Page 55 of Pigeon

About an hour later, I spot two riders pushing a small herd of cattle at the opposite end of the field I’m cutting hay in. As I get closer, I recognize Ivy on Junior immediately. The ragdoll bouncing wildly on the big buckskin horse next to her has to be Horse. I probably should have asked him to explain better about his riding experience before volunteering him to saddle up today. People always say they’ve rode but never explain that usually means being led around at a county fair for $10. Big difference between being a rider and having rode.

I watch Ivy and the dogs push the small herd of what I can now see are bulls down a slope. It’s not a gentle incline either. It’s steep, and I have a sudden stroke of genius. I whip out my phone, hit the camera app, switch to the video mode, and aim it at Horse. No way am I going to miss videoing what’s about to become a total wreck.

Shutting the tractor down, I step outside the cab but stay on the steps, so I’m in an elevated position. I can hear Ivy giving Horse instructions, but I know him well enough to know that he’s past listening. The male ego can screw us in more ways than a female can ever imagine.

The herd of bulls work their way carefully down the steep slope, as does Ivy’s horse. Horse doesn’t listen to Ivy and doesn’t give his horse its head, so it can safely pick its way down, though. As if it’s happening in slow motion, I watch Horse pull back hard on the reins in panic when his horse slides a few steps. Worst thing you can do because a horse will fight to stay on its feet even if that means unseating its rider. Shaking its head hard, protesting the too-tight reins, the buckskin sidesteps then gains control of its head. Lowering its head immediately while Horse is not leaning backward to balance his weight, Horse’s ass parts ways with his saddle as expected. Horse does a perfect swan dive over the horse’s head, cussing loudly, then connecting with the ground hard before rolling. Rolling, bouncing, and more rolling all the way down to the back feet of the last bull in line. The 2,000-pound bull is not impressed with having a human slam into its hind feet and whirls instantly. Bulls are generally bad-tempered, ornery fuckers during their best moments, and this one’s not having a good time.

I have a moment of fear for my club brother’s life when he lifts his head, and it’s not five feet from the bull’s lowered one. Another moment of fear when the bull paws at the ground before bellowing, shaking its huge head, slobber flying through the air. Those are classic signs that bulls give before they fuck you up for life or unalive you.

I clearly hear his “Oh, fuck me!” before he tries to scramble backward. I also hear Ivy bark an order to the dogs as Junior and her fly across the uneven ground at breakneck speed. Barreling between Horse and bull, Ivy slaps the bull’s shoulders with her rope, and it distracts the bull long enough for the dogs to arrive. Sliding to a stop, Junior executes a perfect roll-back, and woman and horse return to the scene where a grisly murder nearly occurred. The heelers tag-team the pissed-off bull and push it several yards away. Keeping it distracted, the heelers prove that the Australians know how to breed a great cattle dog.

Ivy stops next to Horse, holds her hand down to him in a clear sign that he should grab it, jump up behind her, and save himself. Instead, Horse shakes his head wildly in a no gesture before he turns and starts limping back up the slope, one hand gently cupping his balls. Ivy sidles over to the buckskin, who’s standing calmly nearby, picks up its reins, and follows Horse to the top of the slope.

When Horse notices me, he flies his finger high as he turns his limping body in my direction. Ivy leads the buckskin as she and Junior walk behind Horse. When Horse gets close, I can see the rips in both his shirt and jeans, and I don’t even try to stifle a laugh. Small scrapes and a few bruises are evident, but he’s going to survive, and his pissed-off face just makes me laugh harder.

“Talk to your woman! She put me on that four-legged devil in disguise! Oh, he’s super gentle! Oh, he’s the quietest horse I own! He’s such a sweetheart! All fucking lies, Pigeon! That thing is evil! My nuts will never make another appearance in this lifetime! He beat the fuck out of them!” Horse screams, then winces, and rubs his hand over his abused balls.

I’m still videoing this awesome turn of events when I aim my phone at Ivy. Her head is lowered, but her shoulders are shaking. No sound is coming from her, but I grin because I know she’s battling that hard.

“I used to like you, Ivy. Now I hope your horse bites you in the ass!” Horse barks before moaning again.

“I still like you, Horse. Even if you overstated your riding abilities and are as graceful on horseback as… well, I can’t think of anything less graceful at the moment. And even though you refused to listen or take advice from, how did you word that? Oh yeah, a mere woman. Sorry today’s been so rough on your girlie parts, but it’s time to cowboy up. Get back on your horse, listen to what I say, and learn or die. Your choice, but I got things to do,” Ivy says in a hard voice to Horse’s back.

The whole time she’s laying into him, she’s grinning at me. Horse got instant karma for making a “mere woman” comment to someone who can ride circles around any man I know. The grin disappears when Horse whirls around to face her.

“Girlie parts? You do know they call me Horse Nuts for a reason, right?” he asks sarcastically.

“Yes, I know that Horse, and I know why. Go, Ava!” Ivy responds, tossing a fist in the air before turning her horse and riding back to the slope.

I end the video and lean against the tire for support while I laugh my ass off at the look on Horse’s face.

“You told her about Ava kicking me?” he asks in dismay.

“Fuck no, wasn’t me. Did you really say the words “mere woman” to her? Are you fucking suicidal?”

“I was joking. I didn’t think she’d put me on a fucking jackhammer on steroids for it,” Horse complains.

“She didn’t, you dick wad. I rode that horse last night, and he’s fucking awesome,” I say while swinging back up to the cab, still laughing.

“Guess I’m riding with you now,” Horse says before putting his foot on the bottom step.

“Think again, girlfriend. As Ivy said, time to cowboy up. Only pussies don’t get back on the horse after they fall off. Try moving with the horse and not against him. Oh, and believe me, ice will be your friend tonight,” I answer before slamming the door shut and starting the tractor.

I’m already forwarding the video before Horse even realizes how limited his options are for getting back to the ranch.

Walking into the house with Petey, Pooh, and Cash, we all stop dead at the sight before us. Ivy is at the stove, stirring something in a huge pot and laughing to herself. Toes is setting the table, looks at us, and starts laughing too. The sight that stopped us, though, is through the doorway into the living room. Crowding through the door, we come to a stop in front of the couch.

Laying on his back, knees cocked and supported by pillows, Horse looks like he’s waiting for some kind of fucked-up gynecological exam. A large bag of frozen peas is tucked over his balls, large glass of what’s most likely whiskey is cradled in one hand and balanced on his abs, while the other arm is thrown over his eyes. Mumbling, almost incoherently, the words to “Mamma’s Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,” it’s obvious this isn’t his first glass of liquid pain reliever.

Pooh pulls his phone out and does the honors this time. Walking back to the kitchen, I lean down and kiss the side of Ivy’s neck.

“Clearly, we’ll be having a guest tonight. He found one of Ted’s bottles of booze, has been hitting it hard and has repeatedly told me that there’s no way his ass is sitting on anything that moves until his balls heal. I’m going to have to sleep with one eye open, I’m afraid,” Ivy manages to say before dissolving in laughter again, Toes joining her.

“He tried to make Ivy promise to make Axel ride the same horse,” Toes says.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Can you do that for us, Ivy?” Pooh asks as he joins us in the kitchen, Horse’s glass in hand, loud snores following him from the couch.

“Lucky’s not to blame for Horse having bruised boy parts,” Ivy defends her horse.

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