…RydArab stood before the farrier trying hard to fathom where that soft skinned and affectionate snake had gotten to. She looked high and low and was even more perplexed when her questions about its whereabouts to the handsome horseshoer caused his face to have a sort of pained expression. “Hmm”, she thought to herself, “Well if he doesn’t want to share his pet snake anymore I’m sure I can find another around this barn somewhere”.
“Where’s the gardener, are there gardener snakes in this state?” she said aloud, trying not to show too much disappointment in the absence of the grand one eyed python that the farrier had so kindly shared with her a only few moments ago.
“Um, those are garter snakes, ma’am,” he replied a bit sheepishly. “Oh. Whatever”, said she, “Do they also frighten easily?” “If I am going to fraternize with snakes then I don’t want to be repeatedly disappointed by them going limp with fear at the drop of a hat’, she stated.
RydArab leaned over and placed her hand on the farrier’s rigid bicep and said to him. “I much preferred your pet snake, dear”… When she inclined forward toward the farrier her blouse gapped open just enough to allow the farrier a peek of a lacy sports bra, of which RydArab was unaware that he saw-at all. She was aware, however, that she felt a sudden little nudge on her inner thigh for a second. She looked down to see what it was and can you believe that it was Monty (!), back again, rising like a phoenix from beneath the dusty tool belt and demonstrating yet again his earlier penchant for a nice petting.
As RydArab cooed to the snake and stroked him in the ways he seemed to enjoy the Geek was freed from her hypnotism by the formerly chocolate covered Johnny Depp after he revived the bird and heard the phrase again. (Which actually was “Fetch the jolly ball-good horse- nice trick… spoken in the voice of the BNT).
As Johnny was still suffering from amnesia the Geek was trying to convince him of his true identity. He was still so muddled that she gave up and just swiped her finger across his still chocolaty brow, leaned back against the edge of the tub and looked at him in exasperation while licking the chocolate from her finger. Trying to decide whether or not all of his parts would be affected when the chocolate washed off and in what way- she also was mentally working out a balanced chemical equation in her head that would allow her to formulate a sort of topping, kind of like that “Magic Shell” stuff that is put on ice cream and hardens instantly, to preserve the more important aspects, err, rather attributes of Johnny.
Over in the round pen HL had her hands full with a young colt who was being a bit nasty and as she gave the cotton lead a good snap she felt a warm breath on the back of her slightly sweaty neck as simultaneously a large warmer hand covered hers, the one holding the tail end of the rope attached to the bucking, snorty colt, that is. She heard the low and soothing voice of the BNT in her ear as he instructed her as to how to calm the colt by making eye contact, and positioning her body just so. Interestingly enough, the BNT was still positioning HL’s body long after the colt had settled and was completely forgotten by them both. For some reason or another she was the one who ended up wearing that lead rope by the time the horse whispering was all said and done. She didn’t look unhappy about that though.
Unbeknownst to the horses or their humans there was another presence in the barn, a presence so dark, so deviant that even the dung beetles ran, leaving their rolling balls of poo forgotten when he crossed their paths. He crouched low and ran a deathly waxen white hand along the cracked and weathered oak boards that lined the aisle way. He crept along stealthily, nodding his head looking over his shoulders to left and to the right. He popped up suddenly like a jack-in-the-box from under a grilled stall window spooking a young foal that dropped his dam’s teat from his mouth and dribbled out a stream of yellowy colostrum in surprise.
This bandit, this rogue, this incorrigible creep snuck along looking for his prey. He saw from the corner of his squinty, shifty eye the Farmeress, with her back turned to him as she curried her horse in sweeping circular motions and hummed to herself. He crept closer slowly as to not startle the horse and he reached around between her side and her uplifted arm and before she knew what had transpired… he…he…Oh God, he ripped her bodice with a cackle of corrupt glee. The Farmeress shocked and annoyed turned around and gave him a good thwack on his alabaster forehead, leaving oblong rings of dusty teeth marks from the rubber curry that she used as a weapon. Mortified he said to her, “You can’t do that to me, I am the bane of every barn, the dark prince of the alfalfa snagged brassiere—I AM THE BARNYARD BODICE RIPPER, and you will yield to me!”
“Like hell” said the Farmeress who walked away totally unimpressed to find a roll of duct tape in the tack room to fix her blouse. She happened to run into Aunt Esther there as she was sitting regally on a tack trunk that was covered in a piece of heavy mauve velvet and was filing away at her already perfect nails, her favorite hand bag clamped protectively to her side.
As the Farmeress carefully peeled away a narrow strip of camouflage printed duct tape with which to fix her shirt she turned to Aunt Esther and said “Boy, do I have a job for you…” at which time she heard a gurgle and a bump behind her as the Barnyard Bodice Ripper pushed his way into the tack room. With the speed and agility of a graceful leopard on the hunt Aunt Esther arose to her immaculately clad feet, handbag raised and ready for business as the Farmeress backed out of the room, with her eyes on the now terrified face of the ’Ripper and whispered in a small voice…“never mind”…
(Kirk, now Denny Crane, sitting on an itty bitty QH. You try and get that out of your head. Poor horse…)
sigh