Daisy walks in, shoes are placed on hands and on feet, maybe something like a bridle is being worn. Also wet. Jenny is cowgirlish.

Daisy- Are you aware that it is raining?

Jenny- Well, now I am. And before too. Sorry about that. May 11 really snuck up on me this year. Dress looks nice as always though, Daisy. Nice pair of shoes on your foot hoof hands too.

Daisy- It was very difficult to undo the bridle. Again.

Jenny- Well that’s how come I’m always saying I should mark it on my calendar. May 11, then I draw a horse there, or put a smiley face, or say birthday or something. You suppose it’s your birthday, that’s the why of it?

Daisy- Jenny may we talk, for just a moment, about our arrangement from last year?

Jenny- Well about that Daisy…

Daisy- You said no more riding Jenny, you said you were not gonna let Little Bill ride me anymore. We had an arrangement.

Jenny- His name’s Little Bill…

Daisy- And yet he is…

Jenny- Not little, no I get it. It’s irony. But he’s only got him a couple of pleasures, riding you, whipping you, feeding you apples with little tiny stones hidden in them. I take all that away, what do you suppose Little Bill has got then. I mean, Daisy… he’s a man and you’re a wom…

Daisy- Horse.

Jenny- Horse yep.

Daisy- But, I’m not a regular horse.

Jenny- 364 you are, and really it’s 364 and one half, cause it ain’t even a full day really that you’re human. You ever figure out how you come you change? Someone put a spell on you? Eat a bad penny? Actually, don’t tell me, it will give us something to talk about next year. Like I was saying, though, when you’re a horse you don’t complain, you don’t seem to mind.

Daisy- Well, it’s strange, I know something’s wrong, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. Just when I think I’ve got it pinned down my thoughts just drift away, take off running, and I’m left in a cloud, trying to grab hold of something without knowing where or what it is.

Jenny- Thats horse logic for you right there, Daisy.

Daisy- But it’s more than that Jenny. I do think. I was having the most amazing dream, it was a clear day with just the gentlest breeze blowing over a spring meadow, freshly blooming, the smell of rain still lingering, dew, the rays of light, it was all so real. And I’m there but I’m a whole swarm of bees in the dream, I’m touching down gently amidst the pollen of a thousand flowers, and taking flight again as one, drifting lazily against the gusts of wind. And then I see it, moving fast across the horizon, a giant sprawling thundercloud, tumbling over itself, a vision of tremendous momentum. And this huge, ominous thing, this oppressive mass begins to take on a familiar shape. It begins to look like you Jenny, just as the rain pours down over the meadow and pins me in all my bodies to the earth. And you’re the cloud trapping me with your downpour..

Jenny- Yeah, well that figures. I remember one time Miss Underhill asked the class what we’d all like to be when we grew up, and my hand shot right up daisy, fast as a bum towards a bean can, and I answered full of pride how one day I’d like to be a big, heavy oppressive force, just weighing down on some single living thing. And miss Underhill, she just says, “what a good answer Jenny,” and sent me right out to spend the rest of the day moving bricks in the shed.

Daisy- That’s very interesting but…

Jenny- I’m not finished. These were some ugly bricks, all scarred and rough, the kind that wear away at your skin and kick up dust into your lungs. All day I was moving those bricks until my poor little hands were just an awful mess. I remember I looked down and they just looked like I’d taken a big old hammer right to em.

Daisy- From moving bricks in a shed?

Jenny- Course I couldn’t feel em though, I mean not at all. So here I am walking home, hands torn to hell, big old mess all around my face on account of I’m a messy eater, and I spy the Walters dog coming running up to the barbwire fence beside me. I head on over, and I’m petting him, and he’s licking me, licking my mangled up hands, and I get to thinking about how much I’d like a real chewy piece of bacon. Do you like bacon?

Daisy- I eat dry flavorless grass all year.

Jenny- Well, there you go. So I’m imagining eating this bacon right, and I’m chewing it in my mind, and I can practically hear it, the sound of my teeth crunching and tearing away at the overly tough bacon, and I kinda come to and look down and that damn dog had plum bit off and eaten three of my fingers. I hadn’t even felt it, so I grab him, and I stick my good hand, which still weren’t all that good on account of them rough bricks, right down that dogs throat and I start feeling for my fingers. Now that dog must’ve eaten a whole passle of sausages earlier that day, cause I’d think I’d found one of my digits and up would come some greasy meat log stinking to high heaven of dog breath, and that’s how come I ended up with these here sausage fingers on my left hand, but what were you saying?

Daisy- Please Jenny, I’m just getting tired is all. I know it’s easy to forget about me, but I’m not like the other horses.

Jenny- Well Little Bill can’t ride Pumpkin anymore. He kicked Big Bill, that little fellow always pottering around, right in the head. Killed him dead, right on the spot, two weeks later after he’d been in a coma. Had to take old pumpkin out back and shoo…him into a real nice room at the horse hotel with games of chance on the first floor, and room service, and a man who come up and kill Pumpkin and turn him into glue.

Daisy- Maybe one day a week you don’t ride me, you just walk me, and pet me and braid my hair and give me an apple.

Jenny- Not ride you? Like what? You ride me or something?

Daisy- No Jenny, neither of us rides, you just walk.

Jenny- Walking huh, like I do on stairs but over land, like this (walks around) never done that before. What a novel idea Daisy, people are going to get a kick outta this. (As someone from town) “Where’s your horse Jenny? That old Daisy run off again” (As herself) “Oh she’s right here on my back, once a week she rides me.”

Daisy- Jenny, just you and me walking side by side, just like you were doing a moment ago, only I’ll be a horse again.

Jenny- That’s you Daisy, always thinking, thinking and thinking, nothing but thinking. Eating grass and thinking, and thinking and eating grass.

Daisy- And running, and prancing and biting at Regular Bill because he smells funny, and biting the mule to remind him who’s in charge. And flicking the flies away with my tail, and…

Jenny- And eating grass.

Daisy- And eating grass.

Jenny- Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I were the horse and you were the me.

Daisy- Everyday, constantly, almost all time.

Jenny-. I think I’d rebel, just trample you right to death.

Daisy- But then they’d send you to the horse hotel.

Jenny- I’d probably make a run at horse mayor, try my hand at horse politics. Do something like try and pass a law where horses didn’t have to just stand there all the time but could relax and enjoy the finer things like riding bicycles or joining the navy.

Daisy- There is no horse mayor Jenny. There’s not even a horse sheriff or horse postman.

Jenny- Well maybe there should be.

Daisy- So you’ll think about it at least Jenny, once a week is all, to start.

Jenny- Sure I’ll think about Daisy, but tomorrow when the sun comes up, I’ll still be me, and you’ll go back to being a horse, thats the way it goes, nothing we can do about that.

(Fade out)