer. It was a real sad tree stuck with its blasted stump inside a metal pipe, droppin dead needles from day one despite its ornamentation.
That’s the entire tale. I gather it was meant to be humorous to a person. If anybody or anyhorse else cares to make heads or tails of it, best of luck to ya.