7/8/2000 - beastsburden.doc Philip Hassey Beasts of Burden

The horse gazed at me with a mildly disgusted look on her face. Very mild, because she was a nice horse, and was pretty resigned to fall asleep as I toiled to groom her for the next 45 minutes. I started at the neck and worked back brushing all the mud and manure off of the beast in anticipation of getting to sit on the beast for a few minutes in a dusty ring. The hoves were the worst part to clean, because they were chock full of gross things that I don't walk to talk about now. Easter didn't mind any of this after a while, because she did go to sleep and her bottom lip hung low. It was pretty funny looking, and I poked it. She woke up and gave me a little glare. I petted her and tried to pretend it was all going to be okay.
So after a while I managed to saddle her up. Nan checked the situation over and made sure it was going to work, so that I'd be able to get on. I was going to be able to get on, and I heisted my leg towards the sturrup. I almost broke my pants in half in that action, but managed to onyl strain my leg a bit instead. I got onto the animal and I sat down, and she let out a small grunt of acceptance and let out a wonderful horsey sneeze.
I said "walk" and the horse walked forward and out side. At the ring we plodded around and around, and I tried to remember why all this was going on again.
I wasn't big on livestock, although I enjoyed the good life at the Allegany County Fair in Angelica this past Summer. This was my first experience in the hick life. It was interesting. I got to see pigs that were so fat and lardy that I wanted to hack off a chunk right then and there and barbeque the ribs and have a find old time of it. Then there was the food, wretched "meat-loaf" burgers marketed as "family style hamburgers." They were disgusting and tasted like old newspapers that had been mixed with glue and cooked until crisp. Don't spend 2 bucks on that kind of thing. Stick with the hotdogs, no idea what they are made of, but at least that's familiar. Further through the barns and animal displays I got to see the cows. The big skeletons with 500 gallon milk bags.
I haven't had all that much experience with cows, except for the times when I've been around them. Like when I visited Justin's house for New Years. I saw cows then. Justin lives on a dairy farm.
"These are cows," said Justin after he took us out back and showed us the cows like we had asked him to. It was sort of a dissappointing introduction to them, after all the hype about milk you get on TV.
"Can I touch one of them?" I asked.
"Sure," said Justin, "They are very gentle creatures, and don't really care too much if anyone pets them."
I reached to pet one of them, but another one enraged with my intent to give intention to the other, smashed her large head against the other one with a big grunt and thrust her head forward to be pet. I gave Justin a look and petted the cow.
"They don't usually act like that," said Justin. I gave Justin another look as the first cow smacked the second cow back again.
"What's all the crud on the walls?" I asked.
"Manure," said Justin, "It just shoots out and hits the walls."
"Gross," I said, "I'm glad I'm not a wall."
"Hi, Lena," said Justin to his dog. He gave him a friendly pat on the head, and Lena headed over to me to say hi. He said hi with his feet on my shorts and shirt. I looked like a wall after that.
"Hi, bubba," I said, "Go away, and clean up before you do that again."
"Well," said Justin, "that kind of stuff happens on the farm."
Later on, Nan asked if she could milk a cow.
"Sure," said Justin, "Come over here to the milking place, my parents are going to start milking them in a few minutes."
We marched into the milkery and looked around. Several large milk removing contraptions dangled from the ceiling and from the floor. It all looked very intimidating to me as I looked at it all.
"Ya know," said Justin, "When Zach visited here, he was a sissy, and was afraid of the cows and everything."
"Ha," I said foolishly.
Justin's mom stood in the area of operations and was letting the cows in, "See that one over there," she said, "That one kicks. SO we named her Mabaline after Jesse's boy's mom."
Nan got to milk a cow, and I got to watch, because I didn't want to milk a cow.
Cows are funny too. But they smell weird.
After we saw the cows, then the sheep at the County Fair, we reached the true highlight: the goat pen. Then first goat I saw was a winner. She was standing on her hind legs, having just grabbed her ribbon in her mouth. That's how I knew she was a winner. She ate it for a while, then charged the other goat in her pen for a good long time, while it gave her those "toleration of our differences" kinds of looks. Further down I saw big goats, and little goats and furry goats and goats with little dangly things on their necks, similar to those waddles that turkeys have.
In the next room there were bunnies the size and shape of while furry basketballs. They looked so cute and cuddly, and I might have poked one if all the signs hadn't said "Sorry, This one Bites!" Bunnies are no fun, that's why when I grow up I want to have my own herd of goats in my back yard. I'll round all ten of them together in a herd, and I'll get my riding crop out and charge around the yard after them whooping the whole time. Nan told me that they might not like that, and I'd better give them little snacks so they like me. I said okay. Then she told me that they would get to like snacks too much and would bite. I said okay. I decided that I would have a rich balance of goat chasing, feeding, and using them to pull my goat chariot.
As a man of stature in the community, I will be pulled around by my faithful herd of goats. Around the town we'll parade waving and saluting all the locals as they cheer and shout. It'll be pretty fun.
Then after it's all done, I'll take one of the goats into the back yard and take my hatchet and lop it's head off, and toss the body onto my grill and roast him up. Tender slices of meat, sauced and sizzled to perfection. And as I will sit on the porch looking out over the field of goats marching about, chewing away at the choice cuts, I'll secretly know to myself that everyone should have a goat.
But, I wasn't on a goat chariot, and I certainly wasn't going to eat this horse. I was going to ride her around and even "trot". We tried that, and Easter seemed to liven up at the prospect of doing something exciting. I found it to be somewhat unpleasant, all that jostling up and down and whatnot. Rather over-rated.
After all was said and done, I got off Easter and got to give her some sugars. That was the highlight because watching horses eat is fun. I got a sugar too for being a good little rider. Then came one of my other favorite parts, looking at all the other horsies. The fat ones, the skinny ones, the ones that ignored me, the ones that drooled at me, and the ones that sneezed every two seconds. They are funny. Everyone should go to the horse barn and laugh at the funny horsies. He he.