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Discussion Starter · #1 · (Edited)
Please no comments on about how bars aren't bad and don't constrict view, and stables at home are better than the ones at shows, and how all stables turn their horses out for 6 hours every day ETC., these are my opinion. And i'm not accusing stables of this!
The door slid shut with a BANG! which echoed through the stable. Then another BANG! and another and another, 65 other stall doors being closed. 66 horses, locked up in a stall with green bars that block much of our vision. The tininess of the space plus no where to look out scares many of us.
At my stable, we are all either champion jumpers or champion jumpers in training. We were all born, raised, and kept here at Over the Oxer Stables, although a few horses have been bought for the sake of schooling people on how to jump. The only time we leave the farm is during show season. I thought that this was how all other horses were kept, and I thought that this was how I was going to be kept for the rest of my life. I knew of no other places other than my own and shows. At least at the shows the stalls are bigger and are lit. Here, the aisles are bright and airy, but our owners failed to think of us and so our stalls are dark and stuffy. Other than that, however, the shows aren't to great. Although I enjoy jumping, many other horses don't at the show. There is always stress in the air to do well, and the humans spread the want to win through my bones, muscles, and skin. I always burn to get out there and win and get praised by our owners. There's no way stopping me, I am like a wildfire thats token over thousands of acres. Almost impossible to stop until it has decided its done, and thats why i'm called Fire King, or Wildfire for short.
I snorted. The squeal of the hay cart's wheels would not be heard for a long while. I wouldn't be able to run free in my field for two days. All of us horses cherish the precious two hours of turnout we have every other day. The lucky ones here at Over the Oxer Stables, are the school horses. The have a few other buddies in their turnout, and they aren't wrapped up in sheets, tail bags, and leg wraps. My tail is always tied up in a tail bag when I am turned out, and so I can't swat away flies. I can't roll and scratch any itchy spots in the mud on a sunny day. Also, I can only run with the horse's that border my pasture, I dont of the luxury of being able to run with horse's in my pasture. Of course school horses have to put up with little kids yanking on their mouth and falling off all the time. However, I would still give up anything to be a school horse. But of course, I have to be of champion bloodlines.
Suddenly, there was a squeal down the aisle. My head shot up, and my eyes scanned the aisles. Could it be? Could it really truly be the hay cart early? Next to me, Titan nickered. Then I heard the clip clops of shoes on brick. Nope. The squeal was simply the sliding door of a stall. I strained my nose against the bars, trying to see or smell the horse coming toward me. Finally, he came into view. Ghostly Image. He was the champion of all champions. The best of the best. He was a dark gray, at a towering 17.1 hands. He was a pure Dutch Warmblood stallion. He was only known as Ghostly Image, nothing else, and you wouldn't dare to call him something different. He was so precious, our owner's didn't even turn him out. He was lunged or ridden daily, and if he was lucky, on a sunny day he might be turned out in one of the endless round pens available for a couple minutes. We would all watch in wonder as he was ridden in the outdoor arena when we were in our fields. He would soar over four foot jumps like they were cavalettis.
Then... In front of my stall, suddenly, Ghostly Image did the most unimaginable, unthinkable thing no horse would ever do.

Like it??? I know its pretty boring but it will get more interesting. If you want to know what happens, just comment!
 

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Discussion Starter · #3 · (Edited)
Here you go :)
Ghostly Image's black body rose into the air, silhouetted against the dimming sky outside and the bright aisle inside. He came crashing down, the almost peaceful image of the rearing horse gone. His dinner plate sized hooves came crashing down; and I saw the dumbstruck look on The Owner's normally tight serious face before the hooves landed and hit their mark. There was a crunch as Ghostly Image landed, and The Owner fell to the ground. The owner stayed there, laying on the ground, not moving. Another horse owner, hearing the commotion, came running over. The words she spoke at that time I do not recall, my mind and eyes on Ghostly Image. He lept over fences I had deemed un-jumpable, running at a great speed. He was, quite frankly, running for his life. Who knows what would happen if he had stayed behind.
I watched until the massive horse turned into a foal, then an ant, and then, disappeared into the sunset. I got a strange feeling that the owner was not going to move; but one question lingered on my mind. I am sure that others were wondering whether they would see Ghostly Image again, or, if the owner stayed there on the ground, who would make sure that we would be fed? But, well, mine was, what is going to happen to us? Where are we going to end up?The kill pen? Or continue our jumping career and then retire as breeding stock?
Sorry, I have way more written on paper, but I will add it later ;-)
 
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