Tag Archives: creative writing

I had a farm accident.   That is a good way to describe something I did that on closer examination reveals I am, in fact, TSTL:  too stupid to live.

I had a really busy week.  My farm help (daughter) was gone being a volunteer staff member at a camp.  I had trapped the horses on a corral section of grass with pole panels.  (If you’re not into livestock just imagine a gypsy rigged temporary pasture and you’ll have a close enough visual.)

I had to be free to do a day long canoe trip down a 12 mile stretch of the river with teens and wanted to weezel out of mucking stalls at five a.m.  Great plan, great river run, great week.

Saturday arrived.  Things were looking up farm help was home.  We celebrated by sleeping in a little bit.  I had plans in the big city for later in the day.  Birds were singing.  Iife was good —-which just goes to show things really can go from joy to crap in the space of seconds.

I let farm help sleep in a little longer and took her dog out.  We live WAY out in the country so I’m still in my night shirt.  Ok don’t go there shirt is a relative term it did in fact cover all the essentials when wearer is in an upright verticle position.  More on this later.

I got outside with the dog in time to see the horses stepping over and through a section of jerry rigged pseudo gate fense panel that they had some how pushed down.

No problem right?  Famous last words, yes.  I shoved the dog back in the house, being smart enough to know dog chasing loose horses would be a problem.  I ran to get grain to catch said beasties, two horses and a pony.  The ring leader was my daughters yellow line back dun who looks like the Disney Spirit horse and hummm thinks like him too.

We were making progress rather smoothly until Satan himself must have jumped out of the ground and went “hooga booga” at the horses because they took off at a gallop around the house out the front yard and down the dirt road toward the main highway.

Visions of “Horse Whisperer” flashed through my head as I ran, feed bucket still in hand, through my bedroom back door, grabbing pants off the floor pulling them on as I ran screaming through the house that the horses were loose, out the front door and down the road.  The pants part of this senario turned out to  be the only smart thing I did all morning.  That and perhaps shutting the dog back in the house.  For get the prostetic bra, I’m one boob flapping in the wind and it’s not a pretty sight.

I head down the dirt road hoping that by some miracle they’ll come back realizing I have yummy food or at least dear God let them stop before reaching the highway.

Prayers are answered and they did stop at the nursery, a stone throw from highway with roaring semi trucks crusing at 80 mph.  One of my “families” I work with in the community saw loose horses and pulled over to help.  We easily managed to catch the big horse and the pony which left Shiloh the yellow line back dun loose.

He had slipped his halter and was as free as the aforementioned Disney Spirit horse.  I bribbed him with grain and sent farm help back to the house for a halter.  This is where she fulfilled the unwritten items on her farm help job description, i.e. can never find what you need when you need it and hense is never where they need to be when you need them to be there.

Shiloh is finishing the piddly amount of grain I brought as a bribe and I thought. . . I use that term loosly. . . that well, “I’ll just hold him across his face and mane (hair running down his neck).  He’ll think he is caught and stand here.”  Wrong O Sherlock.  The devil is no longer after him.  Satan has full out possessed him and taken over.

I knew this horse wasn’t particularly heard bound and wouldn’t stay with the others just because they were caught.  Beside Satan told him playing in traffic would be fun for kicks and giggles.  He took off again.  This time with the girl who is making every effort to prove she is too stupid to live running along side him.  Oh shucks this must be an out of body experience because oops that is me!

What was I thinking?  Horse Wrestling a new olympic sport?  I’m going to stop 1300 pounds of muscle?  Even funnier for those of you who know me.  I’m going to KEEP UP running next to a four legged creature possessed by Satan?   NOT.

The gentleman helping me is hollaring “Let him go.  Let him go.”  Which is what I would have been yelling if I had been him.  That would have been the sensible thing to do.  Certainly it was destined to happen as he ran faster and I didn’t.

The result of my left foot hitting a soft patch of sand semi hole clenched the deal and I went literally flying ass over kiester.  Yes, I was rolling so fast and hard it seemed like I had two butts.  I ended up with mud and dirt in places I don’t want to describe.  Thankfully I had pulled on pants so the gentleman helping me couldn’t graphically see where all the mud ended up infiltrating.

Said Satan possessed horse ran on toward the highway, turning at the last hair curling instant to circle around one more time.  Farm help had still not arrived with the extra halter she had been sent for.  Why amd I not surprised?

At this point,unfortunately, the folks helping me won’t give me the gun in their truck and provided a piece of tow strap instead.  Now that I am hoping on one foot, dirty and cursing the Demon inspired horse stops and lets me catch him again.  Does he really think I’m stupid enought to go round two with him?  Scratch that, I’ve alread proved that I am probably just that dense.

With the tow strap wrapped around his head he becomes the placid gentle giant his owner, my farm help, loves so much just in time for her to drive up with the equipment I sent her for, where the hell have you been, so long ago.

She saw a picture of peace and calm with her lovey dumpling standing there quietly with a tow strap wrapped around his head, and me at this juncture aparently, I’m the one possessed by evil.  I don’t know what the give away was, probably the comment about “If I only had a  gun.”

Now, I have three whole days off to do nothing but keep my tendon and ligament stressed/strained/torn foot up on a stool, on ice and eating motrin like M & M’s.   Three days of unexpected, un interrupted writing time.  Oxycodone.  I don’t need that.  I laugh in the face of pain.  I have world building awaiting me,  heroes to torture, heroines to torment.

Muhahahaha.

Note:  I’m recovering well from the accident.  I’ve been off crutches for a couple days now and only hobbling as I walk