Woah, Nelly
Thursday, November 16th, 2023 Alive 19,196 days
If you see a train honk at a horse on Main Street, you might be in Houston.
If you see a train honk at a horse on Main Street, you might be in Houston.
I've seen hitching posts outside of supermarkets in rural Pennsylvania. I've seen hitching posts in half-dead mining towns in Nevada. I've seen hitching posts outside Post Offices in California. I certainly didn't expect to see hitching posts in New Orleans, but there are quite a few of them.
Considering how they are artfully cast from iron and not just a bunch of scrubwood timbers nailed together, I expect these are for fancy horses, and not desert mules.
Not only do people spend weeks riding their horses to Houston each year, the local TV news monitors their progress.
Gas stations are one of the few places where it seems to be OK to walk up to a strangerʼs horse and start talking to it.
Today I learned that the USPS delivers at least 20,000 pieces of mail each year by horse.
I am privileged to have been several times to a U.S. Post Office with a hitching rail for horses.
She looks so happy. Nobody tell Darcie sheʼs standing in wild horse poop.
I wanted to take Darcie horseback riding, but she wonʼt go because she didnʼt pack her ranch dressing.
Darcie hates that joke.