I got kind of an announcement to make. I’ve come to a great and horsely revelation, which is to say, I had a real deep and meaningful thought regardin what’s wrong with County Island people. Oh there’s plenty that’s right about ‘em, too, sometimes, but I done covered that elsewhere.
The County Island ain’t seen much in the way of half-growed teenaged people-girls in a real long time, not since the ol’ multi-taskin girls growed up and run off. Until now. Now, me, Original Coors and Coors Light has all observed whole new herds of ‘em, roamin’ the County Island on foot. Not with proper saddle horses, nor ridin one horse and ponyin another, and also not while holdin one of them tiny telephones that live in their pockets in the one hand, and holdin a vital people-drink called a “star buck flap of chino,” or somethin like that, in the other hand. Oh, they still got their tiny telephones, but that’s all they got — that a horse can see.
They came out at dusk, when the hot sun was mostly set. A time when the sun and shadows can play tricks on your eyes and make ya jumpy. They walked aimlessly — more aimless than most County Island folks. A horse could even claim they walked wherever their tiny telephones told ‘em to. Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. But it’s true.
They walked in aimless lines and circles, wherever their telephones told ‘em to go. Their eyes never wavered from those telephones. And they talked to ‘em, and to each other, with pointless jabber-words that meant nothin to me. Lucky for them there ain’t many rumbly-cars runnin on the County Island at dusk, or they’d be laid flat out in the road like road-kill. They damn near wandered into the middle of the road, sometimes even walkin backwards while watchin their tiny telephones. One of ‘em walked backwards circles, ‘round and ‘round, kinda like she had a stall vice. Or a tiny telephone vice.
Y’all likely think I’m makin things up. But the colt that lives across the road saw ‘em, too, as he was turned out into his own tiny round-corral by the road to eat his supper.
Then one of the people-girls said somethin such as, “It’s around here somewhere!” — which got Coors and Coors Light’s curiosity and ears up, to see what kind of an it it was to get a herd of half-growed people-girls so addled. The three of us ambled over and stood by our gate by the road, our ears trained on all the circled, spinnin, wrong-way walkin and babblin at the tiny telephones girls. And the colt across the road left his own supper and stood with his neck stretched through his fence so he could see, too.
“It’s that way!” one proclaimed. And they started to run, our way. I took a step towards ‘em. Seemed they was about to stampede! Toward us! Maybe they was bringin carrots for us! Maybe they’d been goin around the whole entire County Island lookin for good horses this whole time!
“It’s right here somewhere!” yelled another as she stopped in front of our gate. I doubt they even knew we was standin right there, starin at ‘em. No carrots was forthcomin.
“I got it!” one squealed under my own nose. “I got a peek-at-you!” They all set to bouncin and high-fivin each other and squealin some more, and buckin around in circles.
A peek at me? They had the whole view of me, and they still missed me. They was so busy starin at their tiny telephones and holdin ‘em up to the empty air, they plumb forgot to feed us carrots.
All they could say was somethin about peek-at-you, peek-at-you, the peek-at-you, I got a peek-at-you, I found a peek-at-you … It was highly irritatin. We three all set our ears backwards.
The colt across the road looked over at Coors. Then Coors pricked his ears at Coors Light. Coors Light turned and pricked his ears at me. I blew through my nostrils — the hell if I knew, either. Apparently, they got a “peek-at-you,” I said.
“Oh…..” the colt across the road nickered. “Oh! OH!! Nooooo!” He slammed his front hooves on his round pen rails in a panic. “A peek-at-you! A MONSTER! A monster! They’re looking for monsters!!!!!”
What the — ?
Off the people-girls ran, down the damned middle of the road, starin at their tiny telephones still.
The colt whinnied at us, “Don’t you guys KNOW? It’s a GAME to them! A terrible, horrible MONSTER GAME. They go look for the peek-at-you monsters, and then they look for monsters that are EVEN WORSE and SCARIER! They LIKE monsters!!” His whole chest was dark, lathered sweat. His eyes bugged out even more than a halter-bred Ayrab’s normally do.
That’s when I knew the colt across the road had gone loco on the alfalfa.
“It’s true!” he stomped his hooves. “I saw them doing it all the time when I was in training down the road, at the big barn! Ask any of the horses there! Their kids are all playing the peek-at-you monster game instead of paying attention to horses! Even the trainer plays it sometimes! The grown-up man trainer!!”
No sane person would go lookin for monsters on purpose. Sane horses never look for monsters, only the kinda insane ones. Which must thusly mean the County Island people is all goin INsane.
The colt across the road couldn’t stop himself. I realized this was the most I’d ever heard him talk. Prior, I’d considered him kinda illiterate. He carried on, “It turns people into The Walking Dead, going walking after monsters! Haven’t you overheard people talking about The Walking Dead all the time? This is what it means!”
Even Coors and Coors Light was kinda agitated by now. Me, I stood my ground and grew my own roots through my own calm hooves into the dirt. Not liberally, of course. County Island people did talk about a nonsense-thing called The Walking Dead a whole lot. Our bucket gal not so much, though, so maybe there was still some time, and hope, for her. But County Island people talk about a lot of things more stupid and pointless than The Walking Dead.
On the other hand, them girls certainly saw somethin no sensible horse like me could see. I turned to ask Coors and Coors Light, “We all saw what happened here tonight, right?” And they nodded to shake off the flies.
So I asked around, after that, each time I rode past a ranch with horses on it. I asked the rabbits, too, ‘cause they’re into everythin and know everythin on the County Island, in volume. And they’re even more willin to talk if ya share your bucket with ‘em. They had all seen it happen, too — herds of people with tiny telephones tellin ‘em where to walk to catch invisible monsters.
Maybe this here peek-at-you monster game will wear off and they won’t all turn into The Walkin Dead, which is to say, maybe it’s another County Island fad, such as whisperin to us horses when talkin normal and trainin us up proper works fine, or like shakin long lead ropes and flappy tiny flags in our faces. Maybe the County Island people will come to their senses, if they had sense to start with. Maybe they’ll get bored with it, since they generally get bored with new stuff quick.
In case they don’t, though, maybe it’d benefit us horses to try to find the invisible peek-at-you monsters first, before our people do. I would never outright recommend a horse to spook under saddle, but if ya suspect there’s a monster, maybe ya ought to try to get your rider clear of it before she or he sees it. Throw in a tiny spin, or a gentle quick stop. And we ought to double down on our own bomb-proofness, too. Show the County Island people they ain’t got to find monsters when they got good horses to look out for ‘em and keep ‘em safe from harm. Horses got to stay sane in an INsane County Island world.
So that’s my conclusion. County Island people is insane. This time, it’s on account of peek-at-you monsters. Also, their tiny telephones is what makes ‘em even more insane than normal. People surely was less insane back at the ranch in my youthful days, and surely it ain’t no coincidence that nobody had tiny telephones back then, neither. Keepin people safe from invisible monsters is also good for us horses, as it ensures our own happy, healthy survival here with all the proper benefits the County Island generally bestows. I don’t know if Walkin Dead people can still feed horses, and I hope I never have to find out.
And If I ever catch an invisible monster peekin at me, I intend to cow-kick it straight off the County Island. I might also stomp the bucket gal’s own tiny telephone next time she drops it in the dirt, in an attempt to keep her, and us, all safe. Such measures is called for in these terrible monster times.