Applejack surprised us when he showed one summer morn’. We weren’t aware of any Appaloosa to be born.
We raised him from a colt. He was tough as a rhino’s hide. He could pack a half an elk all day and never break his stride.
He had the best of qualities; I’d say except for one. ‘Cuz when you put a shoe on him that horse would come undone.
To think you would control him was a notion without hope. He’d unravel faster than a brand new cheap five-dollar rope.
Given choice of shoeing Applejack and pounding in my brain, I’d choose nailing apple jelly to a runaway train.
The last cowboy who’d shod the horse still wore his right arm sling and looked like he’d gone fifteen with Mike Tyson in the ring.
So, when Applejack was needing shoes I hoped that he’d give in. But when I looked into his eyes, I saw the devil’s kin.
I picked up Applejack’s right foot. He didn’t move an inch. I wondered if this was the time. Would this shoeing be a cinch?
But then he jerked his hoof and gave the halter rope a fling. Applejack was madder than a rooster on caffeine.
He was blowing snot, his eyes were wide, and being just plain rude. Applejack was proving his tornado attitude.
He reared up too far backward, then fell down and hit his head. I swear I heard my brother say, “Let’s hope that horse is dead!”
He wasn’t dead, just plumb knocked out. I thought, “Good time to shoe.” I tried to grab his leg again, then Applejack came to.
He struggled, then he stood right up and looked like he was lost. His expression so bewildered, ‘cuz both his eyes were crossed.
I picked up Applejack’s hind leg and nailed a brand-new shoe. The other three went on so fast, he didn’t have a clue.
For three whole hours old Applejack just stood and stared ahead. I’m sure he must have felt like his poor head was made of lead.
Now I’m not recommending how to shoe an ornery cuss. But when a horse tips over, then it might just be a plus.
And if you’re wondering, did the headache cure old Applejack? It didn’t help a doggone bit. That old devil came right back.
