Pointless Terrorism

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thThe Cajun people of
Louisiana are some of my favorite people; at one point in my life, I considered dropping out and joining this group of hard living hedonists, but my straight laced Mennonite indoctrination still had a tenuous hold on my morality.

Nearly fifty years have passed since I lived with the Coonass people and I still remember them with fondness.

It is easy to point fingers at the Cajun people, their lifestyle is laid back and lusty, but often those we laugh at are the ones we secretly admire. For those of us who slave at jobs, careers, and businesses, a life that doesn’t allow us to get upset over trivialities has certain advantages.

I am reminded of two friends down in Bossier Parish Louisiana, they both considered themselves race horse trainers, and indeed, they had the knowledge and judgement to be trainers, but they lacked the initiative and drive to build a race horse business. They usually spent every Sunday playing checkers on a porch and eating cheese and crackers, while drinking a case of beer. The secrets of training racehorses were discussed, as well as dubious past wins at the Fairgrounds, Arlington, and Churchill.

Delton was a good card player and had recently won a five year old gelding in a poker game. He kept the horse under wraps so as not to let his friend Louis know about the horse, and began to get him legged up with early morning gallops.

After a month, he couldn’t contain himself, he walked Louis out to the barn and showed him the gelding. Louis liked the horse, but kept his enthusiasm hidden, he said, “He’s a good looking horse, but he needs some groceries and a decent set of shoes.”

Delton replied, “He just started galloping a month ago, and I am waiting until I have a little extra money before I call the dentist and the horseshoer. He will pick up weight, once I get his teeth done.”


Louis said, “More than likely, you’re waiting until you have a good card game.”

Delton just shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “What’s the difference.”

Louis said, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy this horse from you for a thousand dollars and do the work he needs to get him ready for a race.”

Delton needed the money to stake himself in an upcoming high stakes poker game, “Well, Louis, you just bought yourself a horse.”

Delton played his cards well during several games, and a few weeks later, he was over at Louis’ place, playing checkers, eating cheese and crackers, and drinking beer. He noticed the race horse in a turnout and said, “Louis, I be missin my horse; I am here today to buy him back.”

Louis looked with shock at his friend, “Whoa back, there, old buddy, not only do I have 3o days of gallops on this horse, but I got his teeth done and he has a new set of race plates. He’s doing great, and I expect to win a race in 45 to 60 days.”

Delton never missed a stride, “I didn’t say, I expected you to give him to me. I was going to pay you $1,500 bucks for him.”

Louis, said, without hesitation, “He’s worth $1,800 or you better look for another horse.”

Delton pulled out his wallet and counted out 18 hundred dollar bills. It was a done deal.

Louis had heard from friends, that Delton had been galloping the horse two miles a day for over a month and had set him down for a 3/8’s of a mile work, and the horse cooled out and wouldn’t have blown out a candle, his breathing was so unlabored.

Louis got his money together and met his buddy for checkers and beer; he told him, he was missing his horse, and needed a horse to train.


Delton said, “You’re too late.”

Louis got aggravated, he thought he was being setup for a high price, “What do you mean, I am too late?”

Delton explained, “A man from Chicago saw the horse, and offered me $5,000. I helped him load his new horse on the trailer.”

Louis was mad, “That was the dumbest thing you have ever done!”

Delton said, “What are you talking about, that was good money.”

Louis said, “Don’t you realize, we were making a damn good living with that horse.”

Now, race trackers, especially, Cajun race trackers, can get in some ridiculous business dealings, but if you are gullible enough to see the logic of Louis, you might be an Obama voter, but then again, the logic of an American terrorist in Somalia, uses similar logic.


If we follow the trail of illogic that so often defines the present administration, perhaps the idea of joining our enemies and training them to fight their enemies in Syria and other cess pools around the world, might seem like a good idea; after all, one man’s terrorist is another man’s hero.

A professional horseman for over 40 years, Skook continues to work with horses. He is in an ongoing educational program, learning life's lessons from one of the world's greatest instructors, the horse. Skook has finished an historical novel that traces a mitochondrial line of DNA from 50,000 years ago to the present. The book Fifty-Thousand Years is awaiting me to finish a final proofread and it should be sent to the formatter in a matter of days. I am still working, so it is not easy to devote the time I need to finish the project. The cover is a beautiful wok of art. I would put it up here if I could figure out how to make it work.

8 Responses to “Pointless Terrorism”

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    I’m so glad to see you once again harken back to your days in Cajun country as I remember a few other times you’ve written of it! And Lord knows both you and I have known people like that in the horse industry. And as usual you once again explain the complete inane mindset of this President and his lackeys in a way that is both entertaining and educational.

    I was just thinking back in the winter of 68/69, we received a van load of horses from somewhere in Texas. If memory serves, they belonged to Tom Mecom, who owned the Saints. He was a big oil man and had a huge ranch in Texas. Anyway, we open the door of the van and here are ten horses and a groom. These horses had been running free on Mr. Mecom’s ranch. There were wild eyed, hairy with brambles, scarred and so forth and were some of the craziest horses I ever encountered in my time on the racetrack. After I clipped them and we got shoes on them, I will say that they were the toughest, fittest Tbreds I ever laid my eyes on.

    Along with them was a Cajun who, unfortunately I just can’t remember his name. All I can say us if one thought the ten horses looked wild and so on, they were kitty cats compared to this guy. Talk about a loose horse, this guy took the cake. Hairier and wilder looking than any of the horses and just as tough. Had that Creole accent and as above told the greatest stories ever. Never knew if they were true or not. But I learned so much from him because he was also one of the greatest horsemen I ever met.

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    @joetote: I would have liked to have seen that Cajun. Riding in a semi with ten untrained Tbreds, that’s a wild scene to imagine. I would have liked to have met him.

    It’s wild enough in a trailer with trained horses. LOL

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    By the way, our Alabama bred terrorist was killed in an ambush. I wonder if there will be a memorial or statue erected for him in the capital.

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    @MM: Thanks for the compliment. You can find wholesome nonpolitical stories at skooksjournal.com

    Some are old rewritten stories and some are new. I am trying to put up a new one or two every week, while I strive to improve my writing skills and the stories. For instance, the Oregon Trail book now contains confrontations with Robert E Lee and Nathan Bedford Forrest, based on their letters and speeches. It’s getting wild, but within the context of the era. I am keeping the final rewrites under wraps until the book is completed. It’s a helluva a trip and I am learning more than I did in college.

    Thanks again for the kind words.

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    I seem to remember his name as Louis, pronounced with that wonderful French Creole accent. One of the great memories was in about February of 69. It was time for the stone crabs to be running so he, I and a groom we nicknamed Willi the Weasel ran out to Aventura to get some crabs. At that time, it was just a buch of overgrown roads as it had been laid out but never devekpoed past water lines which were always bursting. Anyway, we came back with a couple hundred crabs. We put a bunch of them in a refrigerator with no door and fed them for the next week or so and basically had a crab feast for two weeks. Louis did the honors, cooking up in Creole fashion the most wonderful crab I ever tasted anywhere to this day.

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    BUT got it by reading the whole PREVIOUS, THANK YOU,
    MY FATHER’S NAME WAS LOUIS, it was said very good thing on him,
    i look like him and everyone would tell me that how the same it was,
    he did inspire me by just hearing of how he lived his short life,

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