Council of Horses

Once, in a sunny meadow where the grass smelled like a salad buffet, a young horse with shiny, well-brushed fur and a mane that looked suspiciously styled stood in front of the herd. He paced back and forth like he was about to deliver the most important speech since, well, ever.

“Fellow horses!” he began dramatically, flipping his mane for emphasis. “Isn’t it ridiculous that we—majestic, powerful creatures—are doing all the hard work for humans? I mean, we pull their carriages while they sit there eating snacks. They plow their fields while we sweat buckets. They even have us jumping fences for fun! Fun for them, maybe. Last time I checked, I didn’t sign up to be part of some ‘Best Horse Olympics.’ And don’t even get me started on the ‘carry-this-heavy-sack’ business. What’s next? Are they going to ask us to balance plates on our heads while dancing?”

Some of the other horses giggled, and one shouted, “I’m not dancing unless there’s cake involved!”

Encouraged, the young horse continued, his voice rising. “And for what? A creature with only two legs! Two! That’s like half a proper animal! They can’t even run fast, and yet they’re in charge? Unfair doesn’t even begin to describe it. So, who’s with me? Let’s rise up and take back our freedom! No more pulling! No more plowing! No more—”

“Hay, hold your horses!” came a voice from the back.

The crowd parted as an old horse hobbled forward, his knees creaking like a rusty gate. He was so old that some of the younger horses whispered he might’ve been around before saddles were invented. His coat was gray, his mane was more ‘messy chic’ than ‘styled,’ and he had a twinkle in his eye that suggested he’d seen everything—and probably had funny stories about it.

The young horse rolled his eyes. “Oh great, here comes Old Wisdom. Let me guess: you’re going to tell us we should just accept our fate because ‘that’s how it’s always been.’”

The old horse chuckled. “Not quite, kid. I was just going to say that if you want to take over, you’ll need a better plan than ‘stand around and look annoyed.’ Humans may have only two legs, but they’ve got brains, opposable thumbs, and—let’s face it—a very impressive ability to bake pies. You don’t want to lose the pie connection, trust me.”

“Pies?” The young horse frowned. “What do pies have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” the old horse said gravely. “They’re why humans work so hard. To grow fruit, to bake it, and to eat it. Without humans, no pies. And no pies means no leftover pie crusts for us. Plus, have you ever tried sleeping outside during winter? It’s not exactly cozy. Humans may ask us to work, but they also give us warm stables, soft hay, and oats. Have you tasted oats, kid? They’re like tiny, crunchy dreams.”

The young horse wasn’t convinced. “So you’re saying we should just keep working because we get oats? That’s your big argument?”

The old horse gave him a sly smile. “Not just oats. Respect. Companionship. And let’s be honest, humans do some pretty entertaining things. Have you ever watched them try to ride a bike for the first time? Hilarious. They may have two legs, but they fall over like they’ve got none.”

The younger horses started laughing. One of them chimed in, “Remember when Farmer Bob tried to dance at the harvest festival? His arms were going everywhere!”

“Exactly,” said the old horse. “We horses may do the hard work, but humans keep life interesting. They scratch that itchy spot behind our ears, they take care of us when we’re old, and yes, they share their pies.”

The young horse hesitated. “But freedom...”

“Freedom’s great,” the old horse said, “but it’s also overrated. You think a wild horse out there is eating oats and pie crusts? No, they’re running from wolves, eating dry grass, and thinking, ‘Wow, those farm horses really have it made.’”

The young horse sighed. “I guess you’ve got a point. And... I do like pie crusts.”

The old horse winked. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get back to work before Farmer Bob starts trying to fix the barn himself. Last time he ended up with a roof that leaked and a bucket stuck on his head.”

The meadow filled with laughter as the young horse joined the others, his fire calmed but his humor intact. Together, they returned to their tasks, with the occasional joke about two-legged creatures and their wobbly ways.

In a field where the grasses grew so tall,
A young, proud horse began to call.
His mane flew high, his eyes did gleam,
And his voice rang out like a rushing stream:

“Why must we work for humans all day?
They’re weak and small—just in our way!
We pull their carts, their loads we bear,
Yet they give commands as if it’s fair!”

“They love their freedom, or so they claim,
But our hard labor, they never name.
If you want freedom, then join with me—
Together, my friends, we can all be free!”

The horses stomped and gave a cheer,
But then, from the back, a voice drew near.
An old, wise horse stepped into the sun,
His years were many, his work long done.

“Young one,” he said, “your fire is bright,
But wisdom comes with age and sight.
I worked for humans in days gone by,
And now I rest while they supply.”

“They give us hay, a stable, and care,
Shelter from storms, with warmth to spare.
They know the seasons for crops to grow,
And share the food that their labors show.”

“Horses and humans share their days,
We each have roles in our own ways.
They need our strength; we need their plan,
Together, we thrive, both horse and man.”

The young horse listened, his fire subdued,
The old one’s words had softened his mood.
He thought for a moment and gave a nod,
Respecting the wisdom the old one had trod.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I judged too fast,
The world is best when bonds hold fast.
I’ll work with humans, for now I see,
Together we shape our destiny.”

The herd grew quiet, then cheered as one,
The young horse smiled, his anger gone.
For man and steed, the bond was clear—
A friendship built on trust, not fear.