A Horse's Apology Letter

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I tried to kill you yesterday. I really didn’t mean to, but those white cones just jumped out of NOWHERE. Have you ever been attacked by a white cone? Well, I haven’t either and I plan to keep it that way. When I jumped straight up in the air I was acting on hundreds of years of instincts from when Belgians roamed the wild plains running away from cougars and lions and those sneaky white cones.

I didn’t mean to run, but white cones are fast, Mom. At least that’s what my brother said. He’s been jumped by a white cone, you know. Reached right up and bit him when he was trotting down the long side. Mugged in plain daylight, can you believe it? He doesn’t like to talk to about it much, but I know it still gives him nightmares from the way his head twitches when he sleeps.

I think overall I recovered nicely. The yelling on your part was a little overdone. You managed to haul yourself back in the saddle before you hit that big mud puddle. Using my mane was a brilliant idea, but I gotta tell you – OUCH! Whoever said horses can’t feel when their mane is being pulled is full of manure. But I guess it will grow back. Eventually.

You know, the more that I think about it, the more I think I actually did a good deed. I know you were angry that I wouldn’t go to the side of the ring after I spotted the white cone lurking under the rail, but I was really just trying to protect you. Humans can’t run as fast as horses, Mom. Didn’t you find that out when you were chasing my brother around yesterday? For a guy who only won $165 on the track he sure can go when he wants to!

So I’m sorry for almost killing you, but all in all I think it was a good thing I ran when I did. I know I’ve been past that white cone hundreds of times before, but I could feel it looking at me this time, getting ready to pounce. I saved your life, Mom. I really did. Actually, I think you should be thanking me. A big bag of carrots should suffice. I’ll be in my stall, waiting. And bring me some of that hay, won’t you? Not the first cutting dried up stuff you usually feed me, but the soft fluffy green hay that my brother gets. Are you trying to make me starve to death or what?

Love,
Poppy