“Every day, with each photo, the messages

trickle in for me, sometimes pour like a stream.

“Poor thing, he looks so cold..”

“Poor thing, he looks so sad…”

“Poor thing, he wants to be inside..”

How grateful then, I am,

that I cannot speak human,

for I might speak words I would regret,

might say something angry and cruel,

like people do,

and that is not the way of the dog,

or of my brothers and sister, the horses

and the elephants and the cows.”

Why do they put their human things,

their weaknesses and frailties,

into my cup, project their

human sorrows onto me?,

sitting at their screens,

in their big houses in barren cities,

I am no poor thing, I would say,

this is what my God meant for me to do,

from the beginning of recorded time,

this is how he made me, filling my soul

with the love of work, the love of life.

If I had words, I might say,

How awful it would be for me,

to be locked inside, warm and dry,

empty, growing fat and dumb so

you can feel good about yourselves,

while the work of the world went unattended,

just outside of my door,

If you had your way,

my spirit would wither and die,

while my beloved and helpless human

stumbled so slowly and awkwardly around,

in the cold and the dark.

I am no one’s poor thing, working alongside of people

is my joy and my sacrament,

for me, for the horses,

it is the sacred place.

We helped make the world possible,

we do it still,

every day.

Do not ever dare to pity me,

or feel sorry for me,

I am not you,

your weak and helpless thing,

or your child, your cheap way

to feel good.

There is no greater happiness or

purpose for me, that is what I would say,

if I could speak.

Happy thing, I am living my life.”