They say no animal is romantic as us horses. Cep’tn maybe the unicorn. But people know us better because the unicorns are so shy. They hide from everything. It’s a wonder they can survive at all. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about unicorns. This is a story about us horses. And between you and me I think that horses are the prettiest four-legged creatures you’ll find anywhere.
My great, great sire used to tell me stories after we were bedded down for the night. He’d say, “I used to be able to run free—I was the fasted in our herd, you know. Yeah, the feeling of the wind in my mane. My tail flying behind me as my powerful legs jumped rocks and streams is a lugs…ury you can’t have no more. Trapped in this here fence and all.”
I gaze toward the woods beyond the silo, and sigh. Dreaming. Wondering what it was like to run free, to mingle in the herd, snapping at necks, kicking up heels…playing without worrying I’d run into a damned fence.
“Oh, yeah. People just had to tame us. Make us haul wagons full of feisty kids and pull buggies so the adults can go visitin’. One thing I’m glad of, I’m not a plough pullin’ horse, out in the dry dusty field all day. Barney and Slide are and they’re generally too tired to do anything else by the end of the day. Yeah, we work hard. And we don’t break down like them new contraptions do.
Yep, people messed it up for us horses, you see. They ploughed up the land and killed the trees and ate the animals they trapped. Cept’n I ain’t never seen them eat a horse, come to think on it. Maybe we don’t taste so good. Or maybe our masters are just too attached to us to eat us. I saw them dig a hole in the ground when Spartan died. They used a backhoe dump Spartan into it. His master cried. So, I’m thinking that when I die my master will cry.
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