It occurred to me the other day that our horses must think that the trailer is some kind of magic box. I mean, we know what’s happening. We take on an unusually large car payment in order to have a vehicle big enough to pull the trailer, spend the value of a second car to buy a trailer, and then use that trailer to transport our equine herd from one place to another. But from the horse’s point of view, it’s a bright white stall, where immediately after the door shuts, there’s a cacophony of sounds and lights and confusion. It shakes and rattles, and the normally accepted sense of how gravity ought to behave is completely thrown out the window. Then, when all those shenanigans stop, the bright white stall opens up, and you’re in an entirely different place, where you might not know a soul, or conversely, be surrounded by many former stable mates that you haven’t seen in months. Very magical indeed – TARDIS-like, actually (TARDIS, of course, standing for Time and Relative Dimension in Space, as any Dr. Who fan can tell you).
Then I got thinking about other things that must seem curious from their perspective. Why is there water in the bucket sometimes, but at other times, no water? Why do some buckets never get empty, no matter how much you drink? Why are some fences just fences, while others are electric – and what the heck is going on with that electricity anyhow? Racehorses must be very confused – they run as fast as they can, with a bunch of other horses, and a half dozen furlongs later, they finish right back where they started. Are we chasing a fox, or are we herding all these dogs? Why would I jump over this brightly painted pile of sticks, when I could just as easily walk around it? Why won’t that cart stop following me? Lunging must strike them as a complete waste of time – like a Stairmaster.
But the thing that must seem strangest of all, is the day that the first human tacks them up and starts training them. I know that if some other species (oh, let’s say a platypus) showed up one sunny morning with the expectation that it could jump on my back for a ride whenever it felt like it, it would end poorly for the platypus. Similarly, if he tied a little platypus wagon or cart to me, with the expectation that I’d drag it around for him all day, he would once again leave disappointed, and with his massive platypus tail between his legs. And if farmer platypus thinks I’m pulling a plow…