A View From the Pasture

I’ve not been here long enough to feel comfortable or appreciate the lovely surroundings. I am doing my best. The older ones tell me that the hardest part is avoiding looking back into the corral. They tell me it is hard on the digestion and raises the blood pressure. They also say it is impossible to convince the hands that you should be back in among the young, vibrant bulls. Although they may be kind to you because you once were a prize, they will not open the gate and allow you to go back into the fray. They’re wild in there and you don’t have the stuff it takes to defend yourself. So be it. I will become old. But I will not do it gracefully. I’ve never been graceful so why should I do it now? I will continue to snort and rake my hooves in the dust and make loud noise. I will find another field in which I can run, explore, sniff and cavort. Screw their corral – it has already been defiled by their own negligence; it is full of bullshit. They are hollow ranchers who have not paid attention. I will produce another set of horns in my pasture years and those horns will be polished, sharp and enlightened. And with them I shall chase the young bulls. In the process I shall be scoffed at and put to shame; I will take the risk and embarrass myself. I will go down, perhaps, in humiliation. I will become an icon for the pathos in the pastures. So be it. I am a tough son-of-a-bitch and the bits of me and my friends that were left inside that corral are being unduly trampled and disrespected. Yes, I may go down. But it is exceedingly better than staring helplessly into the corral from the pasture. And some day, I know, I will sneak back in – when the rancher has no employees left and is reduced to shoveling the shit for which he was responsible. And then I shall appreciate a view from the pasture.