In case anybody was wonderin at this point in our acquaintance, I’m a horse. That’s a fact that’s always seemed real clear to me, almost since the second I popped out of my dam (who also was a horse) with four hooves and a tail and a whinny. But since I came to live here on the County Island, there’s a lot of folks that like to ask the bucket gal what I am, which leads a horse to believe there’s lots of folks on the County Island that ain’t entirely right in the head.
In addition to bein a horse, I’m also a yellow horse, which most folks who know what a horse is call palomino. Folks that like to make things complicated that ain’t complicated like to argue that maybe I’m a dunalino, or a palomino with bird-catchin spots. I ain’t never even tried to catch a bird. Why would I?)
Real “observant” folks (yeah, I’m usin my ironical horse ears to express that thought) also like to point out maybe I’m gaited. Good on them for noticin, I suppose. It ain’t like I gait all the time. But when I got rode with the short-legged, floppy-eared cattle dogs, which is called beagles, and the hunt club that never hunted no game nor carried no huntin rifles, if I was made to trot too long of a distance, then I’d break out in my more comfortable ground-coverin gait. It started the bucket gal real bad the first time. As my horse-buddy Original Coors would say, “it totally freaked her out.” He talks like that on account of bein an Ayrab-horse from the California Ranch.
I’m also a geldin horse, also obvious. And I’m the right size for proper ranch work and puttin my rider in the saddle at the proper height for fixin fences or openin and closing gates from the saddle.
Also obvious, I got two proper ranch brands scrawled onto my hide.
All of which, to own clear way of thinkin, obviously spells H-O-R-S-E, even if I didn’t arrive here with no papers tellin any person any such thing. If a horse is a good horse and he’s proved his goodness time and again, how come anythin beyond that even matters to a County Island person? I digress…
But all the questions led the bucket gal to yank out chunks of my own mane hair which I suppose allows people with too much idle time to tell a person what a horse is. We all know here that mane hair’s got nothin to do with it. And I can yank out plenty of it by myself, thanks for noticin, if I got a real bad itch and need to scratch it on a tree trunk, fence post or whatever ya got handy. A horse will do that.
But, since people like to play stupid pointless games, kindly indulge an old, bored ranch horse and his not quite as old, idle-minded bucket gal, and play a guessin game with me here, thusly, since unfortunately I was made to know the addled answer to the pointless question.
I’ll just leave this right here for a while, while I go back to my own feed and other proper horse things. Then I’ll get around to tellin everybody the rest of the ridiculous tale. Y’all got one people-week to guess, so get to it. Ya got a stupid people-job to do!