More About Sunday….

The hater horse….

Sunday was, for all intents and purposes, a teaser of children and tester of men. Later in life I owned horses of my own and learned a lot that would have been valuable to know back then, but alas, I was only a kid, regularly terrorized by this big, beautiful animal that towered over me and gloated in scaring the bejeezus out of me. And I really believed he did it strictly for his own entertainment.

No rides today…

He had a nasty habit of standing all calm and sweet while Dad saddled him up for us to ride. He would stand resolutely while 3 or 4 kids would climb up for a short ride around the yard. Of course he had no intention of carrying anyone anywhere. As soon as he took his first two steps, he would begin to shift sideways, start to lay down, and happily roll over onto your legs just enough to pin you down if you weren’t quick enough to bail off out of the way. Everything was a game to this crazy animal.

The camper shell…

When we first moved into this house, we kids were drawn to the old barn out back. There was gadgetry of all manner around on the backside of it, perfect for creating and acting out Wild West stories. It was a great fort, and was generally fun all around. It was situated just far enough from the house to be out of Mom’s sight, had fence all around, and a swing gate with a huge spring that allowed for quick, easy entrance and exit. Just inside the fence and to the right was where Dad stored his camper shell when not in use, and it added to the attraction as another secret hiding place. This was a fantastic area for kids imagination to run wild. Of course, this was all before Sunday, the devil horse, came to live with us.

He’s gone, let’s go!….

Sunday would disappear from sight and we would foolishly think he was off over the hill on the back pasture, so off we would go, inside the gate to our little camper shell fort. All would be good for hours until we were ready to escape and find other games to play. We would check the camper shell windows for signs of Sunday. We had to make sure he wasn’t around before climbing out and running like mad men to the gate. Sure enough, nine times out of ten, there he would be, standing right next to the shell, only his legs visible through the tiny windows. Just standing, waiting for us to crawl out, so he could chase us to the gate. So then we were trapped under the camper, yelling for older brothers or a parent to come save us.

The barn…

Sunday was also notorious for waiting behind the barn, all quiet and creepy, until unsuspecting little kids ran around the side and smack into his grinning horse face, causing us to skid to a halt so fast our rear-end slid up around our neck. We would shriek and instantly turn and run. Sunday would casually trot right up behind us and bear down just enough to breath down our necks, but never pass us until the gate came into view. He would then dart around us and get in front of the gate, smiling his evil horse smile, causing us to once again turn tail and run back toward the barn, bawling and screaming all the way, while he trotted along behind, happily breathing his hot horse breath on our heads til we got almost to the barn, once again, he would get between us and the safety of the barn door to simply stand there and look at us, as if to say, “Hey, I can do this all day.” And off we would go again, straight for the gate.

Sunday gets educated…

Eventually Mom got tired of the whole “horse-chasing-her-kids” thing and decided to fix the problem herself. It was Easter Sunday, we were back from church, and had already hit the camper shell fort.  Unlike Easter Sunday, Evil Sunday was no where to be seen, so we felt safe and headed to the barn at top speed, only to be confronted just around the corner of the barn. In typical fashion, Sunday decided to “play” with us. Mom was in the kitchen, still dressed in her beautiful pale pink maternity Easter dress. She was 7 months pregnant, had long black hair, and I remember how beautiful I thought she was. But today, she was about to become a beautiful badass!

She could hear us screaming and see the horse toying with us and I guess she decided today was the day it was going to stop. This horse was running her kids down for the last time. I don’t remember where she got it, I just remember her standing by the gate yelling at us to keep coming and duck as we came through the gate. The next thing I know, old Sunday is on his knees, reeling like a Saturday night drunk, swinging his head and wondering what happened. Mom, pretty in pink, and flushed from the effort, had just put all she had into the swing of a 6 foot 2×4, caught him right between the eyes and stopped him cold in his tracks. “I’ll bet you don’t chase my kids again, what d’you bet?” she yelled. And it’s funny, but I don’t remember him ever doing it again. She probably rattled his eyes so bad he couldn’t see us to chase us. I often wonder whatever happened to old Sunday. He’s probably chasing little imps and giving Satan a hard time in Hades by now.