As went the American experiment…so went horses. As a beast of labor, transportation, and food source when things got lean, the horse has served us well.
For years they were slaughtered for dog food and sundry other industrial uses as well– brushes, hides, and various gluing compounds. It seems there is no bottom to the cruelties we can levy on the equine species.
Downtown there are horse drawn carriages that do a bumper business when dipshits from East Bumfuck visit our city. If you are wondering where East Bumfuck is, it’s anywhere that is over 50 miles away from the intersection of State and Madison, in any direction. Michigan? Indiana? Wisconsin? Iowa? All of it comprises East Bumfuck. And if you inhabit this geography? You are a shit-kicker, a stump-jumper, a ridge-runner. . .a hick.
Now, don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with being a hick.
Hey, somebody has to milk the cows, breed the pigs, and pry eggs out of the chicken’s ass. It may as well be you.
Whenever I’m downtown, inevitably I run across a couple of squirrel-poachers staring up at the tall buildings, slack-jawed and wistful, or they’re prying one of those blue Dork-Bike (a DIVY bike) out of its upright holster on every goddamned street corner, or they are at Garret’s buying the carmel and cheese popcorn mix for the price of an organ transplant. You see, back home, in Paducah? They eat fucking gophers and bite the heads off of frogs.
I have to stop myself from pointing them out to the muggers.
The carriage horse thing bugs the fuck out of me. The horses always look sad. And the dopes in the Charles Dickens garb driving the carriage? They don’t look thrilled either. The horses mostly look like big draft horses–beautiful, working horses–like Clydesdales without the fuzzy boots. I don’t really know anything about horses, other than they are too gentle and good for this.