Nevada City, California
"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.
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,
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
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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