Bastardosaurus and His Papa

Many would swear, and the kids would joyfully bet half of their saving that the colt is the tallest and the darkest horse alive. In the whole world!

Okay, at least in the world the kids and their old men have known.

But when the colt was a yearling, none of them the adult would bother to take care of him. Much less to adopt him.

Rumour said that according to all grown-ups who thought they really know him, the colt was a lazy bum. And his laziness was equalled only by his incredibly huge appetite which is so to feed his extremely gigantic growth and terribly intimidating posture. His appetite was almost as large as all of the horses on the yard put together, and costs his owner a fortune to keep.

In a world where horses are bred and reared strictly for their economic value, such a colt is everything but valuable. And to make things worse, again according to those grown-ups – yes, only grown-ups enjoy rumour and spreading it out – this colt once in a while would get upset without any particular reason.

And when he enrages he suddenly turned himself into a black fire-breathing dragon came directly from the bottom of hell whose uncontrolled fury and monstrous energy could ungratefully destroy the hill where he was born and raised.

In short, the colt should be put down to end the stupidity of wasting time and money.

Actually there were few people – extremely few – who have a rather sympathetic view over the colt. One of them, a very old man, even has a very optimistic expectation in the future of the tallest and the darkest colt.

He used to say that this colt is an ugly-duckling who will eventually developed into a swan – no: an eagle, a dark golden eagle.

The old man even dare to wage a hundred dollar, twelve bags of candy, and even a palace if only he has one, that some day the colt will be standing as the mightiest and the most charismatic stallion in the whole world ever.

He imagines by the time the colt reaches his five years of age he will appear as a charger of god.

No, he will be the god himself!

And admirers from every corner of the globe would come to worship him!

Unfortunately, the admiring forecaster was an acute drunkard. Like an ancient yogi of old India, he was homeless and lived in the bush. Nobody knew his full name, but anyone can read on his old-ragged jacket a word: George. People then call him George Bush. And George Bush announced his forecast and praise with foam and strange odour spread out of his mouth.

No sane people believeed in his words, of course.

Most of people in that area widely famous across the country as a breeding region producing international racehorse and sporthorse, hold totally different opinion.

After examining the whole factors regarding a good horse, they conclude that the colt, frankly speaking, will reach his five years old as nothing but an ugly ragged cart horse. And the colt will be suitable not to drag a wedding cart or funeral cart or any fancy cart, but a scumbag cart, piled high with all kinds of junk, swaying and clattering along the way.

Yes, the black tower-like colt has enough power to pull an over-burdened carts full of old iron, wood and household junk, whatever the owner and the admirer could pick up and re-sell or re-use.

In other words, the colt lived in a wrong place and a wrong time.

His place was certainly not in any racecourse or any riding course built for carefully domesticated and thoroughly bred breed. And he belonged to the millenia where live was so harsh and the primitive people sheltered the stone would hunt down mammoths and horses to feed themselves.

Some people even dare to bet that the black whinniying beast will not reach his fifth birthday. Not because such a horse does not deserve any birthday anniversary whatsoever but because his oversized posture and abnormal growth will eventually make him collapse.

He will die certainly as soon as possible, and it will not necessarily through the favoured methods employed by human ancestors for killing mammoths or horses which were to drive a group of those animals into a natural cul-de-sac so they could be clobbed to death, or to drive them over a convenient cliff, and let them fall sucked by the gravity, which was much easier.

So, the colt should be put down as soon as possible, this time for his own sake.

After being told about the very unkind judgement, the old poor yogi responded with a long yelling said that those dummy adults called themselves experts on horses were just reflecting their fear.

They are terrorised by the possibility that the darkest and the tallest horse will end up as a super-godly horse who will beat down all of their steeds and destroy all they cherised, all they hold dear to their hart.

They are scared to death facing a possibility beyond their imagination.