“Booker” The story of a laid–off horse, as told, mostly, by himself

Now Big Red and me were young colts together and even though we pull on
different teams, I will always stop by his stall if he has something to say.
"Booker” he snickered (my dad was “Print” and my mother, “Type”), the Masters
are taking us out next week for “The Choice”. ”The Choice?” I asked.
“Well, they are leading us to the little hill where you can see the new glue
factory (my nostrils flared because for weeks the smell of glue had hung over
Harvard Farm). And the Masters will say ‘OK, be a good horse and walk on to
the factory and you will be given a small bag of oats. But if you balk and
don’t walk, we will whip you to the factory anyway and you won’t get any
oats. Now The Choice is yours.’ And Big Red hung his head and wouldn’t say
anymore.
I was pretty confused.
I loved Harvard Farm and I loved work, because I’m a working horse. True,
I’m not as young as I was but I still pull a good load; I know the pace and
turns of the road. I teach the younger horses. But now they say there are too
many of us. And I don’t understand because every horse is working and the
Farm is more prosperous than ever. But they are getting rid of the older
horses and soon a lot of the young ones too. Sure, there will always be some
horses, Farm needs them. So in the time I have left I am telling every horse
what I know. Don’t love the Farm too much and never trust the Masters. They
will break your back but first they will break your heart.

[Three days later, they led Booker to the little hill, for The Choice. He
could see and understand the glue factory but not its bright new sign that
read “Transitions Rendering , a subsidiary of Harvard Corp.”]

by Page Nelson, Cataloger