Tomorrow is the final day of the 51st Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show. I was there on Friday, a lovely sunny, 77 degree day. The horses were stars, all of them, even the ones who didn't win their class. Many were half-Arabians but the unmistakable kings and queens were the purebred Arabians, floating through the air, like the world exists for them to adorn. And they do adorn it. If a Quarter Horse is the common man's truck, the Arabian is the sassy foreign sports car.
There were also, they told us, 300 vendors there to entice attendees with everything for the horse and everything for the horse lover, including massages, essential oils, furniture, art, jewelry and clothes. I ate a Mexican buffet catered by a tractor trailer truck manufacturer. These trucks are needed to haul 10 or 12 horse trailers. I toured horse trailers with living quarters that are appointed better than my house. But the bottom line is that these pampered show horses produce the same thing mine do: lots of manure.
Scottsdale produces a fine showcase at the WestWorld facility. After all, a world class event needs world class (read: urban) amenities. But I can't help but see the huge electric transmission lines in the background of my photographs of the horses. At home, my Arabs stand in pure relief against the desert. More like their ancient homeland. But then, in the old days, the Bedouin Arab didn't raise his pure horses with oil pipelines in the background either. It's a new world. For man and beast alike.