Horse Sense Under The Oak Tree

It was the greenest green that she had ever seen. A tiny, sad-eyed frog, daydreaming on a log. 'She' was, of course, a horse, who used, as a good source of minerals the log upon which sat the frog. It was a cloudless, balmy day and many children were at play. They did not bother either critter due to their spinster babysitter. Thus undisturbed, they did commence a conversation near the fence. The mare inquired why the green was something she had never seen. The frog, though young, said 'At my age I'm somewhat of a macrophage, my diet has its own routine most bugs I eat contain some green. Derived from noble chlorophyll, the stuff keeps you from getting ill.' ' I see', the horse said, 'what about a horse like me? I'm rather stout, a fancy Palomino mare with chestnut colour, which is rare. Mind you, I like the way I look in the reflection of the brook up at the quarry, near the tip, though I don't like my lower lip.' 'I know', the frog huffed, 'you were born with chestnut colour on that morn, what keeps you chestnut is your habit to get up late, unlike the rabbit, you eat the grass when it turns brown! ' The mare had placed a thoughtful frown upon her fat-lipped oblong face, 'now understand that our race is quite superior to small fry like frogs and insects, who all die without a funeral or wake. You just get eaten, for the sake of fighting excess population. Which, a result of fornication takes food away from upper classes! I'm sure you've heard of 'horses' asses', that shows how popular we are. A horse is, everywhere, a star......' 'But Sire', interjects the frog, I am just like a vital cog, without me, bugs would take control, that's why all creatures play a role.' The mare regarded him with pity, ' You do not grasp the nitty-gritty, I do not mind your bulging eyes, but in this life, what counts is size! ' They talked some more, but in a while the frog was tasting bitter bile inside his gallic apparatus. But when the mare let out a flatus it was too much of condescension. And, rapidly, now grew the tension. An oak tree who had lived nearby since Julius Ceasar said good-bye had overheard this harsh exchange, suggested that he could arrange a resolution to enable both animals within this fable to make their peace without delay, as oak trees always find a way. So, in the shadow of the tree they let their bygones bygone be. The oak had told them that 'with age one gradually discards their rage. And green turns brown, and brown turns gray and all of that is quite okay. But that the wisdom of the ages occurs reluctantly, in stages, and that no creature can be free until they reach old age like me.'