Wonder-horse has ‘white truck syndrome’

    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 5 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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