The other horses in the paddock with me were much older than I was. They spent each day sharing stories about their lives and how they came to be in this place. I hadn’t done much of anything yet, so I just listened. Oh, I had my dreams, as every young horse does, but I kept those to myself for fear they would think me silly and laugh at me.
One old, swaybacked mare, who enjoyed standing beside me, told me about the day she was in a parade. “It was the proudest moment of my life,” she said. “The little boy who owned me dressed me up with ribbons and leg wraps. My saddle and bridle were polished until they shone nearly as much as I did. We pranced down the streets of the town as music played from a brass band. People cheered as we went by. It was all so very grand.”
“I have had a very hard life,” said a large, black gelding. “I have spent most of my life hitched to a thick harness pulling logs out of the forest.”
I glanced down at his shoulders and noticed the scars left there from years of throwing all his strength, against a thick, leather collar. I felt sorry for him and hoped that was not in my future.
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