Some writers call it cultural fascism – the voices inside one’s head that self-censor to avoid the inevitable. I admit that when I posted my photos of the Central Park horses I hesitated, knowing I would get a slew of e-mails suggesting that they are, have been, or will be mistreated. It actually was worse than that. One message said she could tell from my photograph that the horse was pleading for help. Another e-mailed me this morning urging me to examine the Central Park horses poop and compare it with my donkeys, and I would see that the horses are suffering being forced to work in this way. I think she might be happier on another blog.
This, along with the Rainbow Bridge, is another space I am not going to cross. If you live in upstate New York and hang around working animals, the horses in Central Park look pretty good, fat, groomed and content. The Central Park horses do a lot better than most of the cows doomed to spend their lives in concrete floors in factory farms. The SPCA regulates the temperatures in which they can work and inspects the stables in which they live. Animal rights advocates monitor their lives closely. I don’t have a political position on their lives. I enjoy seeing them. I don’t doubt for a minute that if these horses did not have these jobs, they would probably not be alive.
They move at steady paces carrying light loads for short periods of time. People enjoy seeing them. Perspective is rapidly vanishing in our relationship with animals. We are so much more concerned about their welfare than that of the human beings they work for or transport. Are construction workers in New York called off of buildings when the thermometer goes higher than 80 degrees? I don’t think so.
Personally, I love to see working animals work. And am happy to see them protected. I think working with people is the ancient and historic role of animals, and a glorious one. People are free to pursue whatever causes and ideals that make them happy. I am not comparing poop and I hope these horses are around for a long time for me to photograph.