Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Mingo’

On Sunday we do beginnings, taking a look at the start of a Peter Abrahams novel, including those written under the Spencer Quinn moniker™, but on this Sunday horses are on our mind, on account of yesterday’s Kentucky Derby. A horse named Mingo plays a role in Heart of Barkness (a Mother’s Day digital deal, $2.99!), perhaps larger and less tractable than the speedy Medina Spirit, the Derby winner.

There was a long pause in which nothing happened except for Mingo rolling his crazy eyes. Then without a word, the wrangler handed Bernie the bridle. He took it in one hand, sort of wrapped his other arm around the Mingo’s head, made a soft grunt I’d never heard from him before, and the next thing I knew he had the bridle in place and that metal bar – never between my teeth, amigo, no matter who was doing it – in Mingo’s mouth. After that came the saddle pad – which Bernie let Mingo sniff at, why I didn’t know, since it reeked of horse and nothing but, of no interest to anybody – and then the saddle. In a flash Bernie got the under strap thing all tied up, muttering, “Seven, four, one,” as he did so, a complete puzzlement to me, and in one easy motion he swung himself up top. For a moment Mingo went out of his mind. It happened just like that. I could feel it, and also feel his tremendous strength. He was going to rear up and toss Bernie to the ground. And that rearing up actually started, but it turned immediately into a sort of circling trot that ended with Mingo snorting and coming to a halt. Bernie patted Mingo’s neck, not for a long time you might say, and maybe not putting a whole lot of feeling into it, but still: this day was off to a terrible start.

Capitol Hill

“Can you ride, Bernie?” she said.

“Not well,” said Bernie, which wasn’t a lie, since Bernie’s not a liar. It just meant he’d forgotten an episode with a horse named Mingo on a case not very long ago where he’d revealed himself to be maybe the greatest rider in the world. But who remembers everything? “I had a horse when I was a kid,” he said.

Is there a human expression about being knocked down by a feather? I’d seen a perp knocked over by a whole bird once – the case involving a Thanksgiving turkey and an angry girlfriend – but no cases where it was just the feather part. But not the point, which was about how stunned I was at that moment. Bernie had a horse when he was a kid? I was just finding that out now? One thing for sure: I did not like that horse. I felt a sudden need to be active. Close by stood Capitol Hill, swishing away flies with his tail, a vacant look on his very long face.

Not Beginnings

Normally on Sundays we do beginnings, but yesterday we happened to see a horse, so why not take a look at the scene in Heart of Barkness where the wrangler reluctantly allows Bernie to saddle up the very difficult Mingo?

There was a long pause in which nothing happened except for Mingo rolling his crazy eyes. Then without a word, the wrangler handed Bernie the bridle. He took it in one hand, sort of wrapped his other arm around the Mingo’s head, made a soft grunt I’d never heard from him before, and the next thing I knew he had the bridle in place and that metal bar – never between my teeth, amigo, no matter who was doing it – in Mingo’s mouth. After that came the saddle pad – which Bernie let Mingo sniff at, why I didn’t know, since it reeked of horse and nothing but, of no interest to anybody – and then the saddle. In a flash Bernie got the under strap thing all tied up, muttering, “Seven, four, one,” as he did so, a complete puzzlement to me, and in one easy motion he swung himself up top. For a moment Mingo went out of his mind. It happened just like that. I could feel it, and also feel his tremendous strength. He was going to rear up and toss Bernie to the ground. And that rearing up actually started, but it turned immediately into a sort of circling trot that ended with Mingo snorting and coming to a halt. Bernie patted Mingo’s neck, not for a long time you might say, and maybe not putting a whole lot of feeling into it, but still: this day was off to a terrible start.