It is not everyday you get compared to a milkman’s horse. When I go out with him, hubby says I am like one. Now, I cannot remember a milkman’s horse, I am sure they were hard workers and very biddable animals. The suggestion is, according to Hubby, at every stopping point, the horse, (not the milkman) socialised with the householders, or the people who queued for their cans of milk. I have no way of actually knowing, as that type of house-to-house, or, street- to- street milk marketing would have happened before I was aware of it.
So, what prompted this seemingly uncomplimentary suggestion. Where I live, it is usual to acknowledge people you see, whether you know them or not; you might even exchange a word or two, perhaps, even, have a chat. What has this to do with a milkman’s horse, I hear you ask?
We passed a guy waiting for an inter-city bus yesterday. After initial polite salutations, it was clear that the man was Canadian. He and I got into conversation very quickly. Hubby disappeared from sight. The man probably learned as much about me and some of the life of the area he was leaving, as I learned about him.
This afternoon when we went out for a walk, we passed a house in the street where we live, where, the patio windows were unusually, open. A woman was mopping the floor, and a cute lapdog sat nearby. Not for long, it came rushing to me, and in its evident haste misjudged its movements and hit itself on the wall. It was naturally a bit dazed, even so, it allowed me to pet it. The lady cleaning up was moving out, she had lived there – invisibly – more than a year. Invisibility was what she preferred, being a bit of a troglodyte, she said. For all that, she was keen to talk, to tell me about her American life, what she missed and did not miss after nineteen years in the U.K. The move, like all moves, was an upheaval, but, she was only going five miles away to a cheaper property. I learned that poor heart health with a concomitant reduction in income had necessitated the retrenchment.
what is there to dislike about a milkman’s horse? In my humble view, if I am like the milkman’s horse of yore, the horse must have been a remarkably sociable companion.