The Fool’s Beloved Steed

The Fool and his Prized Mare are in Trouble!

Horses are wonderful creatures, wouldn’t you agree? The town being near a ranch of this size is a treat, and since it’s so close, you’ve time between shifts, commutes. and the occasional break to gander at these fine beasts! How freely they frolic. The flow of their shaggy manes, the power of their muscles! Graceful! It’s so breathtaking. Look there! That one’s hair is braided; just like the Nordic Vikings of old!

You know, some people treat horses like marriage. Not in that way, mind you, but the commitment and the love poured into the care and treatment. Even the preferences some have for horses is much like man and woman selecting a wife or husband, respectively. For example, how great is the love many possess for spotted hides? While another might desire dark hides unbroken by a separate color? Socks, glossy hides, mane style, nose shape, leg length, hoof size, tails, and a whole sort of illimitable characteristics which could be named in gross detail. Let’s save the trouble of lists for another day, eh?

Aside from the physical features, there’s the horse’s temperament, the ease of breaking it in, the way it strides, its wildness, and, again, a great docket could be made here. You understand it all, right? You’re a smart one. That can be seen as clearly as the rising sun.

C’mon, let’s stand over here and watch them run freely for a bit before something bothersome calls us back to the endless grind. The wind is pleasant if you stand there, and the tree’s shadow hides us from the sun’s glare.

Say, do you spot him? The farrier? I heard his wife handed him an unfavorable stack of papers recently. Don’t go telling it round, okay? Well, his wife complained of him coming home late and hated his work. Always coming back smelling like horses and such, even though that’s why the two got married. So, she got all fussed up enough to tell the man it was her or the horses. Honest truth! Well, you see how it all went. Now the poor sap is here from sunup to sunset. Every hour amongst those horseshoes and files. If you snatch a peek at his eyes, the bright spark once there no longer shines. Awfully dull, isn’t it? Men of his sort always drown themselves in something. Best’s its work rather than drink. Don’t look at me like that! It’s true!

Speaking of sad folk, see the woman over there? Cleaning the stalls? Her husband left her just recently, too. A real, downright shame. She used to be so lively and bubbly. Her man just got up and left one day for some reason or another. Another woman? Another job? A new life? No one knows. You saw her before he left, right? The glint in her eyes would make one believe she’s hiding something. Others think he left because she’s got a habit of smothering whoever she can hold onto. Not nothing horrible. She just clings a little too tightly, y’know? She’s scared to let people go.

A few think the husband got sick of it and left her without a word. Real cruel of that fellow.

Wait, hush up. I hear someone coming up behind us.

Oh great. It’s just the fool. What’s he got between his legs there? What’s it called — a hobby horse? No, no…it’s one of those rocking horses. He galloping up and down, sputtering like a crazed colt! Spitting all over himself! Disgusting, did you hear what he’s doing? Making fart noises and waving his hands over his nose! Bouncing and hopping like he can’t control the damn thing! He’s frightened the stallion the farrier’s trying to reshoe. I bet if the farrier was free, he’d whop the fool silly.

The fool’s reigning in the toy. Now he’s dropped it, and he seems suddenly sad? See? He’s knelt over it, and he’s sobbing? He’s gotten up, hunched over all gloomy like…and he’s taking the farrier’s wood axe! What on earth is he doing? Why’s he crying and standing over the dropped plaything? What’s he singing? The farrier’s shouting, the horse he’s got is panicking, and the fool’s crying out his stupid song as tears run down his slobbery cheeks!

“Woe! Woe is me this horrible day!

My valiant mare has gobbled much hay!

Gas bloats her belly! How it ruined our prancing!

Promised sickness and health, yet we cannot go dancing!

Forever and ever, such is vowed!

How now when she lies like a cow?

There is no cure for this ache!

What more? What more shall it take?

She is not as she was, look at her roll’th!

The best course is not health! Oh, but death!

Oh, Heavens, this partnership is over!

For her butt wasn’t a croaker!

An oath before God is eternal when merry,

But when it saddens, then I shan’t tarry!

You poor, poor thing, if only you were better!

Then our promise mightn’t shatter!”