I Spoke Too Soon

03 September 2026

2010

R. Linda:

I should never have said a word about nothing happening. No, I won't do that ever again.

Apparently, the Fates were listening and said, "Oh? Gabriel O'Sullivan thinks life has become a wee bit dull, does he? Well. We can fix that."

And fix it they did!

I used to enjoy it when I got to work at home whilst school for the kiddos was in session. The house would be empty; I'd have a quiet day to do me work and then laze about in complete and utter Gabe-ness, until everyone returned to the abode.

School just started and Dragon has gone home, leaving me Mam, who be still recovering from the head trauma. So I was looking forward to one of those quiet days. And I was having one, too. Yes, I was chugging along very nicely, thank you very much. 

Until--DA DA DA DUM!

Mam's cat came flying into me office. Now, Mam's cat does not generally come flying into me office as though the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse have arrived and one of them he owes money to, or catnip. But there he was, running from window to window, meowing and carrying on. 

This was not normal. 

Usually, when the turkey flock comes meandering past the windows, he sits there chattering at them, no doubt imagining himself a mighty hunter instead of a pampered house cat who wouldn't know what to do with a turkey if one knocked on the door and introduced itself. 

But this?

Window. 

Meow.

Other window.

MEOW.

Back to the first window.

I was sitting at me desk watching this performance when I happened to look outside. There was a horse in me side yard!

A HORSE!

Not where a horse ought to be. Not behind a fence. Not attached to a person. Just a great enormous horse, loose as you please, running through me yard toward the pond.

For one brief moment, me brain simply stopped.

Horse.

Yard.

Horse in yard.

Why be there a horse in me yard?

Then I realised I knew the horse. He belonged to neighbours down the road. And yes, as you know, this isn't the first time we've had an equine escapee in these parts. Different horse this time. Much bigger horse.

Because apparently if the Fates are going to repeat themselves and mess with me, they like to raise the stakes. 

Well, what does one do when several hundred kilograms of somebody else's livestock goes galloping through one's property?

I hadn't the faintest idea. So naturally, I sprang into action. 

In a muck sweat, I bolted out me front door and ran toward the higher part of my front yard, completely oblivious to whether I'd actually shut the door behind me.      

"Doc!"

"Doc Holiday!"

He turned and looked at me. That in itself was encouraging. 

"Doc! Come on, Dockey!" 

And the enormous creature started trotting toward me. I confess, I had not expected this. There I stood with no halter, no lead rope, no bucket of grain, no horse-wrangling experience and, at this point, very little functioning brain. But Doc came right up to me. So I started walking. And Doc started walking with me, like a dog, a very large dog. A dog weighing somewhere in the vicinity of- Oh, dear God.

"Come on then, Doc. Good lad. That's it. We're just going home. You and me. Nothing unusual happening here." 

Meanwhile, inside me head:

YOU, GABRIEL O'SULLIVAN, ARE NOT A HORSE WRANGLER.

I know.

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO IF HE RUNS OFF?

I don't know.

HE COULD DISAPPEAR INTO THE WOODS FOR DAYS!

Please shut up.

THERE ARE BEARS IN THOSE WOODS!

I KNOW THERE ARE BEARS IN THE WOODS!

CALL THE LOCAL CONSTABLE!

At that particular moment, I don't believe I could have remembered how to operate me phone. 

So down the road we went. Me and Doc Holiday. One giant quarter horse from out west, a proper cattle horse standing sixteen hands high…and one Gabriel O'Sullivan, armed with absolutely nothing but conversation. I kept talking to him as though we'd been friends for years. 

"That's a good lad, Doc. Come along. Lovely day for a walk, isn't it? Though generally one waits for one's human before leaving the property, but who am I to criticise?"

And he followed.

I kept praying no car would come roaring down the road and frighten him. None did. We reached his barn. I got him into one of the stalls. 

Success!

I fetched some grass and tossed it in for him. 

I had done it!

Captured

I, Gabriel O'Sullivan, had successfully retrieved a loose sixteen-hand horse without rope, halter, assistance or, arguably, common sense. I stood there for perhaps three glorious seconds, feeling rather pleased with meself. 

Then the thought struck me.

"MAM'S CAT!"

The front door. Had I shut the front door? Oh. Oh, no. 

I RAN.

Back down the road I went in a panic-filled quick jog, which is a form of locomotion I do not recommend unless one enjoys feeling one's heart attempt to leave the body through the throat. All I could think was:

If that cat got out, I'll never catch him.

And worse:

Mam will be broken-hearted.

I reached the house. The door was open. Of course it was. And there sat Mam's cat. Right there, just inside, watching me. He had the expression of a creature who had witnessed the entire affair and found me performance deeply disappointing, but there was something else, yes, a look like he knew something I didn't. 

"Thank you," I told him; yes, I thanked the cat like a human. Don't judge me; it had been a difficult morning. I looked at him again; yes, there was something…something he KNEW that I did not. Hum.

I closed the door and noticed something. 

SILENCE.

Now, anyone who owns a dog knows that opening a house door generally produces a dog. There should have been paws. There should have been sniffing. There should have been the customary inspection to determine where I had been and why I had committed the grievous offence of going there without him. 

Nothing.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

I called him.

Nothing.

Oh, for the love of—

THE DOG.

I knew immediately. He was outside. 

So back out I went—this time shutting the bloody door behind me—and started calling, and calling, and calling!

At this point, the horse was safely incarcerated, the cat had miraculously chosen not to make a bid for freedom, and now me dog was somewhere in the woods. The woods. The very woods containing all the things me imagination was already helpfully cataloguing for me. 

I called again.

And finally, out of the trees came Lassie.

Just came trotting out. Straight to me. As though nothing whatsoever had happened. 

"Oh, hello. Were you looking for me?"

Good dog!

He came inside with me as casually as if this were an entirely ordinary part of our daily routine. 

I, meanwhile, was approximately ninety years old. 

Now came the distribution of bribes. 

I gave the dog a piece of baby carrot. He likes carrots and, more importantly, because he had come when called and hadn't decided to embark on a solo expedition across New England. 

I gave Mam's cat treats and thanked him again for not ruining me life.

Then I got some carrots together for Doc and jotted a note to his owner explaining what had happened. But one thought was still bothering me. Had I actually fastened Doc's stall gate? I thought I had. But I had also thought I'd closed me front door. So, clearly Gabriel O'Sullivan's recollection of recent events could not currently be admitted as reliable evidence.

Back to the barn.

This time I took the trail behind me house it was faster. On the way, I passed the chickens, and they started squawking at me. Of course they did. Apparently word had spread that Gabriel was handing out refreshments.

"Fine!" 

I broke up a few carrots and threw them to the cluckers.

At this point I had become some sort of traumatised woodland Disney Princess, wandering about the property feeding every creature I encountered. 

Horse: carrot.

Dog: carrot.

Cat: treats.

Chickens: carrots.

Gabe: heart palpitations.

I continued down the trail and reached the barn.

The gate was still fastened. Thank every god anyone has ever believed in. 

Doc was standing there perfectly content. When he saw me, the big fellow stretched his neck over and gave me a nuzzle. And that was when I finally stopped. I stayed with him for a while, fed him carrots, and talked softly.

"Now where exactly did you think you were going, hmm?"

Carrot.

"Had plans, did you?"

Carrot.

"Thought you'd come spend some quality time with moi?"

Carrot.

I know it sounds stupid. But Doc is the gentlest of giants. I know him by sight, but I still can't quite believe that when I called him, he came trotting over and simply followed me home.

A sixteen-hand quarter horse from out west. A real cattle horse.

Doc Holiday. Doc for short.

And somehow, in all the madness, Doc had been the easy part. I stayed there because I needed to calm down. Me heart had been racing from the moment I saw him loose. Then there was getting him down the road safely. Then remembering the open door. Then running back for the cat. Then discovering the dog was missing. Then the woods. 

By the time Lassie came strolling out of those trees as if he'd merely popped out to inspect the shrubbery, I was in a state of nervous exhaustion.

And standing there beside Doc, I could finally feel it all beginning to lessen. Because during the whole business there had been that voice in me head:

YOU, GABRIEL O'SULLIVAN, ARE NOT A HORSE WRANGLER.

Quite right. I'm not. But apparently I can impersonate one in an emergency. 

The horse was safe. The cat was safe. The dog was safe. The chickens had somehow profited from the entire affair. Mam was safe. And I had survived. 

So I stood there with Doc's enormous head beside me, feeding him carrots until me hands stopped shaking. I know what's in those woods. I know what can happen. And I know how differently that morning could have ended. But it didn't. Everyone came home. Even the horse.

Doc in the stall

So there is a lesson to be learned from all this: Never—and I mean never—announce that nothing has been happening around here. The Fates take that sort of thing as a personal challenge. And apparently they own horses. 

Gabe

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