Everyday Horses

Remember this commercial – metro-looking dude holds up an egg and says, “This is your brain.” He cracks the egg into a hot frying pan. “This is your brain on drugs.”

It took me f o r e v e r to get that. Fried, right? Duh.

The human brain is amazing. The mind generated in the human brain is confounding in range of abilities. A human mind can conceive art, justice, love or murder. It is truly one of this world’s wonders.

The brain of a horse, on the other hand, is the size of a fist, operates a mainly manure producing device and can barely conceive of grass. A tiny brain motivating 1,000 plus pounds makes a horse a liquid-eyed, silken skinned catastrophe in motion.

I grew up reading stories of courageous, trustworthy, equine companions who not only stood by their human friend, but often came to his rescue. Saturday mornings I sat mesmerized in front of the television while Fury, Flicka, Champion, Buttermilk, Diablo, Scout, Silver and Trigger emoted loyalty, intelligence and love all over assorted cow men and women. Did Trigger ever let Roy down? No.

The sad truth is, my dears, what comes over TV is not the truth. A horse in real life is more apt to kick his cow person in the head and run off. Even in the face of this major character defect, people remain serious about horses.

When I went to see Return to Snowy River, I joined an audience filled with cowboys, little girls and single women. The highlight of this film, as in the original, is when the Australian cowboy jumps his horse off a cliff and rides all the way down. However, in Snowy River, Part Two, halfway down, the villain shoots the horse. At this point in the film, I heard a female voice behind me say, “Why that dirty son of a bitch.”

Serious. Yes indeed.

Horses are the reason I walk with a limp, have a bad back and an elbow that predicts the weather. I’ve finally developed, what I consider to be, a mature relationship with my equine neighbors. I admire them from afar. They don’t try to kill me. Détente.