Ave Imperator, Morituri Te Salutant ….. Hail Caesar, We Who Are About To Die Salute You

All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever present perils of life.

Moby Dick, Herman Melville

During my late twenties, I was traveling from one end of the country to the other working on horses, well actually, I’ve done the same thing for most of my life with short periods off for ranching, hunting, and trapping. However, I had become more traditional, by driving a pick up truck instead of a motorcycle. I needed to carry horseshoeing and dental equipment: my motorcycle was just not up to the job and winter travel in the Northern states and Western Canada was nearly impossible. I relied more on dentistry than farrier work, because farrier work required a home base with 4 to 6 week farm calls; besides, I had the curse of the gypsy blood and I just couldn’t stay still. I’d nail on the odd thrown shoe or shoe a dozen if they wanted them done and understood that I would probably not be around when they needed to be redone. I was 210 pounds of muscle and bone, could work all day and through the night if need be, I did it many times and held a hose over my head with the sun rising to clean up with cold water while drinking a cold beer to relax.

I had built a good business around Unionville, PA, several customers, including one of America’s most prolific Three Day Riders who ended up participating in numerous Olympic Games, he begged me to buy property there and settle down. The idea was tempting, but I might just get the itch to go trapping next winter, or guiding Grizzly hunters in the fall, or I might want to spend the next summer in Italy or Ireland: I was a man with too many options.

Most farms and ranches only expected me to drop in every 6 to 12 months for dentistry work and that suited me just fine. A lady customer in Unoinville offered me the use of a fancy guest house if I would help out her older horseshoer when he was overwhelmed and help with the breaking of her young Standardbreds and preparing the older ones for pleasure driving, once they had finished racing. She offered the guest house as well as wages, so it was a job that was hard to refuse. She was a kind hearted soul and wanted to find homes for all the gentle race horses that were still sound and possessed the right disposition, but this one named No Bob, was special. He was an eight year old Standardbred gelding with a great personality and he charmed everyone. She planned to drive her grand kids around the farm with No Bob; however, there was one slight problem, he refused to cross over wooden bridges. Their shoes make a Hell’uva noise on the wood and some of them get spooked.

I needed a place to store my accumulated stuff, and a place to have that important home phone for messages; so I figured I’d put stuff cotton down his ears and drive him over the bridge until he was bored with it and then take the cotton out of his ears and drive him over the bridge and my work would be over. I’ve trained many horses to cross wild rivers, more than I can remember; how hard could it be? Driving a sulky over a bridge should be easy, even though I am not a seasoned teamster.

They had a lake of about 30 acres with a wooden bridge over a narrow, but still fairly wide portion of the lake. She especially wanted the horse to go over that particular bridge. Her final plans were to take her grandkids over the bridge in a fine harness carriage and haul a hay wagon around the farm for hay rides. It all sounded simple enough.

I drove him around for a couple of afternoons, before I asked him to cross the bridge; just so, he could come to know me and trust me. On the third afternoon, I had him going fast at the bridge and thought he was surely going to cross over. Just before he would have stepped on the bridge, he stuck his toes in the dirt and spit the bit. I popped the buggy whip around his ears and eyes to scare him and try to force him to go forward, but he just spun to the left and bolted through the trees along the bank, now things were starting to get lively. With heavy hands on the bridle reins, I turned him around and snapped the whip on his back and hips, for he was really misbehaving. Soon we were back on the bridle path headed for the bridge at full throttle. I drove him like a reluctant jumper, aim for the middle and don’t let them think about turning left or right and they will have no choice, but to jump over the jump. But when you ride, you have your legs wrapped around a horse to help guide them and a rider’s legs are strong like iron. This time he swung to the right and ran through the trees once more. I pushed hard against the iron stirrups and put my back into stopping him, it was now getting dark and I didn’t want to run into a tree and have a major wreck.

This time he stopped and swung around at the speed of light so that the sulky swung laterally just as fast. We hit a tree and my head and shoulder smacked the bark with a dull thud and he took off into the darkness. We were deep in timber now and after hitting my head and seeing stars for a few seconds, I wasn’t sure which way we were headed, but I noticed that my left wheel was running in the lake and was spraying cold water all over me. We were going going fairly fast and approaching terminal velocity (approx 30 mph at a trot), when a large Weeping Willow appeared out of the darkness, I jumped off the sulky into the lake to keep from hitting the tree. I knew I would roll a long way if I was on land, but by landing in the water, my momentum was stopped and I avoided hitting the tree. The horse decided that the lake was the best option to avoid the tree also. I stood up in about three feet of water, just in time to see the horse and sulky further out in the lake going completely under water.

I had worked at the first swimming farm for horses in Slaughters, Kentucky, and the man who owned the farm, W. C. Tompkins, had lost a couple of horses out of the hundreds that had trained there; once in a while, a horse will go straight to the bottom of the pool because they couldn’t or wouldn’t swim, horses drown fairly fast under water, at least that is what they say. It’s extremely unusual for a horse not to swim, but this one was a non-swimmer. I felt terrible and thought about coming here tomorrow and dragging out a dead horse and sulky; it was not a pretty sight.

I turned around and started walking home while shivering in the cold night air, when I heard a violent commotion out toward the center of the lake. I wondered whether the poor horse was still struggling to keep from drowning. I walked to the edge of the lake, but there was nothing to see. A night fog had rolled in and visibility was less than regular darkness. I waited and waited, suddenly I heard a noise like a giant fish rising up out of the water. I looked and couldn’t see a thing.

Then I realized, he was walking across the bottom of the lake, coming up now and then for air. I ran for the bridge so that I might be able to see him from the middle of the lake. I was halfway across the bridge when I saw him come up out of the water like a whale off the coast of Maui. He was three quarters of the way across the lake, so I ran to the opposite bank where he was headed.

The bank was steep, about ten foot straight up from the water; he would never be able to climb out here, it was too steep and he was still hitched to the cart. I watched helplessly as he tried to climb up the bank three times, only to finally slide back down into the water.

He decided it was hopeless and slid back under water and headed back towards the original spot, as if he had radar. It was strange to watch his progress, but horses surely have a sense of direction that we can only marvel at. I was waiting for him when he emerged on the bank. He was shivering from fright and the cold air on his wet and exhausted body. I gave him a few minutes to get his breathing slowed down, then urged him back to the bridle trail and across the bridge. He went right across and back without the slightest hesitation, we headed home and by the time we arrived back at the barn, he was dry and looking for dinner.

No Bob, went across that bridge hundreds of times, it was a hard lesson, but one he had learned well. He was the favorite of many kids and adult kids for nearly twenty more years.

My lesson was to have humility and patience; overconfidence can cause disasters, yet we must have confidence in ourselves to accomplish our goals. It is a delicate balance between confidence and overconfidence, the ancient Greeks called overconfidence “Hubris”. When we allow our hubris to overshadow our common sense and our abilities, tragedy is often the end result. I lucked out because No Bob had a desire to live and the ability to adapt in a desperate situation. Traits that should be admired and emulated by all of us.

No Bob’s ability to survive only “came to the surface” because of an unnatural fear of crossing a bridge. His frantic reactions and unwillingness to take the correct path that was right there if front of him reminds me of our president who is faced with a catastrophic defeat in the midterm elections and the loss of his celebrity status by everyone, except celebrities.

Immediately after being elected and receiving resistance to his stimulus plan, Obama used the pompous ass approach towards Republicans with his revealing, self-damning, and childlike quote, “I Won”. Two words that summed up the immaturity and Narcissism of the president, it was one of those expressions that concluded a measure of respect from political opponents and from a goodly percentage of the population. In his unwillingness to negotiate or listen to the opposition, it became clear that Obama expected Republicans to surrender to the Myth of Obama’s Omnipotence. His hyper-inflated ego and arrogance fueled his Narcissism, and it was reinforced by an adoring public that was caught up in the adulation of a leader that never materialized. High on the lies and propaganda of a complicit press and no doubt beginning to believe the BS, Obama again exposed his arrogance and an intelligence that had been grossly misrepresented, when he told Republicans with un-Lincoln like diplomacy and statesmanship:”I don’t want folks who created the mess to do a lot of talking. I want them to just get out of the way so we can clean up the mess.” Making a mockery of our form of government, Obama flew into his Mao mode and took it upon himself to direct the government, presumably believing Pelosi’s inane quote, that he was “A Gift from G-d.” (She must have made that statement after getting off one of government funded drunken flights on Air Force provided jets.)

It became painfully obvious that Obama regarded bipartisanship a matter of, “Don’t be obstinate, just do it my way” type of diplomacy, straight from the real world of Marxism that his Czars so admire.

Now before the midterm elections when Obama’s approval numbers were dropping down towards the lowest levels of 14% and it was obvious that the Democrats were going to suffer heavy losses, Obama told America and his Democrats facing imminent defeat that he was going to meet the Republicans hand to hand in the trenches. In other words, those who are about to die can feel secure that he will carry on the fight for policies and projects that the American people don’t want so that the sacrifice of their political careers would not be in vain.

The defeated Democrats and the ones facing reelection in 2012 are wondering, during their lame duck session of Congress, whether following the Marxist Ideologue who referred to Republicans and those that resisted his Marxist views as the enemy, was worth losing their life long pursuit of a political career. Especially when on one day the overrated empty suit is spouting off senseless statements that make them doubt his lucidity, i.e. he has the Republicans where he wants them, because now they will have to do things his way and then makes insipid and impotent gestures like offering a limp wrist hand across the aisle. It is hard to pity them, so shallow was the Marxist Ideologue they followed to their own political demise.

No Bob was scared, but he could learn and he didn’t consider everyone else to be beneath him; Obama can’t learn and he considers the rest of Washington an imposition that is hindering him and his Marxism. No Bob realized his potential and became an excellent horse that served a purpose: Obama will be turned out to pasture in two years and be an embarrassment for generations.