I woke this morning to the news that Roy Rogers horse “Trigger” has been purchased by a TV company in Omaha or someplace like it–I forget the details. I was sipping my first coffee of the day. Who would taxiderm his horse? Did Roy keep old Trigger in his living room? Did Trigger suffer the indignities of unused exercise equipment, underpants draped over his withers? Oh it’s just not right! Not right at all!
In the photo above one sees Trigger, not only stuffed, but arranged in mid-rearing, his front hooves high in the air. Oh it’s just not right! And look! There is the background is a mannequin dressed like Roy Rogers! Cowboy hat! Little cowboy suit! He has a guitar! He’s singing to his taxidermed horse which is causing the horse to startle in terror! Oh the whole thing is absolutely ghastly! Is it possible to be an animal torturer after death? Is this story related in any way to Mel Gibson?
Invective Against Horses
I suppose, like most people, that I one day will experience great good fortune… or a great calamity… and in either case these are one and the same. And like all such men I partake of magical thinking and believe that my thoughts will either spare me or damn me, for this is the way of superstition. I must engage in the lovely, indifferent thoughts of the holy man while making my way down the sidewalk on MacDougall Street. And if I should think the wrong thing someone somewhere may break his back and one of those obscure gods of philology will turn me into something inorganic.
If you have no sentimentality you will admit that horses are detestable. With their steam and speed they exemplify the dreadful ideas contained in my first paragraph. They are skittish, electrified, panicked, fearful of planting their hooves.
Rudyard Kipling (who I also detest) once said that fiction is truth’s elder sister. This sentence makes good sense when applied to the horse. The ancients told wonderful stories about horses: Pegassus, the winged horse of poetry; etc. The Phaedrus. Black horse. White. Equine tandem of noble philosophy. It’s all splendid. Too bad the horse, the literal, thistle eating, one ton horse is insane!
The Freudian horse: I was bitten as a child.
The Jungian horse: my not-so-hidden feminine libido.
The Reichian horse: I prefer to eat standing up.
The Republican’s horse: comes from Kentucky.
The Democrat’s horse: comes from Best Buy.
Truth in advertising department: my wife loves horses. I love the fact that she loves them. My wife would never stuff a horse.