Feeling a Little Horse

So, I'm sitting at my desk, banging my head on the keyboard, as it were, trying to figure out why we say "as it were," instead of "as it was." But, I was also trying to come up with something clever to write about today, and I kept coming up empty. My head hurts. My throat is sore. I think I'm coming down with something and, to tell the truth I was about to totally throw in the towel, as it were, when my phone rings.
Aha! I say, somewhat hoarsely. Maybe this is my inspiration. So, I pick up the phone, the talk/listen part, anyway, and I say, "
Steve, here."
"Steve," the deep, somewhat familiar voice on the other end of the line says.
"Yes," I say in my rather soprano-ish voice. My voice always goes up a couple of octaves when I'm on the phone. And, I'm getting pretty sick of people replying, "Yes, mam," to me.
Anyway, the voice on the other end of the line continues, "I bet you don't know who this is."
I now know who the voice reminds me of, so I take a guess. "Mr. Ed?" I say, half-jokingly.
"Close, but no cigar," he answers.
"Sir, you have me at a disadvantage," I say.
"Let me introduce myself then," he says. "I'm Barbaro. At least that's what you folks call me."
"Barbaro...as in the horse?" I ask with skepticism.
"You got it," he says.
"A horse is a horse," I say.
"Of course, of course," he says.
"And no one can talk to a horse, of course," I say.
"That is, of course," he continues, "unless the horse is the famous Barbaro."
"You do have a nice singing voice," I compliment him.
"A little too baritone for my tastes," he says modestly.
"Okay," I say. "I'll play your little game. Let's say you are Barbaro, why are you calling me?"
"I need a public forum, and I've heard that up to three people read your blog each day."
"Why thanks," I say. I'm blushing. It's not often one gets complimented by a Kentucky Derby winner. "So, why do you need a public forum," I ask.
"Well, I just want to thank everyone for their cards and letters."
"Cards and letters?" I ask, being totally in the dark.
"Oh yes," Barbaro says, "and flowers too. The outpouring of concern and condolences has been truly amazing."
"You mean," I ask, "that humans are sending get-well cards to a horse?"
"And, I take it you have a problem with that?" Barbaro asks me.
"Well, you are a horse," I say.
"Perhaps, you don't believe horses have feelings. Hey, cut me, I bleed. I gotta tell you those cards have done a lot to cheer me up."
"You do sound pretty chipper for a horse that has just lost any chance of ever racing again."
"You think I like racing?" Barbaro asks.
"You don't?" I say incredulously.
"Heavens no!" he answers. "It's hard work. I'm just in it for the perks."
"The perks?" I ask.
"I'm guessing you've never tried to impress a filly," he says.
"You would be correct," I quickly assure him.
"Listen, pal," he says, "nothing turns a pretty little filly's head like a Kentucky Derby win."
"I've heard you have quite an eye for the ladies," I say.
"Big time," he says. "I don't know if its the Percocet, or what, but I'm feeling friskier than a teenager on prom night."
"I don't need the analogies," I say. "This is a G-rated blog.
"Sorry," he says. "I do get carried away sometimes."
"Yeah, in an ambulance," I joke.
"That's not funny," he says. "I almost died out there."
"Well, you're still not out of the woods," I say.
"What? Do you know something I don't know?" He sounds scared, and I'm wishing I had kept my mouth shut.
"Uh, no, not at all," I say. I probably should have left it at that, but with my big mouth, I keep on. "But you are a horse, and they shoot horses, don't they?"
"What are you suggesting?" he asks with genuine terror in his voice. I know I've gone too far.
"Nothing...nothing at all. It's just an old movie. Forget I ever said it." I try to be reassuring, but somehow I think this horse sees right through my charade.
"Stop playing charades," he says. "This is serious. What do you mean they shoot horses?"
"Well, in the old days...I mean many many years ago, they would shoot horses when they broke a leg." I continue, "But they say you're doing well. In fact, I heard you have a fifty-fifty chance of not being shot." I realize instantly that that didn't come out the way I had hoped.
"Fifty-fifty?" He asks. "And, that's supposed to make me feel good?"
"Hey, I wouldn't worry about it," I say.
"I'm sure you wouldn't," he says. "You're not a horse."
"Come on. Calm down," I encourage him. "Besides I bet there's a cute little filly nearby that could get your mind off your leg problems."
"Suddenly, that doesn't interest me so much," he says. "I guess you think I'm just some shallow stud who only wants to hang around the stable waiting to mate. There's a lot more to me than that. You humans are all alike."
"Hey, I'm sorry," I say. "Maybe I am a horse bigot."
"Apology accepted," he says graciously. "I guess the realization that I might not make it has hit me rather hard. I really don't know what I'm going to.....well, hellooo there."
"Who are you talking to?" I ask.
"Hey, gotta go," he says, his mood seems markedly improved. "This little filly just sauntered over, and I have a Derby medal I think she just might want to see. I hope she doesn't notice my limp. That can really turn the gals off."
With that, the phone went dead. And, now I'm back to trying to come up with something to write about. I'm still drawing blanks.