Today, Christmas Eve, is the birthday of James, our cocker spaniel who we inherited from our son.(translation: our son dumped his dog on us.) He's 2 years old today, so we had a mid-day birthday party with his best friend Sebastian (2 year old Golden retriever) and Candy (12 year old Golden). No cats received invitations, and Dickens (3 1/2 foot green Iguana) declined the invitation although he accepted a fruit cup in celebration of the event. Wendy's double-stack cheeseburgers were served and James received a sweater, which he will show off on our afternoon walk in the woods behind Cornland Park.
I've decided to share the story of "Dude," a horse given to Jackie by the daughter of a bee-keeper friend of mine when he sold his land and stable to Wal-mart and other developers and became a multi-millionaire. Dude's dam died when he was only a couple of days old, so he was raised by humans and never learned to be a horse. We knew when we accepted him that he'd kicked a woman in the gut and severely injured her, but Jackie was only planning to train Dude, then sell him.
Dude, being a people, loved to help me when I worked in the pasture or stable. If I used a manure fork, he tried to grab it. If I used a battery-drill in the stable, he would put his nose on it and "help." Then there was the time I was working on the pipe for the horse trough. He came up behind me and shoved me into the electric fence, which really zapped me since I was touching a water pipe. Angry, I threw an elbow into his ribs, not realizing he'd been shocked also. He turned around and let loose with both rear hooves, which I managed to duck.
You might think that would be the end of it, but he snuck up behind me and grabbed the instruction sheet for re-fitting the hydrant, spilling all the small nuts, washers I'd set down to keep straight. Then he high-tailed it, paper in his mouth. I never did find all the hardware and the water hydrant has never worked properly since.
When my sister and husband (who are not country folk) came into the pasture to see the horses, I could tell Dude was getting mad he wasn't getting enough attention. I knocked my brother in law out of the way just in time to keep him from being kicked. Unfortunately, I was kicked in the elbow. My arm was sore for days. He kicked me a couple of other times, also, but I always managed to get out of the way (mostly.)
Oh, let's not forget when my wife, Diane, decided to ride Dude. Going by the compost pile, he stepped on one of the wire tomato cages I keep there and took off. I heard a scream and ran around the house to see her lying on the ground, unconscious.
"That's it," I declared. "That horse has got to go." To which Diane answered, "Oh, but he's so cute." That phrase is why we've had up to 5 horses at a time, not to mention geese and turkeys (which are even meaner than Dude.)
Finally, when Jackie tried to mount him one day, he kicked her in the gut and put her in the emergency room. The horse had suddenly ceased being "cute" to Diane. To my surprise, a farmer up the street paid a couple hundred for the rotten critter, which I would gladly have given away. He was gone two days after kicking Jackie.
God, how I miss that horse. Now if I can only figure out a way to miss the three horses we have now.
No comments:
Post a Comment