The Kick
by
Jerome Pooler

PART I
I didn't mean to, no, that's not quite true...I meant it all right. Still, it happened so fast it even startled me. In the blink of an eye my hind hooves had unleashed this monstrous kick to this guy's butt, and it launched him like a moon shot.
He deserved it. He swatted me on my rump, and there had been no cause to do that. Without a doubt, to have done it shows the typical arrogance of most people in government, especially those that work for the IRS. Made no difference he was here on a field audit to assess my owner's holdings. That pat on my behind was a mistake, and a big one…not to mention the strength with which the whack had been applied.
So! when he lingered with his back to me a bit longer then he should have, I reciprocated…returned the favor so to speak. I let my oversize animal feet whack him back, and with the same vengeance and fervor he had shown me.
It was pitiful. First time I'd ever seen a human cry.
-:::-
PART II
Can't say I didn't see it coming, my mind confirms. The minute the guy raises his hand I know old Wilem is gonna get a slap across the backside, but my yell comes too late, couldn't stop it.
That poor horse, all his life he's had this laid back look that fools most everybody. Not exactly a good attribute for one that hates to be touched, coddled or stroked. Talk about buck and kick…even bit a couple of people when he was young.
Nevertheless, he has done it this time, done it good, I tell myself. Look, the guy cries. My ass is grass, for sure this fellow is gonna take the place apart at the seams. Damn Wilem, this time it's the glue for you.
"Here, let me help you up, young fella," I hear myself say. The agent hesitates, it's my face, there's a grin on it.
"What's so funny?" he growls.
He believes I laugh at him, and he's right, but what he sees is only my outside; inside I'm so mad I can spark a forest fire with a finger. I fully understand what this soiled, crying, sprawled all over my enclosure of a Federal employee can do to me.
"It's that damn horse," I point out. "Look at'im. See how that snicker spreads all over his face. He's laughing at'ya." This is good stuff; blame the horse. And as we both look, sure'n hell, with eyes a'twinkle and a full and wide spread mouth that accents the beaming gleam. Wilem truly seems to laugh.
"Didn't take much to pull that one off," I boast under my breath after a swipe at the sweat on brow. And why not, it's my horse…I know him like a book, or so I thought.
At the waist I bend to pluck the agent to his feet. And like the agent, the fool that had gone before me, I too find myself sprawled face down on the ground. Wilem's whack had claimed another, me.
That's in case you have thoughts of carting me off for glue, is the look of him as his thoroughbred trek, high kicks and erect head, struts proudly around the corral's perimeter. And a roar of laughter breaks from all three of us.

BIO
Jerome Pooler Jr., born in 1939, is a native of Madison, New Jersey. He began to write in earnest when he moved to Spring Valley in 1974 and became interested in the work of area authors. His numerous works include both prose and poetry and his pen communicates at a level of real life that people can understand. "Down to earth" he calls it, and his works are lace with the wisdom of the experiences. Jerome's background in graphics, publishing and writing reveals him as a people's person at heart.