People go too fast. Thus has been a chief observation of mine ever since I came to be a retired pet pleasure horse on the County Island. They go too fast with their rumbly-vehicles runnin up and down the roads all day long, and with their pointless runnin to and fro in their own undergarments, which is called joggin. They go too fast with us horses, too. Not that we can’t go fast, and sometimes we even like to.
I was bein rode at my usual amble through the big wash one time, when we was passed by a bonafide endurance horse, which is similar to a cow-track race-horse only more Ayrab-like, but less Ayrab-like than, say, the Ayrab horses that’s only trained to wear a halter and snort at the end of a string. It cantered on by with a brief howdy from its rider, and then I ambled on.
And then it came back, passin me again. The endurance horse pricked her ears and I returned the salutation.
I went back to my moseyin and takin time to look at all the purty cactus, and the rabbits sittin underneath the cactus, and bit of grass that maybe I might try to sneak a bite of, and all the things a horse likes to take the time to observe when he’s bein rode nice and slow, listenin to the birds, and the critters, and the sound of my own hoofbeats, and feelin the warm sun against my hide.
And the endurance horse came back again. I had to wonder how many passes of the wash it intended to make, and so I pinned my ears to inquire. It snorted, as it went past me, that it supposed it would canter back and forth until it’s rider got tired of it. And it’s rider had a big ol’ grin set upon her face. The endurance horse seemed amiable and capable enough. They really wasn’t botherin me in the bothersome sense of the word. But still.
They was slightly interferin with my own enjoyment of a peaceful day in my own generally peaceful wash. The best part of bein retired is bein able to go as slow as I like, which can be purty damned slow, pardon my french. But most times, I get the feelin our own bucket gal likes to go slow, too, and so I do my best to help her with her own slow-down.
Helpin people relax and enjoy the ride is one of the best things a horse can do — that is, if he ain’t doin somethin useful such as lookin after cattle, or helpin to mend a fence, or doin real work. But if ya ain’t workin, there’s no need for speed. And even when you’re workin, speed can get in the way and cause ya to scatter the cattle, which means your own work day is gonna now be twice as long and hard. Seems to me the County Island people spend so much of their days goin fast at their people-jobs and such, and in all their rumbly-vehicles, that they need us horses to help ‘em gain a li’l of the calm us horses take for granted as part of our own horseness. I reckon if canterin back and forth across a wash upon the County Island makes the endurance horse’s own bucket gal feel good and calm, then an endurance horse has got to do what an endurance horse does best.
Like it’s my job to slow the bucket gal down and make us both take time to appreciate the li’l things along the way.
So, on behalf of all horses everywhere, I’d like to remind y’all kindly to slow down, while y’all is busy racin into your own next people-year as if countin up your people-days and people-hours even matters at all, which it don’t.
Except at feedin time. Then you’d best kick it up a notch, because a hungry horse ain’t got all day.