When the ox is in the ditch, you must get him out

There are no prairie dogs on this rock pile. I don't have any prairie chickens either, unless a hen bent on delinquency flies through. We do have coyotes and badgers. I have seen many wild animals around here, but the hole that Snip stepped into was done by an unknown varmint. Snip fell and I was on the bottom side for a second or two.

We were checking the fence around the new pasture for the leftover steers. And because we, both Snip and me, are getting on in years, we usually don't hit a lope just because we want to. But it was getting close to church time and my close relative wants me in and cleaned up in plenty of time to make it before the bell tolls. I goosed Snip and he scooted along.

The cool morning air was so nice and we were dropping years behind us as we went. I felt pretty good rocking along, and Snip was sure enjoying himself, until that hole landed under his left front leg. We dropped like a rock and tumbled around. I was under and then out and Snip was down and then up.

I just sat there a second, dazed, and then scared to look at the horse. I raised that feller from a mare that was a descendant of Poco Bueno. Snip is not one I can replace, and I am sure I would never buy another horse for myself that would be as trustworthy. A crow hop or a snort is acceptable, but he never did anything to be malicious.

I finally did look and he was just looking back. We stared for a couple of seconds and I decided I needed to see if I was capable of getting up. Sure enough, nothing seemed broken or even badly bent. I held my breath as I ran my hand down Snip's left leg. He didn't flinch or move and I found nothing out of place. Leading him around was proof that he was sound and I was fine, too. My saddle was dirty; the horn looked like it was stuck into the ground but not torn up.

I walked over to the hole and it was deep, looked like a coyote den was started and then abandoned for lack of cover. I never would have suspected a hole in that pasture, especially out in the middle of the grass -- no cover, no sign of animals, just a hole. I would see to it that the thing was covered by dark, and I rode the rest of the pasture at a walk after church looking for more.

It is my opinion, and everyone has one, when the ox is in the ditch, you must get him out. That means you do daily chores on Sunday morning but you don't just crowd in extra stuff. I was taught by my sainted mother, and my close relative also lives by that rule. We have always tried to work hard and make a living, but Sunday is not ours to do as we please. Proof positive will sometimes be allowed to jump up and present itself in a strange way. No broken bones or even sprains are proof enough for this old man. Sunday is His special day.

Bill is the pen name used by a local writer and longtime resident of the Gravette area. Opinions expressed are those of the author.