One day, Sandy was calmly sitting on his doorstep in the cool twilight, knitting in time to "Girls just wanna have fun" (which was drifting from his docking station inside the cabin), when he saw a speck on the horizon. The speck of black, miniscule as a bed bug, slowly grew in size to the size of a baked bean. Then, to the size of a thimble, because it backed off for a bit then came back. By this point, it was becoming clear by the silhouette of this unidentified moving object that it was not one but two amorphous blobs on the horizon. One seemed to be dragging the other and limping, and it was horse-shaped. The other was being dragged by the former, and often a faint growling and a mish-mash of noises came from it, all being spoke in the same way you speak profanity.
Sandy's curiosity was piqued, and by now the music had shuffled to "won't get fooled again" by the Who. He lowered the volume, and proceeded to approach the suspicious newcomers, which now were quite clearly a man and a horse. His usual charisma knocked by the strangeness of the situation, he began a little nervously.
This evil, clumped-together string of syllables tumbled drunkenly out of the mouth of a man, perhaps in his early 40s, who was drunk, bedraggled, and covered from head to foot in blue clothing. On his head, there was a head of curls, and on his left eye, there was a lense which could have been an eyepatch covered in beer bottle caps. He was clutching an indistinguishable bottle of some foul-smelling spirit, and was inexplicably tied to a very disgruntled horse in what could only be described as a knotted mess of magician's hankerchieves, fruit loops and S&M belts.
"Sir, my name is Sandy. You look like you're in a bit of a pickle, please, allow me to undo some of those bothersome knots-"
Just as he crouched to undo one of them, the man hit him back with his empty hand.
"NO! This is the law of the house. I'ze gots to stay...to stay..."
At that point, he drifted into some form of stupor, whether from heat or drink. Sandy politely tapped his nose until he awoke again.
"...to stay in chains! Till sunset. Wanderin' till sunset. Thas...that was the..."
He fell back again, but not comatose but from losing his balance, as the horse had taken a step back.
Sandy steadied the horse, who looked almost smug after making the other man lose his balance.
"Okay hon- what's your name?"
The man smiled with a startling sobrerity, and only then did Mr. Dessert notice that his teeth were yellowed, with little sharp incisors and bloody gums.
"They call me Herring".
"What? That's a name now?".
"No, no...that's my last name"
"Sooo...what's the first?"
"You may learn...in...tiiii-"
At that point, Mr. Herring fell back into a nap, then was awake again. The sun had been sinking during these past few lines, and now had set completely, bathing the newcomer's face in red light before leaving them in darkness.
"Iss...It's okay now, buddy. Heh. Buddy. You can untie me".
So Sandy set about untying Mr. Herring, pondering the strange events and personality that had just unfurled, every now and again the wildlife rustling or the horse kicking Mr Herring in the stomach. As Sandy hoisted his new companion over his shoulder and brought him in, the newly-stabled horse glanced icily at them.
"Why does that horse hate you so much?," enquired Sandy.
"Welp, first I once bet him for 10 kilos of dorites. Then, I fed him on doritas for a week. Theeen, I thought he was a she for a while and named him after a doctor...or was she a stripper...".
"...that I once knew".
"What was she called?".
Are you sure 'she' isn't a clever metaphor for alcoholism, sir? Sandy thought to himself. But aloud, he said:
"...you have a horse named Tequila?".
By this point they had reached the guest room, and as Sandy dropped him onto the bed he instantly fell asleep, snoring loudly as he did. Leaving, Sandy mumbled to himself.
"...Huh, well there you have it".