I was the human; I had to be firm. "Please give me my keys." I grounded my voice in patent leather and polyester-cotton blends, but the shine of her coat confounded me. Other humans who were used to horsy behavior, stable hands and cowboys and such, had mediated most of my experiences with the equine. When I was young, I thought I liked horses; I had wanted to learn to ride. A few experiences doing that taught me that my short attention span made me more of a bicycle girl. Suddenly, I was aware of how bored I was of this horse, too. Suddenly, all the walrus was gone from me and I was aware how many people, human beings, were standing around us, not just noticing but staring. I was tired, really tired, and in my exhaustion I was becoming more and more human, just wanting this to be over, just wanting to get my keys and get in my car and drive through a fast-food restaurant and get a hamburger, not even a fish sandwich. I was embarrassed that this was happening, in that very conventional human way.
I looked at the faces around me and realized I was fully human again. I was saved by my boredom, by the tiredness my 40-plus-hour work week left behind my eyes. I was thankful that when I looked back at the woman she would be dulled too. She would be simply a human woman holding my keys, just a little crazy, just not as lucky as most, just as likely as not to be sleeping under a bridge tonight no matter what she managed to spirit away from people like me. So I was surprised to see that, in fact, no matter how much walrus I lost, she stayed horse. The mane, the hooves, the musky dark coat all stayed. I knew she was a woman (wasn't she?) but she was a stallion still.
© 2000 E.V. Hobbs