The Tale of the Work Horse

A farmer led a horse down a dusty road.  Occasionally, he would stop to scold the horse and crack it across the back with a willow.  "Stupid animal," he mumbled, "If you'd work harder, maybe I'd get some crops planted this year... You skinny, good-for-nothing horse...  I'd like to get a real horse, someday.  You can't even pull a plow!  What good are you anyway?!--"

            "Howdy." A bearded man dressed in overalls and a broad straw hat appeared on the far side of the road. 

            "Uh--, hello," said the farmer, pulling lightly on the horse's rein.

            "Nice day, isn't it?" the stranger asked.

            "I guess that depends on who you talk to," the farmer responded, doing little to hide his irritation.

            "Pardon my sayin' so, but that horse looks awfully thin--for a workhorse."

            "He is--But I don't know if that's any of your business."

            The bearded man stopped and patted the horse on the neck, producing a large cloud of dust.  "I've been lookin' for a horse like this."

            "Really?  And how much are you willing to pay?"

            "Twenty dollars, cash.  Right now."

            "Twenty dollars?  For this horse?  Are you--" he caught himself suddenly, "Are you sure?"  The farmer's disbelief was tempered only slightly by his greed.

            "Do we have a deal?"  The bearded man feigned impatience.

            "Why sure, stranger.  He's yours!"

            The bearded man pulled twenty dollars in silver coins from his pocket, gave it to the farmer, and took the horse's rein in his hand.  "Thanks," he said, and started back down the road.

            "Hey, wait a minute," the farmer called, "I haven't seen you around here before."

            "No, you haven't," came the man's reply, calling back over his shoulder.  "Jack Simpson's the name.  'Just moved here last week.  'Got a new business out on Hampton Road....  Drop in sometime.  I'll give ya' a look around."

            The farmer squinted toward the man and the horse, now nearly obliterated by the blowing dust.  "Sure," he said grinning, rolling the money around in his pocket.  "See ya around." 

            The farmer bought a new horse--a stout, heavy horse with sturdy legs and a strong back--and began plowing his fields.

            A few days passed and he sat one sunny afternoon on a stump near the road.  "Ol' Hank," his long-time neighbor and confidant approached the farmer, staring at the new animal.

            "Say, that's a pretty nice lookin' horse ya' got there.  What happened to the old one?"

            "Well, Hank, y'know, with things as bad as they are, it was great to get a horse that could pull a plow like this one here."  He stood and patted the horse, then plopped back on to the stump.  Squinting at Hank, he continued, "But I don't know if it'll do any good.  I'm not sure we'll even be able to make it this year... We're off to a late start.  Money is tight, and it ain't gettin' any better."

            "Yeah," Hank mumbled, kicking the dirt with his boot.

            There was silence for a moment, then Hank's voice raised suddenly with excitement, "Hey, have you heard about the races at the fair this year?"

            "That ain't nothin' new."

            "Yeah, but this will be different.  They're offering a thousand dollars to the fastest horse."  Hank shook his head.  "Too bad you don't have your old horse.  He may not have been able to pull a plow, but I've seen him run.  He was a quick one!"

            "Really?  Do you think he'd have had a chance?"

            "I'm no horse expert, but I think he'd have won--easily!  Who'd you sell him to, anyway?"

            "Somebody named Jack Simpson.  He lives over on Hampton Road.  I'm sure I could get him back.  It may cost me a few more dollars, but heck, for a thousand dollar prize... it's worth it, ain't it?"

            "It sure is.  If I were you, I'd go get him now, before that Jack 'character' finds out about the race.  Go ahead, I'll sit here with your plow till you get back."

            "Hey, thanks." The farmer stood again and patted the horse.  "Nothing personal, ol' buddy, but I could sure use the bucks!"

            The farmer started down the road toward town.  It wasn't a long walk, but long enough for him to devise a plan for spending the entire thousand dollars.  And he laughed at himself for missing the value of the horse he'd had all of those years.

            When he got to town, he stopped along Hampton Road to ask about Jack Simpson.  "Oh, the Simpson Place is just around the corner," said an old woman in her garden.  "It's a big red brick building, just behind those trees."

            "Thank you," said the farmer, grinning.  There was a definite spring in his step as he continued down the road.

            As he approached the corner, the farmer rehearsed his speech.  "I'm really attached to this ol' horse," he would say to Jack Simpson.  "My wife and kids don't want me to sell him.  Here, I'll offer you thirty dollars."  The farmer smiled broadly and mumbled under his breath, "I never knew what I had in that scrawny animal.  Won't Jack Simpson be surprised when he finds out how much money I win from the horse he once owned.  This race will just be the beginning.  I'll never worry about money!  I'll never have to work ag--"

            The farmer's voice fell silent as he rounded the corner.  There was the red brick building, just as he had been told, and a large sign that read:  "Simpson Glue Company."

Sometimes those in a decision-making role glance quickly at someone's appearance, their resume' or their pedigree and make broad assumptions about what that person can or cannot do.  Many times it's because they, themselves, don't really know what (or who) they need to fill a particular role or accomplish a major task.  So  they dismiss the one person that could have made all the difference for them.  And, sadly, some may never even realize their mistake.  They just wonder why things didn't turn out as they had hoped.