Thursday, January 28, 2016

PECKING ORDER




We have four horses—not quite a herd but more than a clump. We feed them. We brush them. We ride them. We move their poop around. 

We do not treat them like long lost relatives or really tall humans.

We treat them like horses. The horses prefer this, which many folks—who have only seen horses acting in the movies, or have heard about horses on Twitter—find confusing.

A horse owner I know had a neighbor call to complain about my friend’s horses. It seems they were outside—in the rain—getting wet.

It’s hard to know what to say to this kind of silly, stupi . . . er . . . um . . . it’s hard to know what to say.  So in the interest of education and knowledge, which is the solution to all modern ills, spills, and trouble, here’s a short tutorial.

Horses are outside animals.  Keeping a horse in the kitchen is problematic because when they get stuck between the refrigerator and the sink they tend to kick your house down.

Horses are wolf food, thus their talent for kicking.  Thousands of years of being hunted and eaten by toothy mountain monsters helped the horse evolve a certain “wait and see” attitude. Is that a butterfly or a saber-toothed butterfly? And since I am prey should I run away now or later?

Horses feel better when surrounded by other horses. They’re like teenage girls; they always go to the toilet in a clump.

Horses like tyranny. Equality does not exist in horse world. They want someone at the top who bites their butts and kicks their faces. That way when the saber-toothed butterflies show up, someone is always the boss and responsible for yelling, “Stampede.”

It’s called a pecking order. Alpha horses peck first and so it goes down the line. Tyranny means order, and if you’re a horse order means safety and safety makes you feel better. (Note:  Humans who respond to tyranny in this way have essentially become prey animals and should prepare to get pecked or eaten.)

Horses should not be ridden in short shorts and halter-tops. That’s just a personal fashion opinion and not really a horse fact.

Horses are one thousand pound vegetarians, which requires them to eat grass, grain, and hay ALL DAY LONG. Think about it! 

When mommy horses want to discipline their rebellious baby horses they chase them and chase them until their babies can’t breathe or until they cry, “Uncle!” and apologize. Baby horses apologize by licking their lips, paying attention, and following. Young horses are not allowed to be idiots. (Horses could teach humans a thing or two about parenting.)   

Horses are among the most noble and glorious creatures created by the hand of God, and when the Savior of the world returns he’ll be riding a white horse.  I read that somewhere. I find that image very appealing.

When our son-in-law saw one of our horses rolling around on the ground he thought it was dying. He’d never seen a horse take a dirt bath before. Our son-in-law is from Bountiful, Utah. Enough said.

Let’s recap. Horses are not tall humans. Horses are beautiful. Europeans eat horsemeat, thus making them horse eating predators or saber-toothed barbarians.

Linda (Tally Ho) Zern










   

     

  

  

 







Monday, January 25, 2016

IT IS TO DISCLAIM

It’s a new year, following the old year and just in front of the year to come. Time to disclaim.

DISCLAIMER: noun

1. The act of disclaiming; the renouncing, repudiating, or denying of a claim; disavowal.
2. A person who disclaims.
3. A statement, document, or assertion that disclaims responsibility, affiliation, etc; disavowal; denial.

1. To begin, I would like to renounce, repudiate, deny, and disavow the rumors. I am not crazy, zany, wacky, or “intense.” I don’t know how these rumors get started. I mean one person sees you wearing a king’s crown and waving a scepter—at a laundry mat—and people start talking smack about you—the rotten gossips. 

Listen! The problem is that I don’t have that voice. You know the voice: that mealy-mouthed, butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, I might have mice living in my vocal cords girl-voice. When I speak I sound taller than I am, and I come across more intimidating than a grizzly bear. Just play dead and I won’t maul you.

When I write I sound smarter than a grizzly bear. I can’t help it. I’m Irish. We have a way with words and a penchant for using words like penchant. 

I renounce the gossip. Dressing up in period costume is a time-honored way to confuse evil spirits and boring people. 

I repudiate the false narrative that meek means weak. 

I disavow any embarrassment about zumba. Zumba is a Latin based exercise. Hips and booty are involved. When I zumba, I zumba, and my hips don’t lie. I’m easy to pick out in a zumba crowd. My stuff is actually moving. It’s because I lived in the Bahamas when I was a kid, and the first “live” band I ever heard was a steel drum band. It’s in my blood. 

2. I have been writing weekly blogs for more than a decade. No one makes me—except me. Most of what I write is based loosely in reality, coated liberally with lies. I’ve won national prizes for my humorous lies . . . er . . . um . . . I mean essays. It’s true. Humorpress.com sent me money. That’s how I know it wasn’t a lie.

3. This is my official semi-yearly, once-in-a-while, now and again disclaimer. I am not crazy. I’m confident and adamant. People hate that. I don’t suffer fools lightly. Fools hate that. 

I love words and all the dazzling things you can do with them. 

The last book I wrote, Beyond the Strandline, is a grid collapse/survival/action/adventure/romance, and it’s intense. So intense I had a couple of Beta readers let me know that they couldn’t finish it. It was too scary. At first, I thought, “Oh no! What have I done? It made people uncomfortable and worried.”

And then I thought, “Oh no! What have I done? I was able—through the power of pen and word—to move people to FEEL uncomfortable and worried. Interesting.” The tips of the writer’s fingers beat a contemplative rhythm against each other as she smiled evilly.

I’m not bad. I’m good.

Linda (Sound Off) Zern 






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