|
BROTHER FIXTURE AND
THE STRAY HORSES
N. E. Fixture was one of
the early settlers in Wheatland. He homesteaded
one of the prize parcels of land in a very attractive
settlement. His bulging muscles and tanned face
indicated that he was not afraid of work or the great
outdoors. From the very beginning of the
community, N. E. Fixture was one of the most stable, most
aggressive and loyal supporters of anything that advanced the
general good of the area. His neighbors
affectionately shortened his name to “Any” for his initials
were N. E. He was respected, reliable and highly
esteemed resident and neighbor.
“Any” Fixture had
two loves. He loved his church and never failed to
attend all the services, in good weather or bad, whether
during busy season or not, you could rely on N. E.
Fixture. His voice could be heard in singing the
lovely hymns. He led out in prayer and testimony,
and he took his place on the Board of Trustees. He
was a staunch supporter of the pastor, both financially as
well as moral support. “Any” Fixture loved his
horses. He owned one of the most prized outfits in
the neighborhood. Brother Fixture’s horses worked
hard in the field, and he lavished exceptional care upon them
by keeping them well fed and groomed. The horses
responded with honest toil that soon made N. E. Fixture’s farm
the show place in the community.
The years went
by. N. E. Fixture got married to Annie Thrifty, and it wasn’t
very long until a number of little Fixtures were added to the
family. This, of course, added to the cost of
living, but Annie was frugal and “Any” was a good manager, so
they were always modestly tidy and presented a picture of
contentment.
Something happened one day that made
a marked change in N. E. Fixture. It was just a
chance happening and its effect was quite
unintentional. It happened that “Any” bought more
land a few miles from the family homestead, to keep pace with
the growing demands of his family. “Any” was
plowing this land one day when he heard the clear throaty
sound of a horse’s whinny. “Any” gazed in the
direction from which the sound came and he saw a most
beautiful bay gelding. He arched his neck and his
flowing mane caught the breeze as he cavorted in playful
exuberance. “Hmmm,” said “Any”, “I haven’t seen
that horse before. Looking a bit farther he espied
a lovely dapple grey horse near by. “I wonder whose
horses they are.” “Whoa,” he said, almost
mechanically, “I’ve got to investigate.”
Leaving
his tired and now aging horses in the field, “Any” went up to
his wagon and helped himself generously to a pail full of his
best oats. Soon he was shaking the pail temptingly
within earshot of the stray horses. The horses
gaily trotted around, snorted, gave a muffled whinny as if to
say, “please,” and finally succumbed to the bait---they ate
all the oats. “Any” was delighted. He
returned to his plowing, seized the reins and shouted an
impatient, “Giddap, you old nags---get going.” He
had never spoken to his horses that way before. In
fact he had never really noticed before that his outfit was
getting somewhat “shopworn” with age and constant
work. “Any” began to think his horses were not
doing quite the job they should.
Next day, the
stray horses were bolder. They found a “hole” in
the fence and brazenly trotted in. With arched
necks they pranced and loped about until
“Any” stopped his
horses again. Once more he took a generous supply
of oats to feed the strays and this time they even let “Any”
stroke them on the neck. “What lovely horses,” mused
“Any”. “I do believe they can out-run and look better
than anything I’ve seen. I’am going to feed them and see
if I can make friends with them.” When he returned
to his outfit, he picked up a mean switch and when he said,
“Giddap,” he applied some smarting persuasion with the
command. His horses lunged into their collars and
did their best. At dinner time he cut them down a
little on their feed. He reasoned that they were
not doing work like they used to, and that he would have some
for the strays.
Time went on. Harvest
came. The crop was not quite as good as
usual. His land was not quite as well worked as
usual either. However, “Any” was
satisfied. In fact he seemed happier than he had
ever been. The stray horses were so tame they
would come up to him in the yard or field and gently nuzzle
him as he fed them tempting and sometimes expensive
delicacies. One day a neighbor strolled over to
the fence where “Any” was working, and asked him if he was
experiencing some trouble. “Not on you life,” said “Any”
somewhat irritated, “What gave you that idea?”
“Well,” said the neighbor hesitantly, “You are getting behind
in your work and your farm isn’t showing the care it used to
have. What’s the matter, “Any?” said the neighbor
solicitously. “Nothing at all is the matter,” said
“Any” crisply, “I just do things my own way. I
don’t need any advice from you or anyone else,” was the curt
reply. The neighbor smarted under the rebuff, but
went away saying, “Something is
wrong---but
what?”
Meanwhile farming was not the only thing
about N. E. Fixture that changed. He often missed
church, or if he did attend, it was to some neighboring church
where something special was going on. Sometimes it
was many miles away. Thus he didn’t support his
pastor as he did before. His wife often scolded
him for giving his tithes away to anything that had an
appeal. Oh, Fixture gave a little to help keep
things going, but it was grudging and never
regular. He had the same regard for his horses
now. He didn’t care for them as he once
did. Often at night after a hard days work, he
turned them out where the poor creatures sought to satisfy
their hunger from the grudging soil in the parched
pasture. They began to fail until they refused to
respond under the severest threats and lashings.
At last they stopped altogether. One of the horses
just laid down and refused to budge.
Brother
Fixture went to investigate. He saw that the horse
had no more work left in him, so he unhitched him and slowly
went to the barn. There he spied the stray horses
and an idea came to his mind. “Why not work
them---I’ve been feeding them a long time. Now
they’ll be glad to work for me.” So saying, he
reached for his oat pail, and the strays came trotting to
their favorite stall. This time, however, “Any”
fastened a halter on the horse’s head and tied him to the
manger. So far, so good, said Fixture to
himself. Then he tried on a collar---just the
right fit, he gloated. The stray began to fidget
and act strange as it lowered its ears and stomped
ominously. But “Any” loved the stray horses and
was determined that it should work for him, so he brought the
rest of the harness and was about to toss it on the horse’s
back when the horse reared and kicked viciously, hitting
Fixture “a knockout blow” that sent him senseless into a
corner of the barn. The horse reared and broke the
halter, pranced out of the barn and through an open gate, and
was gone never to be seen again.
The same kind
neighbor, who Fixture had rebuffed so curtly before, happened
to be going by and he realized something was
wrong. He raced into the barn and saw Fixture’s
body crumpled in the corner. He made a pallet of
soft new mown hay, and made Fixture as comfortable as he could
and then hitched up his old team and wagon and raced to the
hospital. After several days, “Any” began to
talk. His pastor was at his bedside holding his
hand and praying earnestly for him. “God bless
you, brother Fixture, you will be alright,” He
said. “Just trust in God and all will be
well. If it wasn’t for that faithful team of
horses, you wouldn’t be here today.” A strange
light came into Fixture’s eyes. It was a kind
moist light. It took quite an effort to talk, but
he said, “Pastor, I want to tell you something.
I’ve learned an expensive lesson. All I own, I owe
to those faithful horses of mine. They broke up my
land and gave their lives for me. I’ve been ungrateful,
selfish and covetous. I have treated the stray horses
that did nothing for me, better than my own horses. I
thought they loved me, but it was just the oats they were
after.
Pastor, farm work is team
work. Stray horses come for the oats, but not for
work. Pastor, it’s the same in church
work. It’s the team that counts and gets the job
done. When I get out of here, I want to be part of
the team. “Any” turned his head and gave vent to
his feelings. As he sobbed, his broad shoulders
shook convulsively with anguish and regret. “All
that misplaced substance---all that wasted effort,” he
wailed. “Pastor, forgive me. From now
on…no more stray horses for me.” The kind pastor
concealed a tear by wiping it on his threadbare
sleeve. He knew by the warm familiar handshake
that “Any” meant every word of
it.
|