I have been indicted in a paternity suit – or, I should say, my horse Gentleman has.

My noble steed and I were doing our thing at a neighbor’s branding and I must admit it wasn’t one of Gentleman’s better days.

One of the weekend cowboys in attendance was a practicing lawyer. I think he’s a criminal lawyer, but he hasn’t gone to jail for it yet.

The lawyer’s young mare, like Gentleman, was always in the wrong spot at the wrong time, tripped over her own feet and kept throwing her head up and down like a Texas oil well. “I never thought there was a horse as bad as mine until I saw yours,” said the lawyer. “They are so alike they could be related.”

After observing Gentleman in action all day the lawyer accused my horse of fathering his worthless mare.

I had to admit there was a striking resemblance, and I tried to settle out of court but I normally don’t carry that kind of cash on me.

The lawyer sued Gentleman for rape, non-support and leaving the scene of an accident.

The case was tried by a jury of my peers – the folks who were there that day for the branding. The lawyer represented himself. I didn’t have a lawyer, but I thought I had some good friends on the jury.

Just to make sure of the outcome I offered the jury foreman, who happened to be my wife, a plea bargain. The deal I suggested was if I didn’t win she didn’t get any reparation, and even if I did win she didn’t get anything either. That is how lawsuits usually work, I am told.

The lawyer had the audacity to question Gentleman’s parentage. “The defendant is nothing more than a mongrel,” accused the lawyer.

“I object. Gentleman was accidentally sired by a real famous stud you never heard of, and was out of Oklahoma at midnight. Besides, I have an alibi for Gentleman. He couldn’t have sired the plaintiff because he’s not that old.”

“Can you prove it?” countered the lawyer. “Do you have registration papers that document his age?” I had to admit I did not, as his registration papers had been pulled years ago by AQHA.

About this time, the decorum in the outdoor courtroom had deteriorated badly.

The jurors were drinking beer and trying to cross-examine both the defendant and the plaintiff, but nobody could get close enough to the mouth of either horse to prove anything.

When I took the stand and was sworn to tell the whole truth, the lawyer gave me the third degree. “Will Gentleman load in a trailer?”

I had to admit he would not. “I had to ride him to the branding.”

“Can you tie him up?”

“Only if you want a shorter set of reins,” I replied.

“Can you fire a gun while mounted on Gentleman?”

“Only once,” I answered truthfully.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury,” said the lawyer eloquently, “both horses have similar traits, the same color pattern and the same apparent limited equine IQ. It’s readily apparent to even the biggest dummy that there could not be two horses in the world this bad, and therefore they must be father and daughter. I rest my case.”

Then it was my turn. I threw myself on the mercy of the court ... but I missed badly. I begged for leniency.

As I talked, Gentleman was engaged in his unique habit of rolling in cow manure. It’s his way of freshening up.

I think the exact moment I lost my case was when the lawyer’s mare joined Gentleman in rolling in the chips. It was damaging evidence – like father, like daughter.

The jury returned a guilty verdict, but I was really the big winner. The lawyer sued me for everything I owned so when I went to hand him the reins to Gentleman, the lawyer realized what a devious trap I had set and he withdrew all charges.

He was, however, able to get a restraining order to keep Gentleman away from his mare, and I must admit it was a good idea and may have prevented an ugly situation.

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers may log on to www.LeePittsbooks.com to order any of Lee Pitts’ books.

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