The sweet-talkin but evil vet-lady’s had been comin around for a while and jabbin my neck with what Coors Light claims is called “adequate legend.” I often try not to listen when he talks, though. He said all the finest prancey horses get poked with this adequate legend all the time. If there’s even a tiny sweet grain of truth in that, I hope it ain’t part of some plot to prancify me, ‘cause that ain’t never gonna happen as long as I still got my hooves touchin the top side of the dirt. They failed to turn me into a mare with their esta-gin mare juice, and they will fail to make me prance. Unrelated entirely, my ol hocks was feelin good and the horseshoer-man said I stood real quiet with my hind feet hitched up restin on his hoof stand to get trimmed. Holdin my hoof up’s easier than it’s been for a long time.
All I done for a long time now is get my neck poked, and get made to eat more feed than an old horse can stuff in his entire mouth. The last part’s horse heaven. Maybe I was finally a full retired horse.
I vaguely thought I heard our own bucket gal say she got poked in the neck, or the back, or some other people-part unbeknownst to a horse, by a vet-like person. Now that I think on it, maybe it was her back. She must have a saddle fit problem, but I ain’t never seen a person wear a saddle nor do I want to.
But I was stuffed full of feed, and my hocks was happy, if this was retirement. County Island folks ain’t never happy whether a horse is skinny or fat. For a long while, the bucket gal thought Coors Light needed more feed, and she was stuffin him full with all kinds of pellets and grain, meanwhile his brother Original Coors got his rations halved and he had to stand next to Coors Light half-starved while Coors Light complained he was so full he could hardly stand to eat more. Then Coors Light got just right, but Coors got too fat, so she flipped feed on ‘em. I always been left out of that crazy until now when I’m gettin all the extra food shoved at me. If my job is now to eat, I got to be a good horse and do my job.
So I’d been gettin fed a lot, but late, and by the carrot guy who don’t wake up before the sun’s out. And then a real nice stranger lady came and cleaned our corral and fussed over us every day. I figured maybe she was meant to be our new cowgirl, on account of I ain’t had a change in a real long while, not since before the County Island when I left the ranch, and I thought maybe she was the gal come to prep us for the auction sale barn. It was gonna suck goin to auction now, at my wise age. But she wasn’t. And the bucket gal was still there, but she only said howdy to us, then disappeared kinda slow back into the people-barn. We still got bathed with the snake-hose. We rolled, we slept, we ate, we rubbed some of our manes out and also our tails on account of we itch in the hot time…
I wondered idle prancified thoughts such as how much stall rest does a person need from gettin their back worked on by a person-vet. Us horses only require three days’ stall-jail time. Likely people ain’t as tough as us horses.
It all makes the County Island real quiet. Maybe too quiet, even if I do like quiet.
But the bucket gal’s been back around more recently. I even got rode for a short spell, and it was nice. She set to cleanin my bridle real good like it needed it, and cleanin and organizin all the people-crap inside her people-crap horse-tack room like maybe things was rampin up again. But I handle fine when my bridle’s dirty. Maybe the too quiet will change soon, now that I’m feelin stuffed full of food, and my hawks is happier in spite of the adequate legend, and seems like she’s been sprung from people-stall rest. Whether it will or it won’t, seems I still got a solid job here eatin as much as I can.
Also, I like to think I’m more than a adequate legend horse, whatever that is.