(Ken Norman came this afternoon to trim the donkey’s hooves).

I realized this morning that I need to go to New York City to see the carriage horses for myself, so I called Christina Hansen of the Carriage Association and she invited me to come and see the stables on the West Side where the horses are kept. I’m taking an early morning train and will have three of four hours to visit the stables Saturday and see some of the horses at the center of this storm, a looming tragedy I fear, a parable about animals and their lives in our world.

I think I need to have my intentions and goals clear.  I am going to take photos and just see the horses that I have been writing about, it often makes me uncomfortable to write about things from a distance, I rarely do it and rarely like it. I don’t live in New York City, the fate of those horses is not up to me. Somebody posted a message on Facebook saying that when I saw that they were clean and neat I wouldn’t think about how mistreated their are, and then some horse people on another page were horrified that I said Simon vomited when equines rarely, if ever vomit. One said that statement undermined my messages about the carriage horses and there was much superior clucking – there are dog snobs and horse snobs, I am sure.

I am well aware that nobody in New York is much interested in what I think or what I write, I am not intending to alter the course of history or local governments. The story touches me for many reasons, most of which I haven’t quite figured out.

I told the horse people to be careful not to become what they so dislike, not to be self-righteous and alienate people who live outside the rarified circles of the horse universe, it is not good for the horses.

As happened when I wrote my review about Roger Ailes the man who founded Fox News and set the ugly tone for modern cable television, I am once again awash in nasty e-mails from all sides. This seems to always makes me stronger, I’m not sure why, it helps me find my voice.

As always, the challenge in our culture is to stay grounded and centered, to find a personal and spiritual place, not to join in the shouting dance. I try and think of the horses, they are in need of some advocates, so are the other animals in our world, I see this story as a template for their fate. Do we learn how to live with them, or do we drive them out of our society in the name of protecting them?

So I’m taking an early train to New York – 7 a.m. Taking my Iphone and earphones, my Kindle, I’m into my Dystopian novel, my first ever. I think Maria is coming with me. I need to see the horses and understand how I feel about them, it is no longer possible to discuss issues involving animals or politics in America without stepping in the cable news inspired world of judgment, anger and rigidity.

Seeing the horses will not answer the question of whether they should remain in New York, that is not in my hands, there is already an angry war of words or ideas. I can never really know if they are mistreated or not, that’s not why I’m going.  I was a reporter a good long time, I was a good one, my life depended on developing my instincts. I feel drawn to see things with my own eyes rather than rely on the rhetoric of others, and mostly, I want to take some photos, photographs speak more clearly sometimes than rhetoric or propaganda. Will the horses and their eyes have a message for me? I am eager to see and grateful for the invitation. I’ll share it all with you.