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THOMAS THORNHILL
Nevada City, California

 

 

 

Lucky

"Lucky" sure plumb weren't.

Sired by Rainbow Dancer, out of Pot-O'-Gold,

Rainbow Dancer Lucky Seven (Lucky), you'da thought he'd be bulletproof.

Ha!

As a colt, woodchuck got him ... along the fence-line of the north pasture

(Ah didn't know that critter lived there; honest!).

Lucky's down, screaming, foreleg green-stick break, so Ah shot him ...

(Lucky, that is)...

full of dope, splinted his leg, called the vet.

Lucky heals, no lameness, no goofy gait, no nothin'; just big bucks.

Year later, 'way away from the others' mounds, renegade prairie-dog got him,
(same leg).

So Ah shot him ... dead out this time, splinted, called the vet.

Vet ... chopper ... sling ... Lucky goes flyin'.

Me? I walks.

Slower this time, Lucky heals, still fine (bigger bucks, fer sure).

Last time, gopher got him ... in the truck garden.

Lucky found the organic carrots; so did the gopher; gopher won (diff'rent
leg).

More screaming, more dope, more vet, more bucks;

Ah's had it!

Ah figures: iffen Lucky can't handle being lucky, Ah'll change his name.

(Naw, not "Black Hole" nor "Money Pit"....).

He ain't had a problem since.

Got me a steady, sure-footed, mellow horse now, called "Gopher Broke"

(Ah think he knows ... he ain't never gonna be no gelding.

Ah gotta get my money back somehow....)

2005, Thomas Thornhill
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


 

 

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