Via Sippican Cottage: The horses are ugly. But the scenery is gorgeous!
You don't have to tell me twice, brother. I used to have this teenaged girl's notion about horsies, you know - romantic scenes from perfume commercials, with beautiful people and white-capped waves crashing on the beach. I wanted that. I wanted to be on the beach with beautiful horses and the ocean and beautiful people....who wouldn't?
Finally, the dream was realized in my thirties, when my husband and children decided to camp at Assateague Island. With the wild horses. Running on the beach.
Smell the brine! Feel the mist of the ocean on your face! Avoid the pile of horse crap. Oh CRAP! It's Everywhere! Geez. Go wash your feet off....DON'T put that in your mouth! It isn't food.....crap...
What the Hell? Horse gangs have trampled the neighbor's campsite, pulling down their canopy and ransacked their food supply.
After looting their camp, they turned to mine. I was there waiting for them. Ponies, my ass! These are teenagers. Hooligans. Horse thugs, thieves and delinquents all. I ran them off, but they swore at me in their filthy horse slang and promised they'd be back.
The neighbors came back and surveyed the damage done to their camp and decided to pack it in and go home. Another good family run out of the campground by horse crime.
Little Irksome Middle Child was at that time known as the Squealing Ball of Fat, and the youngest. She was needy, always needy. Her feet and hands were covered in horse droppings, and between trying to wash her at the bath house, and swatting away the giant flesh eating flies, the horses were gathering, scheming.
We sought refuge from the heat, the flies and the horse gangs in the van, where I tried to nurse the Squealing Ball of Fat. And the horses gathered outside the van. I should have not left the windows open
Trying to shoo a big horse head out of your car window while breastfeeding a baby is nigh on impossible. The pwnies knew that and took full advantage of my situation. One pwny took my hairbrush from my swatting hand with its teeth, while another pulled out my sandal and ran off with it. Then, seeing the bag of apples under the towel, they went for that.
I screamed for help, and miraculously, half a dozen saviours appeared.....with video cameras.....
Fortunately, the incident I just described was well before the advent of Youtube....but there are plenty of videos that show you what criminals horses are. Jonathan Swift can bite me.
Gulliver's final voyage takes him to a near utopia. He finds himself in a land of talking horses, called the Houyhnhnms, who rule over a world of brutish humans, called Yahoos. The society is beautiful--without violence, pettiness or greed. All the horses live together in a cohesive social unit. Gulliver feels that he is a stupid outsider. The Houyhnhnms cannot accept him because of his human form; and he escapes in a canoe. When he returns home, he is upset by the sordid nature of the human world, and wishes he were back with the more enlightened horses that he left.Yeah, right.