Hi!  My name is “Yeer Dawg”, or at least that’s what  my master calls  me when he wants me.  I’m a blue heeler.  Yeer Pup was my old name but I’m grown up now.  I guess I should be happy my master considers me a dog.  Bozo is what I call my master.   He sells horses for a living.  Life around this place gets pretty entertaining at times and I would like to share some of my stories with you. 

Guess what?  I got to go to a horse show!  I  was sitting around minding my own business and Jimmy came in to get his horse.  He works for Bozo part time  and keeps his horse here.  Jimmy hooked up the trailer and said he was going to a horse show.  Naturally, when the tail gate went down, I jumped in.  Jimmy told me I couldn’t go but I never start to get out until they yell a little, or a lot, whichever comes last.  He finally ignored  me.  Bozo went in to the house and I got to go. 

We drove for a long ways and pulled into this field where there were all kinds of people, horses and dogs.  I thought I’d be the only dog but come to find out, there were almost as many dogs as there were horses.  We pulled up next to some lady who brought her three kids and horses to the show.  Oh, yeah, they had the dog, too.  His name was Red.  Red was big and ugly but very friendly.  Mother needed lessons from  the dog…she didn’t like us parking there and her attitude certainly reflected it. 

I  got out of the truck and starting doing my canine duty:  I smelled every tire, kid, dog and horse within reach, and that was a lot of them.  Once I got all that taken care of, I started to enjoy myself.  I teamed up with Big Red.  He was, as his name implied:   he slobbered on everything including me.  It had been a while since I had been able to share my time with one of my own kind.   

Being a dog at a horse show is like being a kid at a birthday party; nobody notices if you’re there or not.  The people were all too busy cussing the judge.  That man couldn’t win.  I thought it was bad being a dog!  He had one class of 26 entries, and after it was over he had one happy person and 25 of them were mad!  They all had a reason why their horse didn’t win…most of them said it had something to do with the judge.  I guess after being around Bozo for so long I’ve kind of developed an objective point of view about these horses (they’re all worthless!). 

I’m glad I’m a dog at times.  We got in on one conversation from a lady that made it a point to talk to everybody.  Before they could get away they knew how old her horse was, how big he was, how big he was going  to be, what he had done from the time of his conception and why he didn’t win under this stupid judge.  We got away from her and ran into a would-be trainer.  He’s got a cure for everything…hit ‘em harder.  He should know what he’s talking about…he’s been doing it for several months and actually won his class the other day.  You didn’t have to guess if he knew what he was talking about or not…all you had to do was give him a minute to open his mouth and remove all doubt. 

We found one little girl who was real friendly to us and just about my size.  I found out she was too small to have her own horse,  but I guess she thought I would do to ride around for the afternoon.  It wasn’t hard to out run her. 

I noticed a family.  Dad was trying to help the kids get ready for their class and the mother was complaining about something persistently.  She was a real charmer.  I could see why he brought her along, it was obviously easier than kissing her goodbye. 

We found a concession stand and thought we would hang out there for a while.  I like it when they serve all that food on those flimsy paper plates…somebody always lets a hot dog or two roll off on the ground.  I had a little competition however…seems like Red was drooling over everything I found.  I made it clear early in our friendship…I ran the show. 

There was an old man there who I knew was going to drop his hot dog.  He did.  It hit the ground and I made a grab for it but he kicked at me but hit ol’ Red, then picked it up, wiped it off and ate it himself.  I wish somebody would have explained the rules to him…if it hits the ground, it belongs to the dogs!

We eventually got full of leftovers and decided to play keep away with a paper plate.  Red caught on real quick.  I ran with it for a while and then Red got it.  We were having fun until Red ran under the would-be trainer’s horse.  You guessed it…the horse pulled back, broke the halter, the saddle turned and the horse ran off bucking.  The saddle and breast collar blew apart like someone had set a bomb to it.  Pieces were everywhere.  I decided to go back to the truck and take a nap.  It seemed to be the safest place. 

On the ride back home, I couldn’t help but wonder why people call their horses dumb animals.  Everywhere you looked people were carrying feed or water or pampering their horses in some way or another.  There were people that had spent a fortune buying the nicest trailer and the fanciest truck to pull them ol’ skates up and down the road.  All I get is a rusty old truck.  They spent all this money to come out here, sit in the hot sun, eat dirty hot dogs and pay their entry fees so they can gripe about the results.  Very few ever think of staying home in the A/C and they could imagine whatever they wanted to about that old horse, and it would be true.  Besides, who would care?  Come to think of it…who cares now? 

I supposed as long as they have horses, they will have horse shows.  And as long as they have horse shows, they will have irate parents, kids always wanting the horse somebody else has, a judge to blame their inadequacies on and us dogs, who don’t care where we go as long as we get to go! 

This is Yeer Dawg signing off.