The Horses
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The Giggly Sisters were beginning to feel quite at home on the Ponderosa. They
knew it was a good sign when they weren’t dispatched to sleep in the guest
bedroom and they were managing to navigate their way around the myriad of
ever-changing rooms upstairs. Even the fact that there was no indoor plumbing
had not fazed them. However, there was one real problem remaining: the
incredibly uncomfortable sofa in the living room.
Ben remained adamant that there was nothing wrong with it.
“It was chosen by my late wife, Joe’s mama, Marie.” There was a muffled chorus
of “My Love,” which he ignored. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.
In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s as good as the day we bought it.”
Joe wriggled in the vain attempt to find a soft spot on the sofa. He could
distinctly remember the sofa having at least 2 previous incarnations and
completely different fabric, but he didn’t think this was quite the moment to
mention that. Not if the look in Ben’s eye was anything to go by.
“Why don’t we go out to the barn and see the horses?” he suggested and the
sisters leapt at the chance to get up from the sofa. Their legs were almost numb
after only 20 minutes.
“Have you never noticed the way I always move my legs in that heartbreaking way
when they dump me on the sofa after a maim?” Joe asked bitterly. “It’s the only
way I can keep my circulation going. No wonder Adam always bags that blue velvet
chair.”
By this time, they were at the doors of the barn. Inside, Hoss was humming to
himself and surveying the tack. He spent a lot of time in the barn. The horses
whickered in pleasure at the girls, who invariably carried sugar lumps in their
pockets. Buck tossed his head and the light caught on the medallions on his
bridle.
“I’ve always wondered about that bridle,” said the redhead, who had a fine eye
for horseflesh and could sex a horse at 50 paces. “It has these faintly
disturbing overtones of bondage about it.”
“It has?” Joe asked, nervously. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ben
wasn’t around. He had a closer look, and saw that the sisters were right. He
took a quick glance at his own bridle, and was relieved to find that it was
quite normal.
“And have you noticed how camp Buck is?” the redhead went on. “His legs don’t
seem to be joined to his body properly, and they fly in all sorts of
directions!” She patted the horse on the nose, and smacked him one firmly when
he attempted to bite her. “Don’t bother, buddy!” she warmed and Buck took the
hint.
“Hi, Cooch,” Joe crooned to the black and white pinto in the next stall. He had
a quick look to make sure it was the only black and white pinto around, as he
had, on a number of occasions, found himself riding a grey and white pinto. Plus
there were one or two other piebalds around, and they all answered to the same
name. He thought he ought to have a word with the horsemaster about his lack of
imagination. He hoped the viewers didn’t notice all the different animals he
rode.
“We noticed,” the blonde said, coming over to pet Cochise. “But it’s not your
fault. It’s continuity again. Not paying attention.”
“Not writing everything down at the end of a take,” said the redhead, with deep
feeling. She remembered her continuity training, and what a pain it could be,
but the polished look of her programmes more than made up for it. She stroked
Cochise’s nose. “How come your Pa thought Cochise was a girl in Marie My Love?”
she asked, curiously. Cochise gave her a startled look, and hastily checked
himself out.
“Stress,” Joe said, sagaciously. “I’d just had a nasty maim that reminded him of
how my mother got squished, and he was all nostalgic.”
“I wish we’d got to see that bit,” the redhead murmured to her sister. She was a
little bloodthirsty sometimes, Joe reflected. She adored maiming him in her
stories.
“So you keep saying,” sighed the blonde. “Of course, you’re quite right.
Complete waste of an episode, I always thought. Great opportunity to see you
suffering from a nasty maim completely wasted.”
At this point, conversation stopped as Ben came into the barn and saddled up
Buck, who pranced skittishly around his stall. As he trotted out, Joe noticed
how Buck’s legs appeared to be going in four completely different directions.
The blonde moved to the next stall, where Sport was tethered. He turned round
and snapped bad-temperedly at her. Luckily, she had her hockey stick with her
and biffed him soundly on the nose.
“He’s a bit temperamental,” Joe advised belatedly. “Doesn’t really seem to like
people touching him and goes into these moods. Adam likes him though.”
A deep silence greeted this pronouncement. The sisters could not help noticing
that, apart from Chubb (who was tucking into a nice bran mash) the rest of the
stalls were empty.
“Where‘re the blue roans? And all the ranch hands’ horses?” asked the redhead.
“Are they in a disappearing barn somewhere?” She nudged her sister. “Did you see
I remembered to call it a barn? Quite an achievement.”
“I noticed,” replied the blonde. She turned to Joe. “And where are those nice
bays that pull the buggy, and the chestnuts with the blonde manes? You have a
huge number of teams, but where do you keep them? In the corral?”
“I don’t know,” Joe admitted. “The horses just seem to be there when we need
them. A bit like the buggies and buckboards and wagons.”
“What’s the difference between a buckboard and a wagon?” asked the blonde, and
Joe thought this was a joke he hadn’t heard.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What is the difference between a buckboard and a
wagon?”
“I don’t either,” replied the blonde, exasperated. “That’s why I asked you!”
“Oh,” Joe said, and rolled his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. He and the blonde
shrugged in unison.
“The wagon has higher sides than the buckboard,” the redhead said, in
long-suffering tones. “What I really want to know is why you talk about saddling
the horses, but not tacking them.” She shook her vibrant tresses, and Hoss
wondered if people really did have hair that red naturally. “After all, you
expect there to be a bridle on, too.”
“We’re American,” Joe explained. “That’s just the way it is.”
"That's an excuse, not a reason, " the blonde pointed out. "And anyway, you're
half French and Hoss is half Swedish."
There was no answer to this, so the redhead neatly changed the subject.
"I've often noticed that Buck sometimes has his forelock tucked underneath his
browband. Is that another of your cute American habits or is it just sheer
laziness?"
Joe grinned broadly. "Neither. Pa has to do that every time he washes Buck's
mane and tail - he can't do a thing with them for days afterwards!"
They were still laughing when Ben came back in from his ride and he looked
slightly hurt. He was not the most confident person on horseback and sometimes
rued the day he had ever signed up for a western. Mind you, the scenery was
beautiful and the clothes were splendid. Ben especially loved the conchos on his
waistcoat. Not that he knew what conchos actually were, or indeed what useful
function (if any) they performed, but they went rather nicely with the
medallions on Buck's bridle.
As he went back to the house, walking slightly stiffly, Ben reflected on the
riding abilities of his three sons. Dear Joseph had such an athletic nature,
demonstrated by his magnificent swing leap and fearless riding style. The boy
rode like a centaur, he thought proudly. Then there was Hoss: now that he had
stopped flapping his elbows like a chicken, he almost looked comfortable in the
saddle. Alas, the same could not be said for poor old Adam, who had adopted a
most ungainly pose on horseback, with his legs stuck out so awkwardly, so that
an onlooker might think he was about to do the Conga.
"Perhaps he has a bad back?" Ben mused, as he entered the house. That would
explain a lot of things, including the tentative way Adam mounted Sport. There
was always a moment or two of extreme suspense when the viewer was never quite
sure if he would actually make it into the saddle. And as for getting off –
well, Ben sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t just be easier for Adam to live on
the back of his horse.
No, maybe not, he reflected, as that would involve the horse living in the
house. There never appeared to be horse manure lying around the yard or barn,
but Ben didn’t know if that was because the hands were very attentive, or if the
horses were just corked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, because whatever the
reason, it did mean that they were never in any danger of falling off onto a
heap of dung.
Joe and the girls came back inside, and looked at the uncomfortable settee with
disgust. However, there was nowhere else to sit, so they eased themselves down
on it, and immediately felt their nether regions going numb.
“So,” said the redhead. “Do you think there’ll be a horse for each of us to
ride?”
“Good point,” agreed the blonde. “We don’t want to ride in the buckboard or the
wagon if we don’t have to.”
“The four seater buggy is quite nice,” said the redhead, “but a horse of our won
would be more useful, don’t you think?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Joe assured them. “Horses turn up all over the place in
this show. Look at that one which got swapped between the posse and the villains
in Amigo. There are bound to be horses for you, even if they never turn up in
the barn.”
Looking around nervously, Joe beckoned to the girls. “Do you suppose the barn
ever changes around inside?” he asked, and the girls could do nothing but laugh.
That was a whole other story!
The End
Giggly Sisters Productions
February 2003