Seems like an insult in a cowboy movie.
When my son was very little, I would bring him home from his half-day school and we would eat a simple lunch together at the table: little sandwiches, baby carrots, and fruit. Sun splashed across the pine table top and often when we looked out the window, we'd see one of these little guys hopping up the tree, stopping now and then to drill his holes or poke his beak into those already drilled. When lunch was finished, I'd tell my boy it was time for his nap and he'd go off and lay on his back on his bed. I might go sing him a little song and off he'd drift. So sweet.
If he didn't nap, he'd start to nod off while I was making dinner. He and his older brother would sit side by side on the couch, their short little legs stuck out in front of them, and watch Arthur while I chopped and stirred, boiled and drained, and set the table. I know every episode of Arthur from those years in the kitchen. I've actually seen very few episodes with my eyes, but I know them all.
When my youngest would start to doze, my oldest would call out, "Mom! He's starting to sleep!" And I would say, "Ice him!"
My oldest would get a piece of ice and put it on my youngest--and I'd call, "Don't sleep yet! Wait till we after we eat! It's almost ready!"
Every mother knows this, I think. The child who falls asleep too early and then wakes at midnight or two a.m. and calls out what seems like 100 times for water or just to tell you one more thing or that he really can't sleep and doesn't know why.
I can't believe we'd "ice him," but it didn't happen often and it was really a kind of jokey activity. Sometimes just the words "ice him" were enough to keep him awake till I could get the dinner on the table.
Meanwhile, now, spring is here again. Cold still, mostly, but springing up.