FUR-tive Glances
Fran goes out to stud
by Andrew Hume

Horse stuff is pretty awesome. You get to wear all kinds of tassels and fringe and snaps! It’s like some Eastern European wedding ceremony, where you get all fancied up and slap your friend between the spenders. You’re all passing around booze and running ribbons around a maypole.

“What a woman,” you tell him. “A little rugged in the left rear quarter, but she looks like a runner. We’ll see how she handles the tack first, I guess.”

“What…?” he asks, raising a white-gloved hand and spilling booze on his lace.

“Your wife, dude. I said she’s cute and…Oh…Shit, sorry, what am I talking about? Jesus, this homebrew shit is strong. I was thinking about how this wedding is cool like horse stuff.”

He just sort of stares at you, though, through his thick brow, obviously missing the correlation. Shit, wrong thing to tell Dolf. Gotta change the subject. Shit shit. He might be a swordsman.

“Um, don’t we have to dunk your head in sheep’s milk now?”

“Yeah!” he replies, excitedly, suddenly remembering the kind of stuff that goes on at these weddings. He leans his shoulders into a cute little scamper over to the trough, while you adjust the ruffles on your shortpants and follow.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, and, seriously, stop me if I have, but I fuckin love animals! I say animaaaaaaaaals! We got like raccoons and ducks, squirrels, oxes, sheep, ‘roos, otters, puppies… I used to toss in my bed at night, unable to sleep, kept awake to solve a little animal puzzle I’d created for myself.

“I love animals so much.” I’d say to the empty top bunk. “I feel a better person when lost to a hug, deep in their fuzz. But I need to know how much I love them. How far would I go for those silky bears and bucks? Would I…die for animals?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so, but I’m not going to die for one little pig or nothing.” And I’d count it up.

“Okay, so there are these 20 sick raccoons and we got 11 bunnies, a dog, like 200 goldfish, two lemurs…And they need my skin or something, or need to burn off my disease like a double reverse version of The Velveteen Rabbit.

“Will I die for them? Well…Jesus. Yeah, that’s a lot of animals, but, I mean…I love them, sure! But, um, I don’t know. I’m only nine and…Like, I hate to put a price tag on their lifes, but no, that’s not enough.”

I loved the animals. Honestly, a lot. Chuckles and Fluffy knew how much I loved them. But give my life for them? I’d feel guilty, of course, and I’d never tell it to their faces, but we’d need to up the ante a bit for me to die.

“Alright, then. Say we toss in a horse?”

Oh shit! A HORSE! Horses are the coolest! Look how sweet they are, and understanding. They’re built strong but svelte. And they sweat! A lot. I don’t know why, but I always thought that was cool. A steaming horse. The greatest. Look at those big eyes, too. Breathtaking.

“Okay. If there’s a horse up in the mix, I’ll do it. Kill me.”

I think it was actually the animals that had to kill me, too. They had to claw and hoof me to death or some shit. So they’d feel totally sorry about it and see the burning pain and compassion in my eyes. I’d always wanted to be a martyr. “I did it for you,” I’d whisper to my tiny friend, the mole, as he burrowed blindly into my throat. They’d really remember me that way and maybe even put commemorative plaques around town.

The horse had been off to the side the whole time, neighing poignantly, refusing to be a party to this murder. He knew that I’d offered my life to save this grand menagerie, that it was my choice. He was grateful for my selflessness, but he couldn’t bring himself to commit such an ugly act of violence. He wanted to yank the toads and seals off me with his muscley lips and throw them asunder. He wanted to scream out against this lunacy at the top of his lungs.

“Hell!” he yelled at them, and their faces turned, their blood-soaked fur wetted tight to their frames.

“What is this madness, my friends?! How can we be so malicious? This is our…our master!”

He looked down at me then, a mess of blood and urine sprawled out on the grass. Our eyes met as I lifted my head. “It’s okay,” I told him, and we both began to cry. “I want this. I must die to save you!”

“Us?” he choked out, thinking through our many glorious memories turned suddenly hurtful, in this, the moment of my death. “These animals, don’t care for you, Drewser. They don’t love you like I do!”

He pointed a hoof to the bag of goldfish. He was right; the goldfish and I had never really connected. “But it’s you, Blackie; you are my special one. I’m almost gone now. Please, Blackie, end it for me now. Just give me one…”

“I…I…CAN’T…”

I wanted him to hug me. To give each other a proper goodbye. But we couldn’t, not like this. It was just too painful. “You must,” I said instead, through my clenched teeth… “You…must…kill me, so that you may live.”

He started again, walking slowly to my side–a giant to this tiny boy. He bent his head over me, his mane sweeping my bruised chest. A tear welled in his eye and ran down his cheek. He lifted a hoof above me, casting a shadow across a badger looking on. And the tear leapt from his cheek, falling with the hopeless weight of gravity, as did his hoof.


Cleaning the Feet!

Actually, horses don’t have feet at all. I know, you’re like, “Whaaaat?” They just call them something different; they got hoofs. Now, horses are walking, literally, all the time. Most of them even sleep standing; so let’s learn to keep the hoofs clean. It’s as important as humans...oh, um…I don’t know…staying drug free and using condoms. Learning is fun and fun is awesome, and even though most of us will probably never need to clean a horse’s hoofs, we should stop being assholes about it because we just agreed that it’s awesome.

1) Put his head gear on and tie it to a nearby fence.

2) Sit on a little, three pegged wooden stool next to the horse’s arms.

3) Grab the top of its arm and rub down the side to bunch of fur on the bottom. This is the fetlock.

4) Apply gentle pressure to the fetlock with the thumb and forefinger and he should lift his hoof for you. Maybe he’s feeling naughty and doesn’t want to; you’ll have to lean against him slightly and encourage him to lift it again. I like to sneak in a little kiss here sometimes.

5) Hold the hoof in the left hand and begin cleaning with a hoofpick. Start at the heel and move toward the toe. The silly fella’s stepped in his own poo, no doubt!