Cherokee and the Golf Cart

What is it that farmers spread on their fields in the springtime? We all know it’s a necessary evil that smells up the neighborhood. After living in the country for nearly forty years, we’ve pretty much gotten used to it, except when one does a tuck’n’roll in it. Who, you ask, is idiot enough to go wallowing in that stuff, except maybe a dog? I’m afraid Walzie and I both are the idiots. Let me fill in the blanks.
It all started ten years ago when we agreed that our two-year-old grandson needed a pony. Now, think about it. What baby needs a pony? Only two idiots’ grandson. Oh yes, we bought the new saddle, saddle pad, and bridle to go along with this little black and white painted pony. He was and still is a beauty.
That little baby grandson is now twelve years old and interested in World of Warcraft and his Ipod. Pony? What pony? I’ll tell you what pony: that poor lonely, unridden hay burner that hasn’t had a kid on his back in at least six years. He prances around the back yard and whinnies, probably begging someone to hop on and ride like the wind. Walzie tried to get me on Cherokee, but he’s so spirited (the pony, not Walzie) that I know I’d end up eating dirt.
Recently, our phone rang early on a Sunday morning. “Are you the folks that have the black and white pony?” the voice asked. It was the fellow who rents the farmhouse behind us.
“Yes,” I said sleepily.
“Well, he’s standing in the field with the heifers. Would you please come and get him before he chases them through the fence?”
So I shook Walzie awake, he was not happy I might add. So I trudged to the barn and got a can of feed. That gets Cherokee every time. Now most folks have an ATV, a Gator, or a motorcycle for chasing critters. What do we have? Like the snowbird retirees in Florida, Walzie went for his vehicle of choice: the golf cart.
Do we golf? Shoot, no. We camouflaged it with sheets of sticky vinyl and use it as an all-purpose yard work vehicle. In fact, at this point in time, Walzie had a bucket filled with tools, a couple of crowbars, and a sledge hammer sitting on the back. And so we headed off for the freshly fertilized field, me on foot and Walzie on the golf cart. Oh yeah, riding on the seat beside Walzie were our two dogs.
I saw the pony way across the field standing by the heifers. Walzie whistled and I shook the can of horse feed. Cherokee looked up, tossed his tail, and galloped towards us.
“Stay boys,” I heard Walzie say; the dogs obeyed.
The pony got closer. He came to within ten feet of me, and then he skidded to a stop.
I shook some feed into my hand and held it toward the pony. “Come on boy, come and get it.”
Cherokee’s nostrils flared. He snorted, tossed his head, arched his neck, and wheeled around on his back feet. He took off on a dead run. The barking dogs leaped off the buggy, and the chase was on. I began to run after the dogs. Walzie put the pedal to the metal and passed me like I was standing still. Suddenly, the horse quickly turned and charged back toward me. I figured he would stop for the feed. Wrong! With the dogs close on his tail, he thundered right at me. Ever try to run in a plowed, mushy field? Splat! Do you know how natural fertilizer smells when it’s stuffed up your nose? T’ain’t roses, you know.
Then I looked up and saw the golf cart lying on its side. Walzie was up to his ears in poop, too. Suddenly, he jumped up and ran randomly around the field like a chicken with its head cut off. I thought, “What the heck is he doing?” Every now and then, he’d stoop and pick up something.
“What the heck are you doing?” I shouted. “Catch that darn horse!”
“My gosh-darned tools scattered. I gotta find them,” he yelled back. “You catch the horse!”
Meanwhile, Cherokee ran like a wild stallion with two coyotes on its tail. He circled around Walzie and me and then I watched as the dogs herded him straight back toward our fenced-in barnyard. The little bugger dropped to his knees and shimmied under the fence, right back to where he belonged.
As Walzie and I, doused in Ode de Poo-poo perfume, moseyed across the yard on our recently uprighted, poop-covered golf cart, we noticed the two dogs panting innocently on the back porch and the horse standing in his own paddock. He whinnied at us as if to say, “Hey, where were you two? Phew! You stink!”
Anybody want to buy a nice pony?