Playing Fetch

Never have I seen so many people fearful to help an animal in distress. Yeah, so the animal is 15-hundred pounds, around 15 hands high and scared shitless, but that doesn’t mean much if you use common sense.

It began with the sound of metal grating on asphalt. Not like a bumper might have dropped off a truck, but something that came and went intermittently.

Stepping out on my front porch, I saw a horse dash by, closely followed by a metal garden chair tangled in its rein. It was obvious that the noise the chair made had the beast spooked and that it had done its best to escape whatever it perceived as stocking it.

Fortunately, I was dress, shoes, pants and shirt, so I trotted after the horse in the hope that it might stop long enough that I could get in front of it. It took me till the end of the block to do so.

Once the horse saw me, she came to a halt and stood there as if deciding what to do. I stayed back, talking and cooing to her to calm her down.

She started to run by me, but I reached out and grabbed the chair, which sent me sprawling on the road. But I hung on and with my 200-pound plus frame, the weight became to intense for the ol’ girl and she came to a stand-still.

From there I was able to gather hold of the reins, cooing and talking my way up to her bridle. Before I knew it, a woman came driving down the road in a truck, towing a horse trailer.

It was easy to tell that the horse knew this woman and was happy to see her as she got out of the truck. I didn’t get her nor the horses name, but I got every name of those people up and down the street that stood there watching and refused to help.

The West isn’t what it once was in rural Nevada. Rant concluded.

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