#thehorses

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.

Notes on The Toreador

The chestnut horse, who had never wanted to be a gelding, and had never wanted the marks of ownership, had slowly come to terms with the fact he had been named as security (the horse’s name was Knox), and although the old dark brown horse “p*ssed him off daily”, his sensible nature always managed to calm the chestnut down.

Knox and Frazier.

They had spoken with the lady’s sister that day and she had seen the truth of the horses. Tears have been shed in recognition of their beautiful souls, and have been shared here so no one will get confused. 

Sometimes we may spell a name wrong, or people may get confused by a simple meaning and make it far more complicated than it ever needs to be. Sometimes, if one is not trained to discern the difference, they may consider many people to be one person, and put them all into the same paddock. 

Horses, just like other animals who associate closely with humans, pick up on our emotions, and send them to those whom they smell as being related in some way. When a beast (and here the red horse raises his head and snorts loudly, for he is not a beast at all, it is that bastard on the far corner who thinks he shines like a moon in sunlight, the upstart) is sensitive to people, and does not know how to close his soul’s doors, he becomes skittish and hurt, for he thinks those feelings are his, when they are not.

This is the way of those who aren’t human.

The notes on the real horses had been written some weeks before. If one visits a farm agistment where horses are, one might discern the truth of these beautiful creatures, not take the stories they share and make them into something terrible. The chestnut horse is not a bad horse at all; he has marks on both shoulders to show his heritage. Beside him in the same paddock, lives a beautiful bay gelding, who used to dance but is now too wise to do very much at all. He is not to be ridden – the bay horse, and the chestnut has been learning to trust people again.

‘If I could, I would fight your bulls,’ the chestnut may think. ‘But these stories are old stories and the toreador does not do these things in Australia. If the children must play with truth and lies, let them know this truth, for I am indeed a horse.’

The Toreador (a fiction)

‘If I may say, yer ‘onor, my mount has become quite demanding.’ The toreador looked down at his horse. ‘A flaming beast indeed,’ he muttered under his breath.

The horse arched its neck and stamped its feet. Its hooves had been trimmed, and oil applied.

‘Silence,’ demanded the person at the fence. ‘There will be no shouting in this court.’ Their face had become as red as the horse’s coat. The mumbling of the people dulled to quiet.

This horse had been marked on both shoulders, and stood under a tree to keep out of the sunlight for longer than he’d expected. His older companion rolled expressive eyes and stuck out his tongue for good measure.

‘I really don’t feel like being a toreador today,’ said the toreador. ‘Can someone else look after him?’

‘He’s your horse,’ said the other rider. ‘I think he wishes to have some exercise.’

‘Perhaps in the evening then, when it’s cooler,’ suggested the toreador hopefully, then grimaced as he noticed the trembling of the horse beneath him. ‘Bugger. He’s going to be a pain in the backside. Perhaps I’ll take him for a short stroll around the paddock instead.’

‘I do not think that will be enough,’ said the rider of the dark bay.

As if to prove that point, the bay sighed, very deeply. He had been bitten enough by the young maniac beside him over the last few weeks, but it had not ruined his own good nature.

The horse wished the toreador to take him to a bull. He lifted his head and snorted. This time it was the toreador who sighed.

‘The bull always comes to us, you idiot,’ he said, raising his spear. ‘Now for goodness sake, calm down and start dancing.’

to be continued…