The author, competing in the equestrian dressage competition, at the 2012 Summer Olympics. (Credit: AP)
Let me start by apologizing for any typos, I’m writing this on a touch screen and my stable is rather dark.
It has come to my attention in recent months that I have become a bit of a joke. That’s fine, I have a thick coat. What is more troubling is that people seem genuinely angry at my mere existence. I’ve been booed, jeered and ranted about on your televisions. Many humans seem deeply invested in me. I don’t like that.
I’m just a horse, I didn’t ask for any of this, this is just my job and in this economy you take what you can get and hold on to it as tightly as possible. Do I want to be a dancing horse? Think about that question for a second. How many horses do you know love dancing like humans? When was the last time you heard someone just back from Chincoteague say, “Wow the wild horses were amazing! They were paying a tongue in cheek homage to the 70s with an Alvin Ailey inspired interpretation of the Hustle!”
Not that I’m complaining.
Is being a dancing horse better than winding up on an episode of “Animal Cops Houston”? You betcha’. How about a featured extra on “Luck”? Right again. Are you starting to get the picture? It’s a job, it keeps me sheltered, fed and groomed and that’s a lot better than lots of other horses have it right now.
As near as I can tell most of you people don’t like the human male I work for. I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve met the guy, like, twice. He seemed nice enough; shorter than I expected, his mane is magnificent and he had healthy teeth, but beyond that I didn’t give him too much thought because I was TOO BUSY DANCING, you know, doing my job. As long as he keeps my stable warm and full of oats I’ll keep on doing that job. Do you “boo” the kid behind the counter at Chick-fil-A? Do you make fun of the guy delivering pizzas for Domino’s? Do you berate the stock girl at Target? No, because you know they’re not worried about their bosses’ politics, they’re just trying not to get shipped to a Quebecois meat processor.
Some people are like, “Well you’re a pampered show horse who gets to travel the world in luxury.” Hey, you know what horses don’t give two cow paddies about? Luxury. Seriously, I don’t even understand that concept. Hey, you know what horses really hate (other than dancing)? Traveling the world. When was the last time you took a cruise and said to yourself, “Geez I really thought there’d be more horses on this week-long voyage at sea. I bet animals whose primary function in life is to run in wide open spaces on solid land would just fucking love a boat ride.” Hell, they had me so doped up for all I know I arrived here on the Romney family Zeppelin.
My point is this: I’ve gotta do my job this week. I don’t understand what the hell is going on, or why the crowd is chanting “USA!” I just know that I have to dance for my fresh hay, so that’s what I’m gonna do. I really don’t care how you feel about my boss, just try not to take it out on me because I’m just like you, a working stiff trying to avoid becoming dinner for a hungry Canadian.