Horse People (Continued)


From inside the livestock trailer, I heard a man’s voice say Good morning, so I said Good morning in return.

The man’s voice called the dog. The dog ran to the gate of the trailer, then away from it. The man continued calling the dog in a low, calm voice. At the time, I thought the dog was just being playful, was enjoying being off leash, didn’t want to give up its freedom. But now I remember the dog cowering just outside the trailer’s open gate, ears flattened against its head. Like the girl, the dog was silent.

When the man had the dog, I walked around to the open gate of the trailer. The man was tying the dog to a rope attached to the trailer.

I’d barely identified myself as the camp host when the man said to me, Well, you sure don’t waste any time.

I guess he meant I hadn’t wasted any time in coming over to collect the camping fee. I thought it was a strange thing for him to say. People who stay in a campground typically know there is a fee to camp, and most people are happy to pay up and get the task out of the way.

In that instant when the man spoke to me, my whole plan changed. Maybe the look on the girl’s face had finally registered as fear. Maybe I’m particularly sensitive to dangerous men. But what came out of my mouth was, I’ll make you a deal. If you clean up after the horses, I won’t charge you the camping fee. I know y’all got in late last night.

I didn’t fear for my own personal safety. The man didn’t do or say anything I could point to as a threat. But I had a suspicion that if the man got pissed off, I wouldn’t be the one he’d take it out on.

I think he thanked me. Then he asked, If we want to stay another night, should we talk to you?

The last thing I wanted in my campground was this bad vibe man, his cowering dog, his silent girl, and his six shitting horses.

Well, I said, I’ve got people checking in on this site tomorrow, and this really isn’t a horse camp.

No, he agreed. This really isn’t a horse camp. I guess there’s no water either?

No, I sadly shook my head, no water.

We’ll just have some breakfast, he said. Then we’ll get out of your hair.

I continued about my business cleaning fire rings. I kept a watch on the family out of the corner of my eye.

A woman and two younger children emerged from the pile of blankets and sleeping bags on the ground. I couldn’t determine the gender of the youngest child, but the middle kid was a blond girl, probably seven or eight years old.

Two things struck me as strange.

First, after breakfast was cooked (on a high standing stove), the people did not sit down to enjoy their meal. Although there were three picnic tables in the area they were occupying, they stood in a loose circle while they consumed their food. I couldn’t tell what they were eating or if they used plates, but standing during breakfast is not normal camper behavior.

Second, for most of the morning, the man’s voice was the only one I heard. He didn’t raise it high enough for me to understand his words, but I could hear it drifting through the campground. I didn’t hear the women’s voice once, and at least an hour passed before I could hear the kids. Whether the woman and children were whispering or silent, I don’t know.

The man did another weird thing while I was cleaning the fire ring on site #1. He let a horse wander off from the rest of its herd. He didn’t let it go far, but I wondered why he was allowing it to move around freely. Was he challenging me, hoping I’d say something so he could argue with me or have a reason to be be mad?

Typically I would have commented on the beauty of the horse (a muscular, brown creature), but my instinct was not to chit chat with these people.

When I finished cleaning fire rings, I went back to my campsite to get ready for the rest of my day. I started hearing the children’s voices echo through the campground. The kids were not screaming at the tops of their lungs, but I could hear their happy and excited voices.

I was beginning to think I was imaging things and there wasn’t anything weird about these people when I heard the man raise his voice. I was pretty sure he was reprimanding one or more of the children, and I clearly heard him say…yelling out loud! He was reprimanding the children for their happy, exuberant voices! (And really, if a kid can’t yell in a campground at 9:30 in the morning, where can a kid yell?)

Then I heard the twack twack twack sound of something (a switch picked up from the ground? a horse-related tool?) slice through the air and hit something. When I looked up, the man was walking away, but the middle child was standing frozen, with her arms held stiffly at her sides. I didn’t hear any children’s voices after that.

Once again, I was rendered mute by a grown man hitting a little kid, but this time I’d only heard the abuse. What could I do? I know how abusers work.  Anything I said or did, the woman or the kids would pay for later. I didn’t even have an excuse to talk to the girl and offer her some small kindness.

Sometimes I feel so useless.

The day after the horse people left, I walked through the area they’d occupied and could still smell horse feces. I started poking around with the toe of my boot and found the man’s idea of cleaning up after his horses was to bury the feces. Asswipe! I ended up having to clean up the horse feces myself, and it was a more difficult task now that it was covered in duff. I will admit I had fantasies of breaking that man’s kneecaps.

About Blaize Sun

I live in my van, which makes me a rubber tramp. I like to see places I've never seen before, and I like to visit the places I love again and again. I like to play with color. I make collages and hemp jewelry and cheerful winter hats. I take photographs and (sometimes, not in a long time) write poetry. All of those things make me an artist. Although I like to spread joy and to make people laugh, my wit can be sharp. I try to stay positives in all situations, to find the goodness in all people. But I often feel compelled to point out bullshit when I smell it. I like to have fun, to dance, to eat yummy food, to sit by a fire and share stories. I want to know what people hold dear and important, not just make surface small talk. This blog is a way for me to share stories. This blog is made up of my stories, rants, and observations, as well as my photographs.

7 Responses »

  1. You followed your instincts and you kept yourself safe and hopefully kept the wife and children safe for a little while. Sometimes that is all we an do. Let Karma be Karma.

    P.S. Ass-wipe is a good moniker for this SOB.

  2. Yes, it’s hard to know what to do, if anything.

    If you called the police to report a suspicious character, he has his wife trained to back him up and say there’s nothing wrong. Afterwards, he would beat her. So, what purpose would that serve?

    Some people grow up in abusive families, and when they leave, it’s the most familiar thing to them when they meet someone. They’re often timid and subservient, so it’s just ‘easier’ to get into a familiar type of relationship.

    The guy is a psychopath. Do you know how the mental health professionals define one? It’s a person who has no conscience. They just do whatever they want to do, and how it affects other people simply isn’t of any interest to them. They’re not ‘normal’ (or even for what passes for it, these days), but they’ve spent a lot of time studying other people and testing what works and what doesn’t for manipulating others. They can act like a nice person, kind and concerned, helpful, say all the right words, but it’s all an act.

    All we can do about people like your horse man is hope one of his horses kicks him to death, and that his wife has the sense to make sure he’s good and dead before she calls for help.

    Open season on psychos, child molesters, politicians, etc, one day a month is all I ask.

    • Also, I’m eight miles away from the nearest phone. If I had driven to the phone and called the police, the people would have probably been long gone before anyone from the sheriff’s department would have arrived. AND, I didn’t SEE anything, only heard something and think I know what happened due to what I heard. I don’t know if authorities act on a report of “acting weird” or “quiet children.”

    • Yes, I did imagine a horse kicking him in the head and his children refusing to visit him before he died.

  3. Hi Blaize,
    What I would have done was call child protective services and given them as much info as you had. It probably wouldn’t have been enough for them to take any action, but then it would be on the record. In the future, others who report him would add to yours. They’re aware of how domestic violence perpetrators behave and know what the dangers are. From what you described, I’d say you’re absolutely right about this guy. Sounds scary!

    • Glad to hear from you Liselle. It’s been a while since anything by you has popped up. I sent you a message via Facebook, but have since gotten banned (or something) from FB because they think I am not using my “authentic” name, which means that if you replied to that FB message, I haven’t seen it.

I'd love to know what you think. Please leave a reply