Horsing Around

Look At My Horse, My Horse Is Amazin’….

Allow me to begin by clarifying, dear reader, that I do not claim to be an expert on horses.

In fact, were I to even infer a passing familiarity with equine lore I fear I would condemn a woman (who no doubt only now realized she has the dubious honor of being referenced in this opening paragraph) to verbally and quite loudly guffaw.

And, well, no one wants to get caught in a public guffaw, especially in a place of study, and so here I am: honor bound to disclaim to high heaven.

That being said, and now with all proper qualifiers in place, let’s dive in.  

You see, even I, a proud (some might say even defiant) proponent of exclusionary two-legged modes of physical transport am still surprised at some people’s failure to grasp the concept of a horse.

I’m not talking logistics or fine minutiae, mind you, but simple basics.

How simple you might ask? Well how about forgetting that horses need to eat. And not just a whee nibble here and there. You ever seen a horse? Well, in all likelihood probably not, but my point is they’re great big bastards and require a large and regular supply of food (unless you’re content to watch an animal starve in which case  I will happily challenge you to pistols at dawn).

This equestrian issue really gets my goat ironically enough, as I just recently finished an otherwise great story where the titular heroine was forced to gallop across a frozen tundra on horseback with no supplies to her name. Having previously established that venturing into the wastes was certain death for even well provisioned caravans I was genuinely shocked at how long she and the horse spent in it before emerging out the other side smelling like rose.

Two months they spent traipsing the ice, dear reader.

Two. Months.

That's talking without a bite of food or a single drop of water to spare between the two of them.

It’s such a small detail and yet it presented such an ever present niggle in the back of my mind that I found myself increasingly unable to enjoy the story the longer it went on.

That and the fact said heroine ALLEGEDLY grew up on a farm working with said hoofed creature leads me to believe she is either inept, a moron, imbued with some hitherto unmentioned magical ability to sustain life, or (more likely) the author forgot that animals eat and shit as much or more than we do.

That alone would have been bad enough but wouldn’t you think a farmgirl (who, again, worked with this horse on a daily basis) would at least nominally understand how to tighten a saddle?

Again, I’m no equestrian but for pity’s sake it’s basically a belt. Look at the damn thing!

I can forgive not knowing about saddle blankets or hoofcare but come on people!

My final gripe with this frigid pony express (and the misrepresentation of horses in literature in general) is that this horse and rider had zero chemistry. Such a wasted opportunity!

Horses are physically incapable of not having a distinct personality, dear reader. Hell, hang near one long enough and they won’t just make recognizable facial expressions but will straight up talk back to you. Occasionally you’ll find a gentle soul but I find most to be honery little shits and I mean that as a form of endorsement. They’ve got spunk! Panache! Even if you find a placable angel they still ACT like a sweetheart. How this woman managed to work with this thing day in and day out for over a decade without managing to detect a trace of personality makes me think she has the empathy and wit of a bloated toadstool.  

But I digress.

Authors often have horses in their stories as a simple means for transportation. It isn't expanded upon. They don't do a deep dive into how the characters brush down their mounts every time they stop for the night. The horse is essentially Ye Olde motorcycle if you will, with no thought given to their care, longevity, or comfort so long as they move the character from Point A to Point B.

And you know what? In most stories thats fine. It's serviceable. It works.

You want to know what doesn't work? Claiming a character has even a passing familiarization with horses, let alone one specifically, and then having them be unable to even remember the poor bastard’s name.

Think of it this way: if you introduced your dog to someone over a span of years and they showed zero initiative in retaining said nomenclature, how long would it take you to write them off as either an asshole, a psychopath, or some jolly combination of the two? Am I inferring horses are basically large ass dogs? Yes, actually. They’re just harder to cuddle.

Horses deserve better depictions in fiction is all I’m saying. Give them that literary carrot, you know?

Or is it oats? Apples? Sugar cubes?

Ah, hell, real or not just spoil the shit out of them, I say.