The Clydesdale

With apologies to my dh, Fred... I had to write up this version of what he normally tells, because I couldn't share it verbally in the call center - my co-worker says that it was a GREAT version, even though Fred says that it doesn't translate well into writing...


See, this was a few years back - like about 12 or 13, when Fred was still living in Anaheim, CA. I don't know how familiar you are with the area down there, but he lived down on 1st, in an apartment building there.

Now, he lived with a guy whose nickname was Sarge. Sarge liked to "indulge" quite a bit with the green weed, and normally Fred found him at least half-baked all the time.

One day, Fred came home and, as usual, Sarge was sitting on the couch, giggling at nothing. Or possibly something. Fred couldn't be sure. He was, however, sure about one thing...

"Sarge," he said, "There's a horse in your living room."
"Yeah," Sarge said, "ain't it cool?"
"Uh - but Sarge," Fred responded, "there's a HORSE in you LIVING ROOM. How did it get here?"
"I don't know... I think it just followed me home."

Fred looked at him, then over at the horse who had left several large piles in the front room already, and was eyeballing the couch cushions hungerly. Then he looked out the window of the second-story apartment that they were standing in.

Then back over to Sarge and the horse, who was beginning to lean and look vaguely sick.

"He looks sick, Sarge. What happened?"
"Check it out, man... I got him high."
"WHAT??!! How the hell did you do that?"
"I hot-boxed a garbage bag and held it over his head."
"Oh jesus, Sarge! For how long?"
"Oh, only about 3 minutes. Not long."
"Sarge, you're stoned."
"I know... Ain't it cool?"
"No, Sarge. Your sense of timing is totally off. You probably held it over his head for a good half-hour!"
"No - I'm pretty sure it was only about 7 minutes."
"Oh god!"
He giggled again, and the horse relieved himself once more, having eaten about a half a cushion.
"Uh, Sarge, why does he have Budweiser livery?"
"I dunno... I think he may be part of the team."
"The TEAM!?"
"Yeah. He was with a bunch of other horses there."
"There?! Where was 'there'? Where did you get him?"
"Oh, he followed me home from the fairgrounds."
"I see..." Fred was a little perplexed, since the fairgrounds were over 10 miles away - and Sarge didn't have a car, leastwise a trailer to place the horse into... "Well, we have to take him back, dude. I mean, I don't know how, but we have to."
"OK - but we'll have to get him down the stairs, first."

Eventually they had to put a pillowcase on its eyes and tie it, because each time they tried to make it go down, it back-pedalled and rolled its eyes. The entire apartment complex gathered to watch as they shuffled the horse down the stairs and then slowly wended their way down the road.

The horse was walking sideways, like something out of a v-8 commercial. Occasionally it would weave to one side or the other. Sarge and Fred walked on either side of it, trying to make sure that over a half-ton of horseflesh didn't break a leg by falling into a ditch.

About half-way back to the fairgrounds, a cop pulled up behind the three of them and flashed its lights. Fred's heart simultaneously sank to his belly and threw itself into it's throat. His thoughts were as follows:

"oh-dear-god-we're-going-to-die-we-are-is-it-still-a-hanging-offense-to-steal-horses?-we-are-totally-going-to-go-to-jail-forever!"

Sarge was a bit calmer... "Just let me do the talking, man. I got it."

Fred thought to himself "Oh dear lord. We really ARE going to go to jail - or get shot."

The cop came up and eyeballed the two of them, and the horse, who leaned forward and nibbled at his shirt.

"Oh, officer! Thank god you're here!" Sarge said. "We found this horse stumbling on the side of the road, and he must have gotten hurt or something. We're trying to get him back to where he belongs!"

Fred looked at Sarge. 'Brilliant,' he thought, 'absolutely brilliant!'

The cop gave them a flashing-light escort to the fairgrounds, where Sarge turned the horse into the manager of the Budweiser team...

Who cut him a check for $5,000 for finding and returning the horse that he stole in the first place...