I lead a fulfilling life.
I love horses. I have an affinity with horses. I feel they have an affinity with me. I can feel it. I talk to them, they lean in to me. I understand horses.
Horses don’t get up and leave and move across the country, you know? Horses stay, and appreciate you.
I’ve been working with the horses in Crowley Corners for a few years now, and I’ve learned a lot; I know how much hay to lay out for a medium sized stable, and I’m pretty up-to-date with the current record of squash sizes.
But no matter how much I have developed, I still get the feeling there’s more to life than my range of equestrian skills.
Today was a normal day, but I’d been irresponsible in my duties that morning and Blue Jeans had escaped the stables when I wasn’t looking. I supposed that’s what I get for helping Old Man Pattinson pack his walnut collection in the back of his pickup truck. When I got back, Blue Jeans was gone, and had left a pile of shit in my work boots.
I like Blue Jeans… but I’m unsure of her social politics. She confuses Concord – he doesn’t understand. Concord just wants to settle down in a traditional relationship with her, but she’s so flighty. One day she’s totally into him and even lets him mount her, but the next minute she’ll be running across the field pretending to be something she’s not.
Anyway, I discovered Blue Jeans in the meadows just by the airport. She was with… her. Miley. Much like the light dun Yakution breeds of Siberia, Miley had returned home after years of distance and tried to weasel her way into the herd again… but everything had changed.
I saw her try to mount Blue Jeans using a goof left-hook approach, and everyone knows you can’t use a two-step block mount without covering the natural cinch of a horse torso. Blue Jeans went nuts of course, I had to ring her in. I gave Miley a lift home. I didn’t even recognise her at first. She’d become such a city bitch. But I’d still go her, I guess.
I felt Miley’s breasts against my back, and I recreated the feeling that night by strapping together mum’s pom-pom tea cosies over two medium-sized squashes, and strapped to Concord’s back, and then I lay on top of them. It felt very natural.
I spent a bit of time with Miley, in order to carefully measure her head for an accurate bridle fitting.
I saw Miley tonight at the Crowley Corner fundraising dance. After Robbie’s mid-life crisis performance, we had to sit through another murder ballad from Taylor. And oh, in the moonlight glow of those fluorescent bulbs, I swear she had the hair of a champagne Cayuse pony! Majestic. I will never forget that time after the winter crop collection, when Concord and I double-teamed her in the chicken coop. Speaking of which, we might have to rebuild that pretty soon. I’ll get Miley on that next week.
Miley then performed quite a derivative performance of Trace Adkins’ Honky Tonk Badonkadonk, but everyone seemed to get into it. Especially her brother. (Afterwards he asked me if he could have an extension on his assessment as long as he fed the emus for extra credit. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I said yes anyway – no point passing up help on the emus!)
Miley told me she knows Hannah Montana! (I love that song, Bootylicious!) So I announced it in order to save the town from development. I’ve really grown attached to the way I’m related by blood to everyone in the town and I don’t want that to change. Hopefully Hannah Montana will be able to bring in some money!
I even got Concord to whip up a special batch of hair gel using the ol’ Tug & Pump technique. I look pretty goddamn good. I’ve got my riding strap in my pocket – I’ll bring it out just after the garlic bread.
I invited her out to dinner, but I want to do it as soon as possible so we’re meeting at 2pm this afternoon. I’ll let you know how it goes.
The date was an absolute disaster. She must have had some allergic reaction to the horse pheromone juices I lathered on her fork. Like, in her bowels or whatever. And she smelt like ferret every time she came back. I didn’t understand.
Also, there was a bathroom right behind us, which was the whole reason I chose that seat for the two of us. I’m not sure why she kept running across to the old lynching parlour. The one that we gave to Mayor Stern as a joke.
We didn’t even get to eat! Even though mum’s always said I’m a bit of an easy keeper, I’m very glad I brought my mum’s homemade oat fibre bars and squash pellets, otherwise I would have starved.
Then I got caught in a revolving door. Again. It was really frustrating. I just kept going round and round. I was so annoyed. I kind of snapped. I said some stuff to Miley that I really shouldn’t have.
I wonder where Hannah Montana was?
I was supposed to have a date with Concord back in the field, but it turned out some vandal had painted the entire chicken coop while I was gone. It was probably Miley’s brother. I’ve been having strange thoughts about him. He’d be a good gelding and would take direction well.
So I went back into town to stock up on snaffle bits and leather supplies, but the town was deserted. It turned out that Hannah Montana was playing.
By the time I got there, Hannah was already at the end of her set. Miley got up to cover the finale, and I was ready to get my bootscooting shoes back on, totally pumped for the Hoedown Throwdown. She sang some other song. It was okay. She looked at me when she sang my own words back to me, as if I hadn’t heard them before.
I kind of blacked out for a second there. The next thing I know, I had reverted back to my old ways, and I chased a couple of fillys around the corner who were totally up for it, but their dad was there. So I didn’t say anything. Hannah Montana was there too. She looked at me, and gave me a wink. I guess she’s more my type anyway. And besides, she’s rich – while I’m pretty sure Miley’s only going to inherit her grandmother’s vintage Royal Dalton plate collection. The two of them are so different, there’s no way I can just simply choose between the two separate people. But ultimately, in the end, I want security and a strong will that I can break.
I’d love to hear her whinny. Like a pig.
– Scott Sandwich