I had to make it to the top, swinging back and forwarth on this “ride” was faster than running, but I knew I’d tire eventually. And there was always that nagging little worry, what if another fly came by and the horse had to flick it’s tail? I started to climb.
One arm gripped with all the strength I could muster and tightened to lift me higher, while the other arm spread out as far above my head as it could reach. Then that hand secured a nice firm grip, while the other hand let go and reached up. I was making progress. But after five times, roughly a quarter of the way up, they started to buckle under the strain.
My head still wasn’t letting me forget the blunt force trauma I took, and my spine seemed to be competing with the rest of my body to see what could hurt the most. But I couldn’t rest now, so I wasn’t going to. Gritting my teeth, I repeated the process again. And again. And again.
“Ergn!” I grunted, a little over halfway up the strain was unbearable. The pain spread from my arms to my fingertips, my accent slowed as it became harder and harder to find that next grip. At least the tail wasn’t swinging anymore. I was too far up and too secure to sway back and forwarth. My arms started to shake, I was loosing my grip.
“NO!” I shouted with determination filling my eyes. My whiskers grew stiff, but I held them tight against my muzzle so they wouldn’t get in the way. No amount of pain was going to slow me down, so long as I had arms I was darn well going to use them.
I stretched, reached, gripped, and was rewarded with another inch towards my goal. My legs dangling bellow me touched lightly against the tough, yielding flesh of the equine’s rump. The flesh twitched, and that was the moment I realized my mistake. The tail twitched immediately after.
Woosh! The world rocketed to one side, SLAM!
I felt my shoulder crash into the horse’s side. Then I felt the tail swinging back. I never let go, certainly wasn’t that stupid, but by the gods this pain on top of my fast growing exhaustion was horrible! My breathing instantly went fast and shallow, my tail waved around franticly as if it were trying to grip something. Out of reflex I could feel my feet grip the horse’s tail just as tightly as my hands.
Wait … my feet? On a moment of reflection I could grip almost as well with my feet as I could with my hands. Oh, yeah. As a mouse there wasn’t a whole lot of distinction between the two. Using both feet, I suddenly had three braces and four firm grips while moving and climbing. This was much, much easier.
Then I slipped. Well, my left foot did. They could grip better than human feet (a lot better) but they weren’t quite a match for my front paws. Front hands. Hands! Goddammit, think of them as hands!
Another two inches up the tail. Another three inches. I was almost there, much to the relief of every aching joint and worn out muscle I had. I detected an utterly horrible smell as I passed directly between the horse’s butt cheeks, but ignored it as best I could while climbing over. I could have held my breath, but momentary displeasure was well worth the price of a steady air supply.
And then I was over. Sitting on the very back of a horse as it trotted lazily through a serene patch of woods. I stared up at the brown, leather saddle of the rider. I saw the strange, patchwork clothing of his pants and shirt, covered by a well worn jacket and a large straw hat. I could not tell what style of clothing this was, but his skin was white and sun baked. A farmer perhaps? Or just a farmhand with some experience.
The entire ride jerked and bounced uncontrollably. I gripped the much smaller hairs up here for balance, but as I scurried over towards the saddle I discovered I had no need to find a firm grip. On four legs, this mouse body had wonderful balance. I could easily compensate for the constant motion.
Curling up underneath the back, squeezing myself in a small crack between the horse’s back and the saddle, I finally began to relax and enjoy the landscape.
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