My wonderful wife is the picture of
perfect health with only one known ailment: she suffers from what is
known in the medical community as "white coat syndrome." At home, my
wife's blood pressure hovers right around 110/75 but when she goes in
for her annual checkup and the doc takes her blood pressure it explodes
to 200/95. Once outside it immediately drops back to 110/75. Our doctor
explained that he often sees this "white coat syndrome" amongst his
patients. They are so fearful of the doctor in the white coat that the
minute they see one their blood pressure skyrockets.
My
wonder-horse Gentleman had what I diagnosed as "white truck syndrome."
Normally Gentleman was just like his name, charming, intelligent,
pacifistic and laid-back, a majestic stallion in every sense. That's
right, I said "stallion." Let it be said that conquistadors, great
charros and Lee Pitts all rode stud hosses. The reason we left
Gentleman's maleness intact was because I was afraid if we removed his
manhood he'd be even more lazy than he already was.
The
second Gentleman saw our vet's white truck his personality changed
demonstrably. Gone would be the charming individual everyone knew and
loved and he became this deranged, psychotic killer. Gentleman's
normally soft and sensitive nostrils would become so wide you could
shove a Coke can up each one. His eyes would turn white, his ears would
stand at attention and he'd become this biting, kicking devil. The horse
that under normal conditions couldn't buck off a wet saddle blanket was
now kicking a hole in the moon. It was as if some evil horse whisperer
murmured in his ear, "That truck's carrying the big needle that will
turn you into worm meat."
Usually
Gentleman was so lazy I could ground-tie him by merely dropping my reins
and he'd be in the same spot the next day. But if I did that when the
vet's white truck was within five miles it was bye-bye horsey. Luckily,
it wasn't just any white truck. With so many white trucks on the road,
Gentleman would have worried himself to death. It was just the vet's
white truck. A horse-eatin' Frenchman could drive up the road in a white
truck and Gentleman wouldn't care. The same was true of people
Gentleman should have been afraid of like the tallow truck driver, hide
buyer, auctioneer, horseshoer, taxidermist, or a horse trader who called
himself a "Mexican equine export specialist." None of them in a white
truck elicited even a "ho hum" from Gentleman.
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