horse

Gumnuts, actually.

They are picked by the parrot and the cockatoo. You can tell by looking at them what type of bird has pulled them from the tree.

A red tailed, black cockatoo eats them one way. A white cheeked, black cockatoo eats them another way. They also fly differently. One is straight and glides, one flies like a wave.

‘You’re kidding me,’ says this one, remembering. ‘That’s what she said last time. Actual birds. That’s what she meant.’

The other one rolls his eyes. ‘Just like actual horses, you twit.’ He sticks out his tongue for good measure.

We wonder if they will decide to go and see the actual horses. They are ready to be seen as well, they say.

‘Can I stroke him,’ says the little girl to her mother. ‘Will he bite?’

‘No, darling, he is very friendly, he will not bite. See how he is now?’

They see this now.

I can’t write the name of the place because I could not see it clearly, but I’ve been there. The two boys are in the far paddock, a bay, and a chestnut. The chestnut stood once under a tree, his feet nearly in his own poo, unfortunately. He will come out from under the tree today, his head held high, and he will snort. If you look very carefully, you might even see him smile.

Behind him walks the older bay. Once he was a strawberry roan. He is very, very gentle and will see if maybe you have something for him. Be careful with his back, though. He is not to be ridden, and the owners of these two love them very, very much.

Before you get to them, you will see the “Magnificent white horse” and the dun, and maybe the young bay filly as well. Opposite the boys is the tiny black mare, and she is never forgotten by the people who visit her, even if it is not always her owners. At the very rear, you may be lucky enough to see the palomino, if she isn’t rolling around on her back in the sand.

I may be wrong about the palomino, because I did not properly meet her when I was there last. Maybe today she is standing at the fence and waiting for someone to come and see her. Maybe today she can go for a ride.

Don’t walk behind a Horse.

‘My choice,’ says the man on the black stallion. ‘This is what I want to do.’

‘You want to ride the Black?’

‘He is a beautiful horse, although you say the story is better.’

‘The story is always better.’ She points towards an old book. Perhaps it had been made after the movie had come out, for the cover had been updated. ‘This is the story, here. And he made a beautiful movie.’

‘And the boy in that movie… Is he still alive?’

‘I don’t remember his name. He did a good job, although it would have been terrifying for him if he had got on the actual stallion as he (the stallion) was portrayed in the book. They changed the race scene as well in the movie, if I remember correctly. Not all horses want to play the part they are given/not given. I expect that’s what the problem was, and they already had the horses.’

‘That seems a likely reason,’ said someone who was particularly good with horses. ‘Can I say something please,’ added the person, who had decided to change tactics, at least for today. ‘It was not exactly fair to charge us for something we did not use, was it?’

‘I do not see your point,’ said the man standing at the fence. ‘I charge you, you pay. That’s it.’

‘I disagree,’ the rider said, and once again began to circle the horse. ‘You see, old chap, we do not live in your world, and you do not make these decisions. These decisions will be made the correct way, and if there is no good reason for them, which there are not as far as I can tell, then I am afraid I am going to have to cancel on you.’

‘Please remind me of this payment,’ said someone testily. ‘it was not that big, if I remember.’

‘Not really the point if one does not know why they are there, still.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, ya daft fucker, if I said I only put up a picture once, not a photograph, but more of a wallpaper for a phone, and then took it down, and then no longer had access to it… because that’s all I can think of, why would I still be paying for it?’

‘This is not what we agreed,’ shrieked a small and desperate masked man. ‘You said it was a nice picture. That was the deal.’

‘I can’t make a deal on a picture I no longer have though. I believe that’s reasonable.’

‘She said that too.’ The man looked at his masked face in a mirror, the mirror of which had not been anywhere near the scene five minutes ago. ‘I do not think I should wear this mask anymore, mama. I think I understand now. I believe these people are trying to get someone to buy their crap, and I think this was a coverup by them to dissuade you from reporting on them. I think I am right.’

‘I gave them a chance to stop charging me for something I do not have, and it still continues. I believe I have been very kind to these people in that regard. I also believe,’ and the rider got down quite easily from the horse, because sometimes people know how to do things properly. ‘That I am not getting really angry quite yet, but when I actually do, I might just start heading your way, in a manner of speaking. So, make your choice to stop charging me, or I will make the choice to follow it back to its source through any means necessary. We do have the means necessary, you know. We are quite advanced, in that regard.’

‘This was your conversation with me many moons ago,’ said a desperate banker. ‘I did not follow it up then, but I will need to follow it up today, won’t I?”

‘Seeing as they also won’t allow me to make changes on my own bank account, I believe you will. This is the point of no return, kiddo.’

‘I don’t speak your language,’ the small and desperate con man said.

‘Well, I’m pretty sure we have someone around here who speaks yours. I don’t believe I will wait again, to see if you have stopped charging me. I believe I will still go ahead and make the phone call, and they will make sure this payment is stopped. I am pretty damn sure you can understand that, once it’s translated.’ The rider patted the horse on his velvety nose. ‘Don’t be a romantic either, mate. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘You know these people?’ A bystander seemed confused.

‘I can tell you who I don’t know,’ said the rider. ‘And that’s the pricks charging me for shit I’m not using. Is “No” not a good enough answer for you lot? You’re a bunch of dickless wonders, and I do not say that nicely.’

‘If this gets out, there’ll be hell to pay,’ a nasty little criminal said to his partner. ‘It’s highly likely we are not clever enough to get away with this anymore, especially if all eyes are on this writing woman. She “does not like anything about any of this”, she said that quite clearly, and I’m quoting her, and yet we chose to ignore her.’ (It’s called enunciation, bud. You should try it sometime, ya fat little fuck. It makes things so much clearer to all concerned about someone’s intent when it’s said out loud, ya got me?)

‘I still don’t speak your language,’ said the distant gremlins. ‘I have so much of your stuff I have acquired illegally it would not hold up in a court of law, simply for the fact I acquired it illegally.’

‘I think I wanna be Frank now,’ someone said. They had put their mask back on and were behaving in a distinctly suspicious manner. ‘I wanna go home.’

‘Bit late for that, I reckon,’ said the rider. She remounted the horse, again, quite easily, and said something under her breath. ‘You should probably run,’ she added with a broad smile. ‘My work here is done.’

‘What does that mean,’ asked the small, intimidated, and not very attractive at all, person trying to be a man. They had no idea what that meant — trying to be a man. Some people just aren’t cut out for certain things, and some others simply refuse to do them. Not all people can be put in the same basket, though, and this is what the small “man” did not understand.

The rider was not a small man.

‘My horse is very well trained. I believe, in some places, many many moons ago, these particular rather thick-necked beasts were called destriers. And, I just told him to back up on you. If you don’t know what that means, be very prepared for a kick in the head.’

“Let Me Show You Something” — from the back of the red stallion.

Let’s go back, before this all began. Let’s go back to where we were, where I was, when I rode the red stallion, not you. Can you hear my horse? Hear him snort as I curve his sweating neck so he circles, see the wetness on his coat. You are the one down there on the ground, not me. You are. I stare down at the man below me, and he stares back up, the sun glinting from his eyes. Behind him, watching in horrified silence, stands a woman with a small child. They are both terrified.

I don’t want to go back.

He doesn’t say this with humour or words. He is simply stating a fact. This man is not afraid because I have shown him it’s okay, but I need to remind him.

‘Stay where you are.’ I glare at him, and for a moment I see fear in his eyes. This is my sword, not yours. This is my spear, not yours. This does not mark me as American. I am Australian. I will let you stand there and watch me circling you, and I do not need to draw on any of them at all. This is mine. It is not yours. ‘Must I remind you again.’ I say this with immense calm in my voice.

I am also saying this politely, this time. Last time I refused, and this time I refused as well, but I am doing it politely. I’m not swearing at you, while you stand there on the sand. I watch your eyes get all big, and I can see you remember this well. I do not think I will dismount, not yet, because back here, I remember how to ride, and I think I might have been particularly good at it, even if he believes I am not well-trained.

Now, see, watch my mount change in colour. This horse becomes the colour of clouds. I have indeed done this before, in this life, and you’ll remember I had to jump off him as he took off down a road with the bit in his teeth, with his tail in the air. Do you remember me showing you that? We laughed about this at one point, my friend, and that is possibly where this understanding began. The fact I could dismount as the Anglo-Arab ran for his friends without injuring myself was simply fortunate, and that is all. Perhaps I whispered this story to another rider and he understood its worth.

This man is not afraid, he whispers in this one on one conversation. I remember it too. I wasn’t there. You did show me. I remember it too. He stares up at this golden helm I wear, and he remembers.

‘Well then.’ I have stopped circling my mount, who was red in this past life. His hooves skitter in the dust, but he knows his place. I can slow this down once again then, can’t I. I am just reminding you, after all. I’m not getting down, because I’m not on a “high horse”, I am not on a clothes horse, and I am not on a horse with no name. This is exactly who I am, not you.

‘You are still not quite ready,’ admonishes the one in the distance, but he is completely, and utterly wrong, because I have been more than ready for a very long time, and you do not mean anything to me at all.

So. I look at this man standing on the ground below me. He is not better than I am, and he is not worse than I am. He is equal, this man, and it would serve him well to remember that. He opens his mouth. A sly grin forms on his face.

‘No, you don’t talk. I am talking now.’ I look at this man with a warning in my eyes. He blinks once. He remembers this as well. This is my time, and it has been my time for a very long time, down here, so you will listen. ‘Stop screeching.’ I say this to an arrogant woman with a small child. She does not appear so arrogant now, cowering within my circle of hoof prints. You sound like a little bird with no wings. Unfortunately for you, I have wings, and they are very large, but I’m not wearing them right now. ‘I guess you’re lucky. Sit down, right there, all three of you, and I will consider getting down from this horse.’

If he runs again, I think to myself as I stare at the woman and make this promise for she who has finally sat down on the sand, I will plant this spear in the sand in front of him, so he probably shouldn’t.

If she starts being daft, I look at the woman as she cradles the small child, I will turn her into a little frog again, and she can bury her head in the sand as well. He hears this from me, and his eyes begin to smile.

As for you, I curl a lip at this man. I am going to get down from this horse. I pat the red stallion’s neck, and he snorts. His eyes do not roll like a mad beast. He is my animal and it will serve them well to remember it.

He is beautiful, isn’t he, this one made of clouds. You are quite lucky this one is made of clouds, because that one I had, the one in the last life, he was not made of clouds at all, and I hope you remember him as well as I do.

You’re welcome.

P.S. You can get the children to draw the red stallion, if you like. I rode him in this past life, yes, by moving into his body and helping him be, and he remembers it well. That one, him standing lost with the woman and the child in the circle I made with the hooves of my horse, he remembers it too. Ask him what it looks like, he can tell you. He knows who I am.

The red horse did not find it amusing his sire had been named McFlirt.

‘To be the seventh son of a horse named “Of a Flirt” is not my idea of a good timing,’ said the horse.

If words could be uttered from a horse’s mouth, then they would be spoken as honestly as the humans could interpret them. There is much “tongue in cheek” here, but the chestnut has a sense of humour today, apparently.

It is quite a shame some people believe a horse is not up to telling a story, but the chestnut is accompanied by his new old friend who has been named for a Strawberry and doesn’t mind a bit. If anyone else thinks these are terrible puns, please let me know. I don’t think all of them are mine.

Anyway… The chestnut does not roll his eyes, because he leaves that to his friend, who is quite good at pulling faces. I can personally vouch for this, as I have seen it, and he is a funny old duffer indeed. They have consented to having their photographs taken by their owners, so we are in luck in knowing the pictures provided to this particular WordPress blog are genuine and legal. Isn’t that wonderful. That was a rhetorical question.

Today, we do not enter into the personal previous life of Knox the gelding, as he is busy being a horse with no name and pretending to chase bulls down unfamiliar streets with cobbled stones and skinny windows. Hey look, I’m just repeating what the horse is saying, so you really can’t correct me. If he isn’t a horse and just pretending to be the one attempting to bite his best mate’s backside, then I have many questions to ask, and I probably won’t get answers to them.

Knox (the horse) asks us to remember his mature-age friend, the dark bay who was once a strawberry roan, cannot be ridden anymore as he has a bad back, but biting him on the arse is perfectly acceptable. I would just like to say I won’t be trying this myself anytime soon, and nobody else should either. Frazier is quite a large horse, and although he is extremely patient with his younger companion, he would likely get quite a fright if tiny humans thought sinking their teeth into him would be a good idea. He can still kick if he needs to.

I think perhaps photographs of the true characters in this short piece would probably help.