Cowgirl Thrillers by Barbara Neville
As we come over the top of what Spud assures me is the last pass, and start down into a draw, we can see the ocean. It appears endless and deceptively smooth from this height.
“Whoo ta!” whoops Wolf.
“Ah hey ya,” says Coati sounding like she is praying. She looks at me. “Thanking the gods for good weather and a safe journey.”
“We ain’t there yet,” says Spud.
“My practical boy,” Coati says.
We look down the trail, all strung out on the switchbacks with sheep and goats cutting across, and down the steep hillside, dogs and kids mixed in among them. Quite a sight. The older animals have made the trip before and are speeding up, knowing they are headed home. Soon Spike whinnies and a herd of horses comes loping around a bend far below us.
“Ah, the sights we see.” Sir Jacob has joined us at the pass. He pulls a bottle from his saddle bags. “Cheers!” He pops the top and we all have a swig.
I look at Sir Jacob who is admiring the horses, too, with shining eyes. I recognize a kindred spirit,
“I worship horses,” I say.
Jacob nods. “Oh yes, quite. Magnificent beasts.”
“I fucking worship the ground a good horse walks on. Think about it. If man hadn’t had horses, our whole history could be different, hell, maybe we would still be in caves. Before people figured it out, everything was carried on your back. Folks walked everywhere,” I say, maybe a tad into my cups, but thinkin’ brilliantly.
“I have heard people say that hunter gatherers spent two hours a day gathering and lolled around the rest of the time,” says Sir Jacob.
“Have those numb nuts tried gathering?” I ask. “Are they fucking kidding me? Not only was enough food to get through the day hard to find, once you ate a few days food you had to find more. You couldn’t just go back to your cave and open the fridge, pop open a beer and kick back. Naw, you had to move to a new area, ‘cause you done ate all the food within walkin’ distance of your cave yesterday. No one lived the easy life unless they lived on fucking Fantasyland 3000.
“Back in the real stone age cave days, no fuckin’ way! Then some smart ass hunting sucker looked at the horse he was sneaking up on, planning on eating him for dinner and he thought, ‘Hey, you know, maybe there’s a more efficient way to do this.’ Light bulb!
“Hell yea. Musta taken some trial and error. Probably tried a few other species too, but man, even getting an animal to carry yore backpack load would greatly increase yore ability to survive.
“That likely happened first, they found some old almost dead or wounded horse so weak they could get close and thought, ‘If I can move this sucker to camp alive, I won’t have to carry all these fucking loads of his dead meat.’ So they gather around on the away from camp side of the beast and wave their arms, thinking of all the miles of walking back and forth they would save. Then of course they realize it ain’t as easy as it seems ‘cause the beast doesn’t want to go where they do. So in all the runnin’ around, Joe Cave Man gets a blister on his shoulder from his damn pack, and thinks, ‘Hey I could tie this fucking pack on the beast’s back. He could carry it home.’
“Eventually someone thinks, ‘How about we put a rope around its neck and drag it. If eight of us pull on the rope, we can budge him.’ Took some time, no doubt.”
Wolf looks up and says, “Had to have started with dogs maybe? Smaller and easier to bribe with food. Eat same food we do. Tasted our trash, eventually hung around our camps for scraps. They packed things first. Hell yeah. Injins packed dogs ‘fore white man brought horses over to Injin lands and lost ‘em. Explains why the villages were full of the mangy beggin’ suckers. Horse replaced them, they were unemployed and bored.”
“But the horse, ah, the horse,” I continue. “It was and is the perfect animal, the right size, tough feet, reasonable temperament, carries loads, carries us, pulls travois, wagons, walks in circles, runs mills, mine hoists, shit it’s fucking perfect. The best will even be yore pardner.” I reach down and pet Spike.
“But damn, they musta been wild, had to have been a lot of rodeos at first, figuring it out. Whoo fuckin’ ta! Them cave dudes were the real deal. Cowboy on!!!”
I’d made one hell of a speech and proud of it. Wolf passes me the bottle.
“A toast to our best pal, and all his four hooves!” says I and pass it to Coati.
“Heavenly Horse!” Coati raises the bottle, takes a swig and hands it off to Sir Jacob.
Sir Jacob raises the bottle and says, “To the sunny slopes of long ago.”
“Hell of a history, and now we got fuckin’ space ships and the whole Cosmos. Shit, maybe if we never had the horse, life would have been better off. Ooooh ta!” adds Wolf then drinks.
“Naw, just not the infernal combustion engine. Horses fucking rule!” I am nothing if not stubborn.
Now Spud raises his weary head and gazes off into the distance, glassy eyed. “Heh heh heh, yeah, I spent a month there once. Oh yeah!”
I look over at him and bite. “There?”
“Fantasy fucking land 3000. Kicked ass! Cost me a year’s pay, but fuck me. I loved it. All them hot ass cowgirls. Yee Fucking Haw!”
“You think the whorehouse in MadDog is somethin’, brothers, you oughta try Fantasyland 3000. A whorehouse ain’t nothin’. Fantasy’s a fucking whore fucking planet! Good gawd, took me six months to recuperate.”
We all kick up our trusty steeds and head on down to join the herd.
It has been one hell of a journey and Spud’s bed is soft and companion filled.
31 Knock, knock
“Whoo ta!” whoops Wolf.
“Ah hey ya,” says Coati sounding like she is praying. She looks at me. “Thanking the gods for good weather and a safe journey.”
“We ain’t there yet,” says Spud.
“My practical boy,” Coati says.
We look down the trail, all strung out on the switchbacks with sheep and goats cutting across, and down the steep hillside, dogs and kids mixed in among them. Quite a sight. The older animals have made the trip before and are speeding up, knowing they are headed home. Soon Spike whinnies and a herd of horses comes loping around a bend far below us.
“Ah, the sights we see.” Sir Jacob has joined us at the pass. He pulls a bottle from his saddle bags. “Cheers!” He pops the top and we all have a swig.
I look at Sir Jacob who is admiring the horses, too, with shining eyes. I recognize a kindred spirit,
“I worship horses,” I say.
Jacob nods. “Oh yes, quite. Magnificent beasts.”
“I fucking worship the ground a good horse walks on. Think about it. If man hadn’t had horses, our whole history could be different, hell, maybe we would still be in caves. Before people figured it out, everything was carried on your back. Folks walked everywhere,” I say, maybe a tad into my cups, but thinkin’ brilliantly.
“I have heard people say that hunter gatherers spent two hours a day gathering and lolled around the rest of the time,” says Sir Jacob.
“Have those numb nuts tried gathering?” I ask. “Are they fucking kidding me? Not only was enough food to get through the day hard to find, once you ate a few days food you had to find more. You couldn’t just go back to your cave and open the fridge, pop open a beer and kick back. Naw, you had to move to a new area, ‘cause you done ate all the food within walkin’ distance of your cave yesterday. No one lived the easy life unless they lived on fucking Fantasyland 3000.
“Back in the real stone age cave days, no fuckin’ way! Then some smart ass hunting sucker looked at the horse he was sneaking up on, planning on eating him for dinner and he thought, ‘Hey, you know, maybe there’s a more efficient way to do this.’ Light bulb!
“Hell yea. Musta taken some trial and error. Probably tried a few other species too, but man, even getting an animal to carry yore backpack load would greatly increase yore ability to survive.
“That likely happened first, they found some old almost dead or wounded horse so weak they could get close and thought, ‘If I can move this sucker to camp alive, I won’t have to carry all these fucking loads of his dead meat.’ So they gather around on the away from camp side of the beast and wave their arms, thinking of all the miles of walking back and forth they would save. Then of course they realize it ain’t as easy as it seems ‘cause the beast doesn’t want to go where they do. So in all the runnin’ around, Joe Cave Man gets a blister on his shoulder from his damn pack, and thinks, ‘Hey I could tie this fucking pack on the beast’s back. He could carry it home.’
“Eventually someone thinks, ‘How about we put a rope around its neck and drag it. If eight of us pull on the rope, we can budge him.’ Took some time, no doubt.”
Wolf looks up and says, “Had to have started with dogs maybe? Smaller and easier to bribe with food. Eat same food we do. Tasted our trash, eventually hung around our camps for scraps. They packed things first. Hell yeah. Injins packed dogs ‘fore white man brought horses over to Injin lands and lost ‘em. Explains why the villages were full of the mangy beggin’ suckers. Horse replaced them, they were unemployed and bored.”
“But the horse, ah, the horse,” I continue. “It was and is the perfect animal, the right size, tough feet, reasonable temperament, carries loads, carries us, pulls travois, wagons, walks in circles, runs mills, mine hoists, shit it’s fucking perfect. The best will even be yore pardner.” I reach down and pet Spike.
“But damn, they musta been wild, had to have been a lot of rodeos at first, figuring it out. Whoo fuckin’ ta! Them cave dudes were the real deal. Cowboy on!!!”
I’d made one hell of a speech and proud of it. Wolf passes me the bottle.
“A toast to our best pal, and all his four hooves!” says I and pass it to Coati.
“Heavenly Horse!” Coati raises the bottle, takes a swig and hands it off to Sir Jacob.
Sir Jacob raises the bottle and says, “To the sunny slopes of long ago.”
“Hell of a history, and now we got fuckin’ space ships and the whole Cosmos. Shit, maybe if we never had the horse, life would have been better off. Ooooh ta!” adds Wolf then drinks.
“Naw, just not the infernal combustion engine. Horses fucking rule!” I am nothing if not stubborn.
Now Spud raises his weary head and gazes off into the distance, glassy eyed. “Heh heh heh, yeah, I spent a month there once. Oh yeah!”
I look over at him and bite. “There?”
“Fantasy fucking land 3000. Kicked ass! Cost me a year’s pay, but fuck me. I loved it. All them hot ass cowgirls. Yee Fucking Haw!”
“You think the whorehouse in MadDog is somethin’, brothers, you oughta try Fantasyland 3000. A whorehouse ain’t nothin’. Fantasy’s a fucking whore fucking planet! Good gawd, took me six months to recuperate.”
We all kick up our trusty steeds and head on down to join the herd.
It has been one hell of a journey and Spud’s bed is soft and companion filled.
31 Knock, knock