confessions of a horse

One of my sister's horses. This was just after she rescued it and it was heavily in foal at the time.

It’s great to feel wanted. I’ve never felt safer and more comfortable.

The digs are fantastic. The grub ain’t bad. The view is spectacular.

There is just one problem.

Something I didn’t warn you about.

Something I should have mentioned when you gently and lovingly put me in the horse carrier.

You see – I’m an addict.

I’m not proud of myself or what I’ve done to get that fix.

I’m experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Explains my balkiness and refusal to leave my stall yesterday.

Have you been an addict? I doubt it. But you’ve seen the movies, heard the statistics, watched the reality shows.

Okay, I’ll fess up. Gulp. I’m addicted to . . . . sugar. Precisely — sugar cubes.

I got hooked at one of my earlier “homes.”

It’s always the same with the horse traders: “Try one. It won’t hurt you. Just one little cube.”

Then it’s 10, 20 a day. Your teeth get cavities. You gain weight. You are on a 24 hour craving/bingeing cycle.

I’ve signed up for horses’ anonymous; have the horse carrier ready every Tuesday night. Please.

 

Confession written for Sunday Photo Fictioner, April 26, 2015