Expecting The Unexpected

Hi everyone. Next week I’m going to have my spine surgery finally. I should only be in the hospital for a few days and then Kerry will be taking care of me. It will kill her to do things for me so perhaps you can send her encouraging words or bourbon. We will just have to wait and see how my brain works with pain meds as far as more stories. Any who, wish me luck and we will talk soon.

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Back in Connecticut whenever I arrived at a new barn, I had expectations. I expected to find a dry, level place to work that was out of the weather. This space needed to be safe with plenty of room and light. I expected the owners or the grooms that worked for them would help any way they could. Good grooms could be hard to find so when we did happen upon one, we treated them like royalty. After all, we expected that they would keep us safe from fractious horses and help make our days go smoothly by anticipating our needs. As a matter of fact, that’s how I met Kerry. She was smart, cute as heck, knew her job, was fun to talk to. Eventually she forced me to take her out. To be frank, I didn’t expect that.

When it came to my lofty east coast expectations, Montana just laughed. Our first year here, I remember a rancher who seemed to think my friend Larry and I were going to shoe his horses outside in the pouring rain. I thought he was kidding or nuts. Larry dissuaded him of that notion in a hurry and made him clean out the garage so we could get inside. The man wasn’t happy but, as you probably know by now, we didn’t care. Things were going to be done our way, or not at all. This is an excellent philosophy to have in order to keep safe while shoeing horses but there is always the uniquely Montana unforeseen circumstance waiting in the shadows to contend with.

I arrived at a new customer’s place down on the Yellowstone. Driving through the gate it looked to me like every structure there was ready to fall down from neglect. There was junk and pieces of machinery strewn about. No one seemed to care about the place, or maybe they couldn’t afford to care. That thought made me worried about getting paid. The rancher pointed to a corral that had a clear area next to what I guessed was once a barn and said he would bring the horses to me.

When I say a clear area what I meant was, I didn’t see any pieces of a tractor or shredded tires anywhere. The area was filled with thick brown weeds and tan grass that stood just above my knees, so I walked along looking for anything I didn’t want to run over. Satisfied things looked ok, I slowly backed into position when CLANG I hit something metal. A quick walk around the truck confirmed everything was fine. What did I hit? I pulled my shovel out from the bed of the pickup and lay down on the ground parting the grass while hoping there weren’t any snakes around. My shovel hit a hunk of metal that was covered with rust, sunk into the dirt and blended in perfectly with the grass and weeds. No wonder I didn’t see it. I poked at it a few times, trying to catch an edge and pull it out from under the axle with the shovel. I was going to give up and just pull the truck forward when the rusty thing spun sideways a little and I saw a valve. A chill went right up my spine. The rusty chunk of metal was a 40 lb propane bottle.  

My truck’s axle had hit a potentially explosive object and then for good measure, I whacked it with a shovel several times. I didn’t hear any hissing or smell gas so I must not have punctured it. I didn’t dare drive forward or back so there was only one thing to do. While wishing the rancher was there to be killed in the fiery explosion with me, I gently scraped dirt away until the bottle was loose, and I could drag it out from under the truck. I could tell by the heft it wasn’t empty. There was a bright, shiny scar of metal in the middle of all the rust where the axle hit it. Kerry had come close to having a second life with a rich guy like she always wanted. All kidding aside, this could have been deadly. I was still a little shaky when from behind me came a voice.

“Hey, you found it!” the rancher exclaimed in a happy voice.

“What?”

“The propane bottle we use for branding. The cows came in here and moved it and with all the deep grass I couldn’t find it so I figured I would wait until winter when all this would lay down some.” The man stood there with a big grin like I had found buried treasure.

“You knew and set me up here anyway?” I was over being frightened and had leveled up to pretty danged mad. The look on my face was enough to make the man’s grin disappear.

“I didn’t know exactly where it was,” he stuttered, “The cows could have kicked it anywhere. Besides, it’s empty.”

Without taking my eyes off him I turned the valve on. The gas gushed forth and I let it go for about 15 seconds. His eyes grew wide.

“It’s half full at least,” I said. “This tank would have blown me and my truck sky high not to mention cooking off MY two propane tanks in the truck bed. It could have burned your house to the ground and set the whole river bottom on fire.” 

I grabbed a bottle of water from my cab and guzzled half of it. Fear makes you thirsty, but the cold water helped calm me down. Then I noticed the rancher was standing there with a halter and lead rope but no horse.

“Where are the horses?” I asked in a strained yet quiet voice. The man had been gone for almost a half an hour while I dug a bomb out from under my truck. The rancher looked at the ground, red-faced.

“Oh, well I realized they are in the far pasture.”

“Where is that?” I asked innocently knowing what the answer would be. I was no pilgrim by now.

“About a mile down the road. It would probably be easier to just go down there and shoe them.”

“I see. Is there any place to tie them up?”

“Just the wire fence.”

“You will have to hold them then.”

“I have too much to do,” he whined.

“That won’t do.” I wasn’t going to get into why.

I was suddenly very tired. The adrenaline was gone and no matter how much we needed the money I just couldn’t face the disaster that surely awaited me about a mile down the road. I finished my water and stared at the man until he couldn’t stand it any more and pretended to fix the halter. Here was another rancher who hadn’t the slightest idea about how to take care of his horses. To him, they were no different than tractors. I had seen it before and always felt bad for the animals. The man was useless so we would shoe these horses my way or not at all.

“Ok, this is what we are going to do.  I am going to go home. You are going to go round up those horses and bring them up here to this corral. Tomorrow at eight o’clock I will be back here, and we will shoe your horses. Have them all haltered and tied up to the corral fence.”

“I only have two halters.”

“Then go to the feed store and buy three more along with proper lead ropes. Make sure the halters fit properly. I would suggest rope halters. They are cheaper and have lots of room for adjustment.” 

I strode up to the man to look him in the eye.

“If you don’t want me coming here, tell me now because if I show up and there are no horses…” He plaintively waved his hands at the implied threat.

“Oh, I understand. Everything will be ready.”

“One last thing, are all the horses well behaved and know about shoeing?”

“Absolutely.”

I drove home annoyed and in need of a nap. People can take my pleasant nature the wrong way and think they can walk all over me. That is a mistake.

The sound of a wicked thunderstorm woke me.  Kerry and the boys were on the deck storm watching. The cell had missed us and was heading down the Yellowstone valley south of us.

“Good thing you weren’t still shoeing at that place,” Kerry said,” I’ll bet that storm is passing right over it.” The thunder rolled on all night, but the morning dawned clear.

I pulled into the ranch five minutes early as usual, and the first thing I saw was the wooden corral was empty with the propane tank still sitting where I left it. That tore it. I turned around to leave because I was not going to put up with this nonsense when I saw the rancher standing outside a large temporary corral made of steel cattle panels. The panels surrounded a huge cottonwood tree, and it looked like he was staring at the tree. More to the point, he was ignoring me. That would not do. I drove too fast to the corral and got out to let the man have it when I saw five horses laying down in the corral all with their butts against the western side of the corral Along side them was a big branch from the tree. The horse’s legs were straight out, bodies swollen. That wasn’t good. The man had still not acknowledged my presence. I walked up to him and heard him say, “I don’t understand.”

Ignoring him I looked closer. Thick cottonwood tree bark was strewn everywhere. There was a jagged black scar running down the tree trunk. The end of the fallen tree branch was blackened as well. I ran my hand along the top rail of the fence. The paint was burned and chipped off along three panels. The smell of burnt hair was strong. There was no real need to look at the horses but I let myself in to the corral and checked them one by one anyway. All five were dead and burned a little here and there, especially their feet. Lightning strike from the storms last night was the only explanation. What a mess.

The rancher hadn’t moved. He just kept muttering that he didn’t understand. I felt bad for him now.

“If you want, I can help you drag them to wherever you want,” I said quietly.

The guy startled like he was seeing me for the first time.

“Oh, I forgot you were coming.” He said turning his attention back to the horses. “I don’t understand.”

“Its just bad luck is all. You are lucky the lightning didn’t hit your house.”

“But they didn’t have shoes on.” He said.

“Pardon me?”

“No steel shoes! How could they get electrocuted?”

I was now concerned for this guy’s mental wellbeing. Mine too. I tried being analytical yet sympathetic.

“It looks like they were all standing with the butts against the panels probably facing the storm. The lightning hit the tree and energized the fence. It took a split second, and it was over.”

“I don’t understand,” was all he said.

Oh boy. This guy was gone. I asked once again if he wanted me to help move the animals to a bone yard or pit, but he said nothing. I gave up and got back in my truck, rolled down my window and fired up the engine.

“Hey!” the guy yelled, “You aren’t going to charge me, are you?” Completely taken aback I replied, “No, of course not.”

“Good thing you didn’t shoe them yesterday. I would want my money back.”

With that he turned and started to walk back to his house.

I sat there with my mouth open, contemplating five electrocuted horses and how it was almost, according to this guy, my fault. There it was. The unforeseen, Montanaesque circumstance that blows apart my expectations. My friend Larry’s voice popped into my head.

“John my boy. You have a lot to learn. This isn’t the show circuit.”

He was right.