Saturday, September 26, 2009

The Devil In Jack

Jack's regression into extreme youth, and it's ensuing hijinks, continues apace. Frankly, I don't know where this will all end, except possibly with my having a nervous breakdown. He might as well just get a toupee (or rug, as he calls it), a motorized sports vehicle with a retractable top and a pair of those wrap-around sunglasses. It's most unseemly in one so ancient. When I suggest he act his age, he replies that he is acting exactly as old as he feels.

The latest events began when I was slumbering in the sun and felt a light pressure against my side. I heard Jack's muffled voice saying "be keerful sonny, the blue puffball's after ya". I opened my eyes slightly and turned to see that indeed, a ginormous blue sphere was pressed into my side. It was hideous, the mother of all puffballs, and obviously a mutant of special colour. I trumpeted a warning and charged directly into a tree. When I recovered, the thing was still upon my person, so I dropped my hind end and launched myself into the field, hitting the ground at a tremendous pace. Jack remained at my side and that's when I realized he was the one pressing the object against me and that in fact it was an equine plaything called a "Jolly Ball". I felt distinctly un-jolly and berated Jack in no uncertain terms. He didn't care one whit - just stood there wheezing and chuckling to himself like one demented.

That very same night Jack decided that his tail needed a good rubbing and so he backed up to his waterbucket and began to shimmy back and forth while emitting a low humming sound. The water in the bucket formed itself into waves and finally into an enormous tsunami which shot into my room, soaking my bedding. He said he was sorry and told me I could share his room, which would be fine if there weren't a gate inbetween. Then he lay down in his own thick, DRY bed and was asleep in no time. I stood in a puddle up against the wall till morning when the woman released us.

The last bit is entirely the woman's fault. She has begun to play these disc things that contain music in the tack room, often singing along tunelessly and much too loud. The music varies widely, sometimes classical, sometimes the dreadful rock and roll cacophany and the other day something called bluegrass. I have not heard this sort of "music" before and to my well-tuned ears it sounds like grown men howling and shrieking along with plaintive-sounding string instruments, notably something called a banjo. The themes are dismal and feature coal mining, betrayal, loss, disaster, crop failure and the demise of someone or something called "ole Dixie".

Jack was touched to his core. He stood outside the tack room window and listened carefully and then he began to "sing" along. He brayed and bellowed and groaned and, combined with the bluegrass noise, it sounded like the torture of the damned. The woman finally turned the racket off and went out to see if Jack was alright. He was just fine and was quite annoyed at having his accompaniment removed. Thankfully, she took the disc back to the house, saying she was afraid the neighbours would report us for animal cruelty. I wonder if Jack may originally hail from the southern United States . . .

Unfortunately, she continues to play Doc's favourites, the electricians' group called AC/DC and Molly's favourite, a collection of disco hits. My favourites, Beethoven, Bach, Handel and the other pillers of classical music appear only occasionally. I need to move to Vienna.


Dougie Donk said...

Mercy, Sheaffer, I think you need to take a few lessons from Jack in youthful thinking! I know that you outdo me in years (I am 5 now!), but a good yeehah round the field helps to clear the brain for serious thought & also helps whittle the waistline a bit.

Perhaps your woman would be more forthcoming with the Gummi Worms if she thought you were doing some aerobics?

My woman also plays music in the tackroom. One of her occassional offerings is a band called "Hayseed Dixie" - an interesting amalgam of Heavy metal anthems delivered in Jack's favoured Bluegrass style. Not exactly to my taste, but forms an interesting variation to the Wagner & verdi wailings that she sometimes favours... a trip to Vienna sounds rather appealing!

Buddy said...

Hay Sheaffer - you have me rolling in the dirt - a blue jolly ball - wish i had one - I have traffic cones to play with and they don't move they just stand there and look at me. At least a jolly ball would roll around if I touched it.

Mom listens to rock and roll - I like country myself - but I'm getting used to the rock and roll - sometimes I swish my tail to the rhythum (sp). She really likes Aerosmith and Bon Jovi - a little AC/DC - Metallica - I prefer Bon Jovi if she is gonna play music.

I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying life - and Jack - what a goof he is - mom wants him!

Your fren,

billie said...

My goodness - the woman has a wild assortment of musical tastes to satisfy in your barn!

We mostly listen to classical in ours, unless Keil Bay has access to the radio dial, in which case he shifts it to rock. I often put the dial to NPR.

I really should get a CD player out there so I can expose them all to different types of music!

Re: Jack and his shenanigans... I think the solution is a vacation. You come here and visit with Rafer Johnson. Redford will go there to spend time with Jack.

I feel that would work for all concerned. (except the woman, who upon having Jack AND Redford both at once, would probably need a vacation herself afterward!)

robert5721 said...

I am really glad to hear that Mr Jack is feeling so sprightly .. that means that the woman is doing all of the right stuff for him ..I LOVE the jolly ball story .. it is hilarious, even if you are slightly annoyed..

Now, can we hear something about Mr Tabolinski? He appears to be a noble soul with a great story, and I wouild love to hear it ..
Many Thanks,
Mr Gale

robert5721 said...

Sheaffer, I must inform you that Bluegrass music is a highly evolved art form .. I happen to play a guitoilet and a banJohn myself .. in the early days we did not have enough money to buy instruments ready made, so we made em out of old wore out toilet seats and cookie tins .. if you think what you were forced to listen to was bad, I should send you a recording of me and the first bluegrass band I had ..
Now, about Mr Tabolinski????
Mr Gale

ponymaid said...

Dougie, not you too! The woman is always droning on about my waistline and how sedentary I am for a young donkey. I tell her I'm not sedentary, just extremely contemplative and can only ruminate while standing with my eyes closed. She too is encouraging Jack in his delinquent ways. I refuse to tell the woman about "Hayseed Dixie" as she would just run out and buy some. Now Wagner - there's a composer - my goal is to listen to the entire Ring cycle without moving a muscle. I know I can do it.

Buddy, it's getting to the point where I may very well have Jack shipped to your mom. He's outlandishly goofy these days. I'm afraid the woman also listens to the so-called singers you mentioned. I retreat to the furthest reaches of the paddock when I hear the first note. I do recommend one of those Jolly Balls as a recreational object but not as a substitute puffball.

Billie, the woman says that indeed Jack and Redford would be a potent mixture and would result in her nerves being frayed beyond repair. Jack is delighted and says send him over as soon as possible. I would consider myself very lucky to spend some time with Rafer. With him onboard maybe I could suppress this bizarre and eclectic music melange issuing from the tack room. Bob Wills? Jimi Hendrix? Robert Charlebois? Flaco Himenez? Robert Johnson? Sam Roberts? Who on earth ARE these people and why must I listen to them? She just can't seem to focus. I request Schubert's "The Trout" and I get "Born to Run" by someone called The Boss. No wonder I'm exhausted.

Et tu, Mr. Gale? Woe is me, I tremble at the thought of toilet seat instruments and cookie tin timpany. Try as I might, I cannot come to terms with Bluegrass music. I don't care for the thought of coal mines and starvation and salvation - but the woman can achieve the effect of cats on a back fence when she really chimes in with someone like that Del McCoury. She tells me that donkeys used to work in mines pulling heavy carts but I hope and pray that is another one of her fictions. As for Mr. Tabloinski, he is doing splendidly. He is large and shiny and pain-free. His feet have come along remarkably in the last year and he oversees the routine at PrimRose like a benevolent edifice held up by tree trunk legs.

billie said...

Sheaffer, your mention of the woman's obsession with your waistline reminded me: I came upon this bizarre item earlier today and am alerting you in advance.


ponymaid said...

Egads, Billie! That perpetual motion machine was obviously designed by Torquemada himself on one of his crankier days. That is my idea of Dante's Inferno and is without doubt something in which the woman would be willing to invest. Let's leave it as our little secret, shall we?

Ben said...

Hi Sheaffer
Sounds to me as if you have had an alarming couple of weeks. Between Exobiotic Puffballs, Brutal assaults by the Woman and Jack's second childhood it is a wonder you are not reclining on some Therepist's couch while popping handfuls of Paxil. This current change in the weather has done nothing to bolster the spirits,I might add. It is fortunate that you have the support of all your friends to help you through this period of seemingly targeted abuse. Stay Strong Old Friend..the stongest steel comes from the hottest fire.
We have had a riotus week down here at Serendipity. I have been pondering how to get at the lush sweet grass outside our paddock. Climbing equipment, trampolines, catapults and bungee cords have all been considered and eliminated. Gerry asked me what had me all "mentally constipated". When I explained my thoughts to him, in single syllable words, he snorted and wandered over to the gate. faster than you could say Jackass Robinson he flipped it of its hinges using his mamoth neck. Freedom! We galloped through the gate like the Younger's chasing a Stagecoach. We ran and ran across the endless grassy plains. O.K so we trotted maybe 10 feet and stopped to eat. Trotting is exhausting after all. Sadly we were apprehended and returned to custody. The gate repaired so that we could not remove it. Back to the drawing board...
Best Wishes

ponymaid said...

Ben, you boys have been doing excellent work! A high-speed escape with the law hot on your heels. I know how distracting food can be but remember that humans are suspicious by nature and are constantly checking our every move - next time make tracks for the forest, where you can snack at leisure. Now that you have mastered the art and science of gate lifting, the world is your oyster. Donkeys of the world unite - we have nothing to lose but the shackles of oppression!