08/30/2026
Every day my life revolves around neigh-sayers.
By that, I mean horses.
Horses are people magnets, even after the people have had their toes stepped on. Horses will draw a crowd. I’ve seen it many times at parades and other public events.
I often wonder why.
Horses and humans shouldn’t get along. We are predators; horses are prey. And over eons, Mother Nature has taught prey animals never to completely trust predators—even the ones bearing apple-flavored gifts.
I guess it’s that universal law of magnetism, older than ourselves, where opposites attract, that has humans continuing to stick to horses.
For us, maybe it’s that horsey bouquet of leather and lather. Maybe that’s what we think freedom smells like.
The answer might be as easy as… well, falling off a horse.
Horses take us away from the ordinary while somehow grounding us in it. They give us the ability to fly without wings.
They make you want to write poetry, to rhyme off into the sunset; to visit—for a little while anyway—a world and existence that does not have to be as complicated as we make it.
Yeah, maybe that’s what they’re trying to tell us.
The problem is, horses communicate in a language without words, a language as old and honored as time itself.
Some people have learned the language of ear flicks, salt licks, and hoof kicks. It’s a lingo where a lowered head speaks volumes. Bilingualism is the key, unless you want to buy the farm after you get caught between a pinned ear and a pen panel.
The movies call these people “horse whisperers,” as if there is magic involved.
Most good horse people don’t want to be called horse whisperers because they know they possess no special magic. They know everyone can connect with horses.
You just quieten your heart, leave your watch at home, and understand one thing: a horse can do something better than any other animal on this planet.
It can act like a horse.
As humans, we just need to figure out what that means.
But there is something mystical about this relationship.
It makes me want to tilt my head and wonder, “Do animals have a spiritual life? Do animals practice a religion? Do animals believe in God?”
Some would argue animals don’t have the mental ability to understand the idea of a spiritual life, much less the complexities of managing a choir practice.
My experience tells me horses are more like “Golden Rulers.”
You know, “I’m going to do unto you as you do unto me.”
If you think about it, dogs are that way too. It’s not a bad way to run a planet.
Cats? Well, they’re more like atheists. They seem to believe mostly in the material world of Friskies and daydreaming mice.
I don’t know the answer to any of this. I suspect, though, that there is much more going on around us than we realize.
And animals play an integral part in this great mystery we find ourselves in.
Some people refer to the horse as an “archetype,” the stuff of dreams and mythology, ideals branded on the soul even before we are born.
Of course, that might just be overthinking by some people who get paid by the hour to overthink; people who sit on the floor with their legs crossed, humming to themselves.
And it’s a safe bet it ain’t a cowboy song they’re humming.
My dealings with horses are with my feet on the ground, their feet in my hand, my back bent and me moaning to myself as they lean on me while I trim their hooves.
So my view is from a more earthly angle.
From down here, I figure maybe the attraction is simpler.
Horses connect us to something wilder—to a time before we became quite so domesticated ourselves, when the sunset meant more than the end of a workday and the earth beneath our feet was something we still knew how to listen to and learn from.
Maybe horses haven’t changed all that much.
Maybe we have.
And maybe that’s why we’re still drawn to them.
