Horse

I got a call Wednesday afternoon. My brother was going into the
hospital for tests (He has Diabetes). He asked me if I could come out
and watch the place for a while. Could I watch The Place?! The
neighbor’s raised Arabians. You’re damned right I would! “Anything for
my brother,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
When I got there, it was better than I hoped. The neighbor’s had taken
two of their horses to a show, and would not be back for a week. I
told him not to worry, and after I got him packed and off, I relaxed a
bit. I figured it was going to be a wonderful couple of days, but I
didn’t know that fate had decided to throw a joker at me.
I was planning my first raid on the animals, when I heard some
commotion coming from the stable. A lot of commotion. Larry had warned
me that some punk kid had been sneaking around here. Well, whoever it
was, they were in for a big surprise! I slipped out quietly, and went
across the orchard, down the fields, and down to the barn.
As I made my way to the corral, I saw somebody yelling, and jumping up
and down, and laughing. The horses were running around in circles,
fear in their eyes. There is nothing that makes me madder than
somebody torturing an animal, for no better reason than to have fun.
If you want to have fun at somebody else’s expense, get yourself a
slave. He was a young man, fairly well built, with jeans and a shirt.
Not too bad looking. “You shouldn’t do that. It frightens the
animals,” I said. He whirled, and stared at me. “What the fuck do you
want?” “Just wanted to know who was down here, and what they were
doing…” He reminded me of a weasel. Thin, lithe, and nasty. “Well,
you can just fuck off, Bastard!” “I do not think so,” I replied. I have
never understood why people mistake politeness for weakness. “Well,
Muther Fucker, I’m just gonna hafta cut ya!” He grinned, and pulled a
switchblade out of his back pocket. Yep, this kid had an attitude
problem. And Master Jack knew how to take care of such problems.
I waited until he got close enough, then made a move with my left
hand. He swung at it, and was rewarded by my size thirteen boot
slamming into his crotch. He looked like he wanted to puke his balls
up. I took his “toy” away from him, and grabbing a handful of hair,
dragged him over to a fencepost. I slapped him, hard. “You awake,
Stupid?” He opened his eyes, and stared at me. Both hands were still
holding his groin. “That was just a love-tap.” I stuck the blade into
the wood, and snapped it off half-way. “You give me any problems, that
will be your neck.” I threw the handle into a nearby pond, and grinned
at my new possession. It had been way too long…
That’s when he decided to take a swing at me. I dropped his hair,
grabbed his fist, and started squeezing. Five years as a woodcutter,
and another 6 years as a maintenance man, gave me a grip like an steel
vise. I waited until I felt his joints pop, before I let go. “Owwww!
You broke my fuckin’ Hand!” I gripped his neck, and pulled him to his
feet. A lead rope sat coiled on the post. I grabbed his arms, and tied
them behind his back in the “Angel-Wing” position, Wrists crossed, and
pulled up tightly against the back, palms pointing up. I then slammed
him into the post, and knocked his legs out, so he sat down, hard.