As we look down upon an open country side, we settle our sights onto neighboring properties. On one side lies a large farm, on the other a high quality racehorse training stable. Our story focuses on two main horses. Lightning Flash was a proud, glossy coated, young bay Thoroughbred stallion. Otis was a slightly older, faded black-and-white Shire gelding, who was also proud, but of his great strength. You can image who lives where! One day, Lightning Flash was let out into a beautiful green pasture with his two friends, Cheetah Speed and Silver Bullet. One side of their pasture’s fence ran along a road that lead to the racing facility. Across it ran the boarding fence of the farm animals’ field. Otis was grazing quietly by the fence.
“What is that?” said Flash.
“Looks like a horse breed with a black bolder,” remarked Silver. They have never seen any other horse breed except other Thoroughbreds.
“Let’s go talk to him,” and Speedster (Cheetah Speed) lead the way towards the fence line.
“You there, what are you?” asked Flash. Otis raised his massive head and replied, “I am called Otis. I am a Shire.”
“A Shire?” sneered Flash. “Thoroughbreds are the best,” he declared, feeling like picking a fight with Otis. Silver and Speedster nayed their agreement. Otis shook his head. “No, Shires are the best,” he said back.
“We Thoroughbreds are better because we win many awards,” started Flash. “I have personally have won three trophies and three ribbons. Cheetah Speed has won six ribbons. Silver Bullet has won one trophy and three ribbons.” Flash nodded to each of his companions in turn. “We Shires,” Otis stamped his great hoof, “Along with many other draft breeds win many awards, too. I have won nine ribbons out of ten pulling competitions.”
Just then, Penguin, the farm’s prized Border Collie, came up to the arguing horses. “Will you stop squabbling! I’ve had to hear enough bickering in the past and I don’t need to hear more, especially from mature horses.” Penguin has had many litters of puppies and she quickly became tired of childish arguments. The four horses stopped talking and stared at the farm dog. “Now,” she huffed, “Let’s all get along. Racehorses are the best.”
The three Thoroughbreds raised their heads proudly. “At racing,” Penguin finished, “Shires are the best at heavy farm work and pulling heavy loads. Farm dogs like me are the best at rounding up all of the other farm animals when the farmers want to gather them.” All of the horses stood pondering what the wise Collie had said. “Don’t you see? We all are ‘the best’ at different things.”
Penguin trotted off at the farmer’s whistle and left the horses to themselves. “So,” started Flash, “You won eight out of ten ribbons?”
“Nine of ten,” replied Otis.
“That’s a really good record,” said Silver.
“Thank you. You guys have done really well, too. I have never won trophy.”
“We try,” said Speedster. A stable hand came up to the young horses, clasped lead ropes on their halters, and lead them back to the stable.
“See you around!” called the racehorses over their shoulders to Otis. “Good luck on your races!” called the farm horse.