I remember, he wasn't much to look at. He certainly didn't come from a long line of blooded stock, nor would he nave been claimed by any breed. What was the color of his hair? Probably he would have been considered bay. Now how much does that tell you? Oh, you don't know what that means? Well, young fellow, I guess we grew up in a different world and that bothers me. Sometimes I get in my car and turn the switch on. Next I make a frantic grab for the kill switch on the radio then comes silence. What a blissful silence compared to the crashing sound of a few seconds ago. Yes, we are a couple of generations apart. I hope we can bridge the chasm that has separated us. You grew from childhood riding about on wheels and I went about riding on something that had feelings and feet just like you and I. This is important. After a long day in the saddle or a day in the field what man would seek his own food and rest before he took care of his stock. The good stockmen would consider the welfare of livestock ahead of his own. Here is a great truth. "It is more blessed to give than to receive." I have been rambling a bit here; but my point is simply this; interaction with animals can be a building block for character. There are exceptions of course. Cruel people will likely be cruel to animals. Now where were we. Oh, yes you see Prince was a horse. In fact he was the horse that helped me learn to ride. He was bay in color. That is a shade somewhere between red and brown. I remember when he died. It did not happen suddenly. I would sit there and watch him, not really understanding what was happening. Finally he moved no more. How does a mere child cope with a thing like death? I cried by myself. I wanted to be alone. It is things like this that have a part in shaping character. A farm boy sees the harsh reality of birth, life and death at an early age. The death of a horse will be forever etched in my visual memory. The picture of perhaps seventy years ago is still clear. It makes me wish that I had been more gentle. What mechanical thing can ever bring about the nostalgia brought on by the memory of a certain animal. If you keep an animal merely to do your bidding you will never understand what I am trying to tell you. There must be a mutual bond.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
PRINCE
I remember, he wasn't much to look at. He certainly didn't come from a long line of blooded stock, nor would he nave been claimed by any breed. What was the color of his hair? Probably he would have been considered bay. Now how much does that tell you? Oh, you don't know what that means? Well, young fellow, I guess we grew up in a different world and that bothers me. Sometimes I get in my car and turn the switch on. Next I make a frantic grab for the kill switch on the radio then comes silence. What a blissful silence compared to the crashing sound of a few seconds ago. Yes, we are a couple of generations apart. I hope we can bridge the chasm that has separated us. You grew from childhood riding about on wheels and I went about riding on something that had feelings and feet just like you and I. This is important. After a long day in the saddle or a day in the field what man would seek his own food and rest before he took care of his stock. The good stockmen would consider the welfare of livestock ahead of his own. Here is a great truth. "It is more blessed to give than to receive." I have been rambling a bit here; but my point is simply this; interaction with animals can be a building block for character. There are exceptions of course. Cruel people will likely be cruel to animals. Now where were we. Oh, yes you see Prince was a horse. In fact he was the horse that helped me learn to ride. He was bay in color. That is a shade somewhere between red and brown. I remember when he died. It did not happen suddenly. I would sit there and watch him, not really understanding what was happening. Finally he moved no more. How does a mere child cope with a thing like death? I cried by myself. I wanted to be alone. It is things like this that have a part in shaping character. A farm boy sees the harsh reality of birth, life and death at an early age. The death of a horse will be forever etched in my visual memory. The picture of perhaps seventy years ago is still clear. It makes me wish that I had been more gentle. What mechanical thing can ever bring about the nostalgia brought on by the memory of a certain animal. If you keep an animal merely to do your bidding you will never understand what I am trying to tell you. There must be a mutual bond.
I remember, he wasn't much to look at. He certainly didn't come from a long line of blooded stock, nor would he nave been claimed by any breed. What was the color of his hair? Probably he would have been considered bay. Now how much does that tell you? Oh, you don't know what that means? Well, young fellow, I guess we grew up in a different world and that bothers me. Sometimes I get in my car and turn the switch on. Next I make a frantic grab for the kill switch on the radio then comes silence. What a blissful silence compared to the crashing sound of a few seconds ago. Yes, we are a couple of generations apart. I hope we can bridge the chasm that has separated us. You grew from childhood riding about on wheels and I went about riding on something that had feelings and feet just like you and I. This is important. After a long day in the saddle or a day in the field what man would seek his own food and rest before he took care of his stock. The good stockmen would consider the welfare of livestock ahead of his own. Here is a great truth. "It is more blessed to give than to receive." I have been rambling a bit here; but my point is simply this; interaction with animals can be a building block for character. There are exceptions of course. Cruel people will likely be cruel to animals. Now where were we. Oh, yes you see Prince was a horse. In fact he was the horse that helped me learn to ride. He was bay in color. That is a shade somewhere between red and brown. I remember when he died. It did not happen suddenly. I would sit there and watch him, not really understanding what was happening. Finally he moved no more. How does a mere child cope with a thing like death? I cried by myself. I wanted to be alone. It is things like this that have a part in shaping character. A farm boy sees the harsh reality of birth, life and death at an early age. The death of a horse will be forever etched in my visual memory. The picture of perhaps seventy years ago is still clear. It makes me wish that I had been more gentle. What mechanical thing can ever bring about the nostalgia brought on by the memory of a certain animal. If you keep an animal merely to do your bidding you will never understand what I am trying to tell you. There must be a mutual bond.
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