Once there was a big, black rumbly people-car drivin real slow around the County Island most afternoons. By the time I paid notice to it, I guess it’d be goin on for a while ‘cause even the bucket gal noticed, and people generally ain’t as quick to notice strange things that change or move as good as us horses do.
We got mostly people-cars that go too fast, but we got slow ones, too, so that ain’t nothin for a horse to notice. Most of ‘em don’t look like they’re bein part drove by a big ol’ dog, though.
When I bothered to really look, I saw the dog was sittin where the person what drives the car also sits, and it was ridin upon her lap like it was the boss dog, with its whole big yellow County Island dog-head and floppin pink County Island dog tongue stuck out and wavin around, which dogs like to do.
So the strange part was the dog head driver and the slow part combined. Back and forth they’d go… Up the road, then down the road. Round the bend, then back again. Sometimes they’d stop by some brush and then a rabbit’d fly out, and the dog would give a woof. But they wasn’t huntin rabbits, ‘cause then they’d move slowly on. They slowed down past the dry creekbed washes to have a look at whatever might be washed up that day. They also slowed down past horses, mainly me and my horse-buddies Coors and Coors Light.
One time, they slowed way down alongside me, on account of if you’re gonna ride next to me, ya got to go real slow. And the dog lolled his tongue at me and grinned while he wagged his whole entire fluffy big yellow body all over the driver-lady’s lap. And also her face. He was the happiest ol’ dog in the world, right there.
And the bucket gal, I suppose to her credit, asked a thing that never woulda occurred to a horse. “Are you driving him around to look at things because he can’t go for walks anymore?”
And through the downright blizzard of waggy dog hair flyin in her face, the driver lady said yes. And the dog wagged harder if it was even possible. And then the bucket gal cooed and oohed and awwed like a horse ain’t never heard before nor since, like to her it also was the best thing in the world. But how can anythin be the best thing in the world if it ain’t got at least one horse in it? So it thusly occurred to me.
One, old dogs ain’t even got to walk no more on the County Island. I also seen a smaller dog sittin up high and mighty in a basket on a rolly-bike bein carried around by his bike-rider person. And a dog in a people-baby-colt roller which is called a stroller. I thought that stuff was strange.
And two, maybe that’s how I’ll go ridin next, as long as the people is losin their minds regardin us animals. I’ll bet a bale of alfalfa the bucket gal’s got a like-minded plan in store for me.
First, when you’re a younger colt, it’s bein ponyed alongside a steady older amigo to show ya the lead ropes. Then ya get fit with the saddle and bit. Then they learn ya to load in the rollin horse-box and ya go out and work for a livin. If you’re lucky and ya get retired to the County Island, then eventually ya get a new-fangled ramp so ya ain’t even got to step up to go ridin no more. Maybe eventually they just roll ya around with your head stuck out the drop-down window, catchin a breeze and stoppin to admire all the pretty, pretty cows in the field?
Or maybe I could stay home. I really like the look of slow, long nap. Or a slowly ate long, good meal.
Old dogs like nappin and eatin too. Why can’t people let sleepin dogs, and horses, lie?
Coors Light gets bored. He could go sight-seein ridin instead of me. Original Coors gets bored a lot too, but not like his brother. A bored Coors Light is a bothersome Coors Light. When the bucket gal don’t ride him for a long spell, she ought to at least drive him around real slow with his head stuck out the white rollin horse-box window to give him somethin to do. It wouldn’t be good nor purposeful, but it’d take up some of his time. Otherwise, he sets to thinkin. And a thinkin AND bored Coors Light is the worst Coors Light of all.
Here’s the short list of some stuff Coors Light’s got himself into when he ain’t got nothin better to do.
Well, I already told about his handiwork on his stall shade.
- The people-bench he drug out and throwed at Original Coors, and thusly tripped over and busted the people-bench and its legs and tore up his own leg. I told about that before, right? If I didn’t, I really ought to.
- Well, there’s more though I can’t recall any of it off-hoof. Obviously it’s too much for any one horse to remember.
So, the dog gets to drive around. It’s a near daily thing, now. Sometimes when he passes by he barks, hey horse! So I flatten my ears back at him, hey dog! It’s how we talk now.
I wonder if he gets to pick where he goes. Horses can’t pick where we go when we get inside the rollin horse-box, but if we could… That’s as crazy as an old farm goat bangin his head around stuck in a bucket talk.
I ought to be ashamed of myself for thinking such idle thoughts, and the dog ought to be ashamed of himself for not even tryin to walk no more. I walk slow now, but I still got my get up and go. Like the people say when they train us up, ya always got to look for the try. And I do always try. Dogs in general is fairly shameless, though, so I’ll just pin my ears and nod my head when he goes by with his tongue out and his tail beatin a happy tune on the rolly car-dashboard. But if he can get a human to do all his biddin, then more power to that dog, I guess. A horse has always got to roll with the changes, no matter how ridiculous they may be.