Bob's Your Uncle

I had a long talk with my horse today.

He stood in front of me, not moving a muscle, as I'd commanded him to do. I was sitting on the three-step mounting block (next stop, a crane).

I was dejected. "What the hell good are you?" I said. My voice was soft. I wasn't yelling. I felt dejected. "You have heaves. You can't pull a cart. I'm afraid you'll buck me off. You're spooky on trails. I can't give pony rides on you." The list went on. He actually had the grace to look sad.

"What am I going to do with you?" I wondered. "You aren't even a good companion horse!"

The sun felt really good. Some bug pestered Sox in the the mild spring air. I sat there for about 20 minutes, looking at Sox and remembering the other horses we had to get rid of for their own good, because Sox was mean to them. I miss those other horses. They were good, useful horses. Well, two of them were.

Sox seemed to sense my despair. Some people say horses are telepathic. I do hope this is the case. I hope Sox is even now chewing on my words out in the pasture. I hope he comes to the conclusion that he's either got to become a kinder, gentler horse, or find himself a slab on a platter 3000 miles away with a Japanese dad sharpening a knife over him.