Even Demons Have Their Moments

A Small Farmer and Some Mud

Harry Larsenger owned pretty much all the land in the area. He was the man to go to if you wanted anything big bought or sold in the farming world. If he liked you, you were golden and got whatever you wanted—access to indoor arenas, cheap hay and grain—you were connected. If he didn't know you, you were on your own.

And if he didn't like you...well, that was a bad idea.

The "Horse World" as my Father calls it can be very unforgiving.

To make my life sound even more like a Western movie, we have the Gorbegers. They lived here a few years back. Everything was going fine for them—their farm was doing well, livestock all healthy, crops growing better than most. But then their teenage boy, Dan, made a move on Larsenger's girl, Sally, and things got ugly. Fast.

After that, no one would deal with the Gerbegers. Larsenger had Marked them and you did not do business with Marked people. The Gorbegers ended up selling all their livestock and moving. They didn't even get a good price despite the excellent health of the animals. If I remember it right, it was gypsies that brought the animals in the end.

They were Marked.

For months now, my father had been trying to get on Larsenger's good side, but he couldn't get the time of day from the man.

People like that just don't talk to a man with a small farm and horse yard like my father. Why would they? Haven't got the time.

That's why I was surprised when I saw Sally Lasenger sitting on a fine gray warmblood at our yard gate. She was scowling impatiently in my direction.

With a yelp, I put Monte between me and her, trying to use him to hide my manure and mud covered body. Equine shield. Serve him right if he got roasted by her laser eyes.

"I can see you, you know," A nasal, mean voice announced.  Okay, it wasn't that nasal. Finding something wrong with her just made me feel better about myself. And as I was covered in crap, I felt justified in fantasizing about her faults.

Like a six-year-old caught stealing candy, I stepped out from behind the horse and looked up. She was looking down from her horse imperiously, like the school mistress who knew that she owned the miscreant student. "What happened to your outfit? Did you fall off or something?"

For all of five seconds, I thought about throwing some of the slime sliding down my back at her face and yelling No, I decided to roll around in dirt and dung for fun!

But she was Harry Larsenger's daughter, so instead I smiled and laughed in a self-depreciating way, "Yeah, a coupla times."

She looked me up and down with an annoyingly quizzical eye. At that point, I was more mud than person. Literally dripping in the stuff. The word ooze comes to mind.

"Well I can't say it's a surprise. Galloping like that with no saddle."

Resisting the prideful urge to rip her from her horse and throw her in the mud, I defended myself, "Oh, I didn't mean to. We started out just walking and trotting but he...he...well, he can get a bit ornery sometimes."

Her arrogant, assessing gaze moved to Monte. I knew he wasn't much. A 15 hand, 2 inch (For the non-horse oriented, a hand is four inches so 15'2 means 62 inches or 5'2"), skinny thouroughbred that was black before the sun faded his coat to somewhere close to brown. And he, like me, was dripping in sweat and mud. But less mud than me. And he kept dancing and nudging me. Because he wouldn't give me a break. Rather like Sally, actually.

He just did not compare to the beautiful, pure white, delicate warmblood perfectly still and square on the other side of the gate.

Oh for better horses and better days.

"If he acts like that why ride with no saddle?"

"I had a saddle, but..." I paused here. Did I really want Harry Larsenger to know that I had ridden bareback covered in manure just to extract revenge from my horse? No. So, I lied, "The girth broke when I was at the other end of the field."

She nodded knowingly. Not as if she had ever ridden with a girth that would break (Heaven forbid) but that she knew such things could happen because she was educated in such matters.

Now, the assessing eyes moved to the rest of the yard, "Will you let me in?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure."

Forgetting who's reigns it was that I was holding, I dashed to the gate and opened it for her, holding Monte back and the gate open as she walked through.

Of course, Monte lived up to his nickname: "Demon." Just as Sally was passing me, he sidestepped behind me and shoved my back with his nose.

I fell onto Sally's leg.

When I stepped back, already apologizing, I saw the horror of what had just happened. Her white breaches, saddle, white saddle pad, and white horse, were all stained black and brown from the manure that had been covering my front.

"Oh my God!" Sally shrieked, her horse dancing forward, a large bite mark in its rump, "Why did you do that?"

Demon—I mean Monte--took the excuse of a shrieking voice to rear up on his hind legs and pour the air.

I spun around, ignoring Sally for the moment, and focused on calming the rearing horse down.

When I finally managed to get all of Monte's hooves back on the ground, and counted them to make sure he wasn't trying to pull one over on me, Sally was gone. I looked over the gate and saw her catering down the lane at full speed.

Soon, her horse was a white dot in the distance with a black one on top of it.

I'm not sure if the black dot was her jacket or the mark I had made on them.

Hours later, I could no longer find any chores that needed doing at the yard and realized I had no excuse but to go home and face my parents.

I found my father in the kitchen, sat him down, and told him what happened. He laughed when I told him of the ride, but when I got to Sally, he was grim.

"Tell me you're kidding," It was a hopeless plea.

I had cleaned up best I could, but the stains were still in my clothes plain as day. He knew there was no way I was kidding.

Dad sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"She was coming to see the fields. I've been negotiating with Larsenger for months about having him grow some of his barley in our fields."

"And he sent Sally? Her mind hardly ever leaves the fashion magazines!"

Dad just chuckled lightly and humorlessly. Larsenger coddled Sally. She was his only child and his heir. If Sally didn't like you, Larsenger hated you.

"Looks like the deal's off," Dad said in a joking manner, but there was not humor in it.

"Should I start packing?"

"No," Dad whispered, shaking his head, "No. Larsenger's a practical man. Won't go to all that trouble for a small farmer and some mud."

Unlike most teenagers, I prayed my father was right.