So, You Think You Love Horses? Some Reflections on the Nature of Horses and Man

More Discussions by “The Accidental Horseman”

Tipped Again: Will it Ever End?
Cow Tipping: a National Disgrace
Massie's organization mounted a public awareness campaign.

Reginald Bogy met his brother, Massie, at the diner in Lockesburg, Arkansas for breakfast. Massie had driven over from Nashville where he had delivered a talk on the economic impact of cow tipping to a capacity crowd at the Tyler Hills Convalesce Home. Reginald Bogy did not see his brother often since Massie lived in Washington, D.C. where he was the Executive Director of the American Association for the Prevention of Cow Tipping. Massie was always quoting all these alarming statistics regarding cow tipping. His organization was largely supported by funds earmarked by Arkansas’ congressional delegation. Massie traveled around the country giving talks on cow tipping mostly at nursing homes. He often said he preferred those audiences because they did not ask questions. About the only one he ever got was, “So when are we going to eat?” Massie did not know how to answer that one, but he always took the home’s administrator out for pizza afterwards. Reginald was not certain that it was possible to tip a cow, but he kept that to himself.

The AAPCT's Logo
Many celebrities were on the board.

Massie Bogy unfolded a newspaper and held it up to Reginald. On the front page was a photo of a white mule standing in front of a disordered pile of arms and legs with a caption “Panic on the Golf Course.” Reginald stared at the photo and said, “I‘ll be, that’s Atlas.” There was no mistaking Atlas. No other animal on the face of the earth looked anything like Atlas, a Percheron-miniature donkey cross. Reginald was Atlas’ original owner but had sold him to the Boccamotore family. Massie said to Reginald, “Yes, that little mule of yours has become quite famous. “ Massie proceeded to tell his brother about what happened at the Long Island Country Club and then at the clinic at Greenspring Hollows Academy. Reginald was total dumbfounded.

Reginald looked up at his brother over his coffee to see Massie grinning from ear to ear. Massie drawled with an emphasis on every word, “I have an idea, Reginald.” Reginald knew all about Massie’s ideas. Growing up, Massie always had these ideas. Massie said, “Have you ever heard of the T.V. show Hoss Traders? In fact, it was among Reginald’s favorites. Massie leaned over, “I think we can get your little mule on Hoss Traders. Their producer will love this. He will love you, Reginald.” Reginald did look the part. It seemed that a lot of the men you saw on Hoss Traders were Southern, more than somewhat overweight and fast talkers. Reginald was already picturing what it would be like to be on reality TV.

Tang Dynasty Horse Sculpture

On the other side of the world it was evening, and two men in business suits were speaking rapidly in Chinese. The older man was seated at his impressive looking desk and the younger was standing at attention and holding up an American newspaper. On the page was a photo of a white mule with the caption “Panic on the Golf Course.” Only one recognizable English word emerged: “Atlas” declared the younger man. “Atlas” slowly repeated the older man with a smile of immense satisfaction. The older man was Zhang Gang, one of the richest men in the world. From his corporate offices in Shanghai, he controlled an import-export empire that spanned the globe. Zhang Gang’s life was almost all business, but he allowed himself one, and only one, recreation. Zhang owned the largest privately held collection of Chinese Tang dynasty funerary horse sculptures in the world. The collection was beyond priceless. Not only that, but nearly each and every horse sculpture in the collection was matched with a living horse in Zhang Gang’s palatial stables that appeared exactly like the horse depicted by the sculpture. However, there was this one very unusual sculpture and try as hard as they may; Zhang’s agents were unable to find any living horse that looked anything like it. This is why Zhang felt so satisfied. Staring at him from the page of the newspaper was the living, breathing image of that one particular horse, the very last one he needed. Soon this animal too would be a pampered occupant of his stable.

Angelina Boccamotore

“This could be my big break”, wailed Angelina Boccamotore. She was a freshman theatre major at Slippery Rock University and was home on break when the producer of Hoss Traders called the Boccamotore home. Mr. Boccamotore was not too wild about the idea of appearing with his family on the TV show, and he thought Angelina was being a bit too theatrical. However, if there was one thing Mr. Boccamotore was, he was an indulgent father, and at last he relented. The family would appear on the show with his daughter Maria’s pony, Atlas.

“So, what did you say?” said Mrs. Boccamotore. “I said no.” said Mr. Boccamotore. “I could never sell Maria’s pony, not for all the money in the world.” “Still that is an awful lot of money.” said Mrs. Boccamotore. “It would break her heart.” said Mr. Boccamotore. Alice Boccamotore knew her husband was right. There were things that money could not buy, and the happiness of her daughter, Maria, was one of those things. She did not say anything to her husband, but it also occurred to her that they were about to travel to Los Angeles to appear on Hoss Traders, and now this mysterious offer to purchase Atlas for a breathtaking sum of money. Somehow, it all seemed very unsettling, and she could not shake a feeling of apprehension deep in her gut. Meanwhile, far away in a darkened bedroom in China, an important man wearing a grim expression on his face repeated the words slowly in the Shanghainese dialect, “By any means possible.” On the other end of the phone was Zhang’s principle operative, Fu Wei. He was a former member of the People's Liberation Army Special Operations Forces, and he knew exactly what Zhang meant. This American had insulted his boss by his refusal of his boss' more than generous offer and such an insult must be punished.

Morris Decamp
"Where did he go?"

“Let’s break for lunch,” said Morris Decamp with a slight irritated undertone to his voice. The pony, Atlas, was led back to the temporary stall on the set of Hoss Traders. Morris Decamp was very unhappy with the way this was going. His producer had carried on about how this man, Reginald Bogy, was such a natural, and the segment depicting the Boccamotores buying Atlas at the county fair was only supposed to take five minutes of air time. He had shot it seven times this morning, and each time turned out worse than before. The problem was this girl, Angelina Boccamotore. She was supposed to just stand there with her sister while her father bought the pony. Instead, she kept upstaging everyone trying to steal the scene, and then there was this man, Reginald Bogy. He kept ogling her and flubbing his lines. He needed to pull them aside and lay down the law to both of them. The problem was the big man Bogy seemed to be nowhere on the set.

Reginald Bogy had stepped behind a building. He called the number on his disposable cell phone. He repeated the words, “It’s time.” The night before an Asian gentleman had approached him in the bar at the motel where they were all put up. Bogy had just struck out and was a little irritated with the man, but was surprised to find out that the man knew exactly who he was and offered Bogy 100,000 dollars cash to deliver Atlas to the back gate of the studio lot. Fu Wei kept repeating that no one needed to know. Bogy’s wife had begun to take an undue interest in just how the family’s money was being spent, and it occurred to Bogy that he might do a lot if he had a slush fund.

Fu Wei

It all went down with military precision. Fu Wei, like a master chess player, had worked out every move and counter-move. The element of surprise was his, and he would use it to the utmost. The security guards at the front gate of the movie studio were shocked when a large crowd of angry Asian men suddenly showed up holding signs reading “Amalgamated Brotherhood of Laundry Workers On-Strike” and “Unfair Hiring Practices.” They began to pelt the front gate with oranges and block vehicles from entering and leaving. Some of them were even trying to climb the fence. Outnumbered and alarmed, they called for all personnel to report to the front gate and tried to call 911. However, they were surprised to get absolutely no answer. The phone just rang and rang. Meanwhile, at the Greater Los Angeles 911 Call Center, there was total chaos. Only a moment before their headsets had begun to blare Chinese marching songs, and their computer monitors just scrolled these long columns of Chinese characters. Backup systems and phone lines failed. All they were able to do was call for help on their private cell phones and wait. Fu Wei knew that he should not be so obvious, but he was anxious to let these Westerners, with their smug attitudes of superiority, know just who their tormenter was. He was confident that at the end of the day it would be business as usual between the U.S. and China. It always was.

Meanwhile, Reginald Bogy slipped back to Atlas’ stall. The entire area was deserted as the workers had all gone over to the front gate curious about all the noise and commotion. Trusting Atlas had just followed him to the back gate and into the hands of a couple of Asian men who were waiting there with a horse trailer. Bogy stuffed a thick envelope of cash into his pocket and soon slipped back into the crowd at the front gate. It was then, and to everyone’s surprise, that it all stopped as quickly as it had begun. In a blink of an eye the angry mob just disappeared, and the 911 call center suddenly came back to life. There was an unreal quality to this, and it seemed to everyone that they had just imaged what had happened. From his command post in a van parked near the studio entrance, Fu Wei took off his headset. This was another stellar performance, and Zhang Gang would be pleased.

However, it was not over. Fu Wei’s careful plan was about to unravel. It was Sun Tzu who said, “To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.” Fu Wei had delegated the task of driving the horse trailer to Li Long. Long’s mother, on learning her son was about to go to America, had pressed him to look up his cousin, Kung Pao. Kung Pao owned a Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles, which just happened to be along the route to Long Beach and the waiting ship from Zhang’s shipping line. Li Long did not have the opportunity to see his cousin during the busy preparations for the operation, and this was his last opportunity. He knew he should not make any stops, but he could not face his mother and admit he had failed to visit his cousin.

Station KCBS’s investigative reporter, Don Armand, was lying in wait outside the rear door of Kung Pao’s Chinese restaurant. There had been persistent rumors that Chinese restaurants in the city were serving stray cats and dogs to customers, and he was out to prove it. They had constructed what they thought was an ingenious hiding place for Armand outside the back door of the restaurant using a trash can that appeared just like others in the alley but equipped with a hidden camera that Don could focus on any suspicious activity. The crew had jokingly called him “Don, the Grouch.” Lisa Smith, his vivacious producer, was hidden around the corner with a full camera crew and was to swoop down on the restaurant once Don had the proof they needed. What they had not considered was that the Chinese would use the trash can, and after several hours of waiting, Don was covered with a sticky layer of discarded Chinese food. He hated to think how he would appear on camera and knew that he would become the laughing stock of all of Los Angeles. However, Lisa had forbidden him to abort the mission, and in the trash can he remained. He had totally had it and was about to get out of the trash can when this truck and horse trailer drove up to the back door of the Chinese Restaurant.

Meanwhile back at the studio my little friend Maria Boccamotore had finished her lunch and had become aware of the disturbance at the front gate of the studio. Something deep inside her told her to go and check on Atlas, and off she went. However, Atlas was missing and the totally hysterical Maria soon raised the alarm. The exhausted security personnel could only look at each other and say “What next. “

“You have to do something. They’re going to feed that poor horse to their customers.” the outraged Lisa Smith said over the microphone. The Chinese men had gone inside the restaurant, and Don Armand emerged from his hiding place and unloaded the pony from the trailer. Just then, the back door of the restaurant opened, and a small group of Chinese men emerged into the sun light. Their expression went from extreme happiness, to abject shock and then anger, and they called out what was clearly an alarm in Chinese. In no time a pack of Chinese kitchen workers emerged waving meat cleavers and brandishing kitchen knifes but then hesitated in the doorway. What had so startled the Chinese was that Don in his present incarnation bore an uncanny resemblance to È Guǐ, a much feared demon from Chinese folklore. This spirit haunts streets and kitchens, searching for offerings and rotting food. The Chinese hesitated for what seemed an eternity during which the terrified Don Armand was able to clamor up onto Atlas’ back. Atlas also saw the men as a threat and headed down the alley and around the corner at a full gallop with Armand holding on literally for dear life and screaming to the top of his lungs.

Seeing Atlas getting away, Li Long berated the men’s manhood, and soon the men were in pursuit, È Guǐ or not. One group ran on foot and the rest jumped in the pickup and rode around the block to head down East Broadway after the pony. Lisa and the news crew jumped in their minivan and followed close behind the trailer, flashing their lights and blowing the horn. The trailer swung dangerously back and forth, slamming into parked cars and setting off car alarms as they went. Multiple auto accidents occurred all along the route as motorists tried unsuccessfully to avoid the strange procession.

Things were just getting back to normal (if you can ever call things normal at a 911 call center) when suddenly every phone rang at once. Hysterical people were saying that a monster was running down East Broadway. Others concluded that this had to be beginning of the Apocalypse for it is written "behold, a pale horse, and its rider's name was Death and Hades followed him" or so it seemed to many on East Broadway that day who bore witness to an event that they could not have imagined in their worse nightmare. Everyone seemed to have a different story with each one stranger than the last. The people at the call center had no idea what was going on, but the panic in the voices on the other end of the phones was unmistakable.

East Broadway After the Chase
It was called a scene of devastation by the media.