Straight from the Horse's Heart
(In My Humble Opinion) by R.T. Fitch ~ President Wild Horse Freedom Federation
Aliens Take Over Washington
"Don't Ask Me Nuttin" ~ Joan Guilfoyle, new chief of BLM Wild Horse and Burro Program
Please excuse me while I slip off my sport coat, dress jeans and Sunday boots. We’ve been busy, the last several days, at the first annual International Equine Conference in D.C. and proper protocol required that I look, and act presentable. Which, I might add, was quite a chore when it came time to introducing the new director of the BLM’s broken Wild Horse and Burro program, Joan Guilfoyle; you know, the federal employee who appeared in an article in the New York Times, last week, spouting misnomer, incorrect facts and high school girlie sort of spew about how much she loves the pretty little horsies; that’s the one. It’s time for me to put my muck boots, crumpled straw hat and holey jeans back on because we got a few stalls to muck out.
Well gang; ole Joan volunteered to “introduce” herself to the equine advocacy community during this outstanding and one of kind equine convention. At first glance that was sort of cool and even kind of gutsy as there was not one living soul in attendance that agrees with her agency’s ongoing war and helicopter massacre of our federally “protected” wild horses and burros. Plus, many of us have yet to scab over from the abuse and arrogance doled out by her predecessor, Donn Glenn, who was a documented two-faced stooge and puppet for his boss, BLM Director Bob Abbey…BUT, and there is always a butt with some being much larger than others (and this one is huge), she would not answer any questions. Like a seagull she wanted to fly in, crap on our picnic table and then fly out, and we agreed.
Being one who has no opinion and spends lots of time sitting on the fence over major equine welfare issues I had a difficulty in swallowing that lack of transparency, disclosure and goodwill but (there is that butt again) I was told, even by my wife, that perhaps this would be a new beginning and that we should strive to build bridges instead of chewing at the pilings like I enjoy doing. (You see, Terry is a nice person and is always seeking ways to make things right between folks; she is the good side to my personality and to this day I don’t know what she sees in the other) So I agreed to bite my lip and go for the gold, “be a good boy, R.T.!” So off to the conference we went.
There really must be a rather twisted, yet enjoyable, sense of humor to that great spirit that guides our lives and opens up a variety of doors that we can choose to enter because when I stepped into the hotel’s lobby elevator, to head up to the conference room, who do you think was in the elevator…yeah, you got it, Joan, and thrown in for additional comic relief and Twilight Zone flashbacks was our good ole BLM buddy, Dean Bolstad. I thought that I had died and gone to heaven because you know that I just could not keep my snarky little mouth shut. Dean and I politely greeted each other, and he next introduced Joan to whom I promptly quipped:
“I sincerely have to give you credit for voluntarily walking right into the den of lions.”
“What do you mean?”, she asked, “I don’t get it, den of lions?”
Dean harrumphed and I instantly knew that the horses and burros were in a bind and my lip was going to be bleeding while I bit it off during the course of the upcoming morning.
We exited the elevator and as we walked down the hallway I continued,
“I will be introducing you, this morning, and understand that you do not want to answer any questions while in front of the audience but would you like to make yourself available for interested attendees during the break?”
The new director of the Wild Horse and Burro program quickly snapped her reply,
“Oh no, simply no questions what so ever.”
“Why is that?”, I asked.
And out of her mouth came a response that made all of time stand still,
“I have only had my job for five weeks and I really don’t have a full understanding of it, yet.”
You know that scene in the movies where the main character is standing in a hallway and all of a sudden the reality of the scene is lost as the hallway suddenly stretches out into infinity with this sort of vertigo instilling “whoosh” type sound effect comes into play; IT HAPPENED TO ME!!! Somewhere echoing inside my vacant head I heard myself scream;
“What sort of dumbass, idiotic, lamebrain remark is that? Did you not post or apply for the position that you felt your qualifications and experience were well-balanced against the federally documented requirements and expectations? And after five weeks if you don’t have a clue as to the scope of your responsiblity and the associated deliverables that you are held accountable for shouldn’t you be begging someone, somewhere to help you pull your head out of your ass as not a single soul in the private sector would still be employed in a management position if they didn’t know what it was all about after sitting behind the desk for OVER a MONTH?”…then my heart began to beat again, my mind cleared and I muttered, from my real mouth,
“That’s interesting.”
So the time came to introduce the clueless leader of the BLM’s Wild Horse War Department and I calmly walked up to the podium, said what I was required to say, bit my lip, evacuated my bladder and excused myself to the men’s room to throw up every last bit of moral fiber and good conscious that I had. It wasn’t pretty.
With a sore and beaten spirit I dragged myself back to conference room and subjected myself to a vintage high school dissertation on “what I did over the summer” except it encompassed an entire, self-centered life. I felt faint so I began pushing my pen into my right eardrum in an effort to center myself. I heard something about how “I always liked horses” and the hilt of pen disappeared into my skull. “I like being in D.C. cause I can ride my bike to work”, I found a pencil on the registration desk and began to work on my left eardrum because I could still hear. “I come from Minnesota, the land of the lakes, and I like to do water things”, the pencil disappeared into my brain faster than the pen, I scanned the area for a firearm to finish myself off with but none came into view. “You need to come out to a roundup and see what goes on, it will really, really help you understand how much we love the horses and are dong what is best for them.” My next conscious memory was waking up in the ICU at Alexandria General.
Dumbfounded, shocked, aghast…an entire Thesaurus of expletives does not even come close to the feelings experienced by that room full of intelligent, professional, aware equine advocates as the self-adulating pearls of governmental brain washing fell upon the conference room floor. It was stunning, unreal and at the very best, just plain stupid.
But to the rescue, with vital oxygen and Adrenalin in tow, rode Ginger Kathrens who was the very next speaker and the conference was saved from the terminal case of dribble and BLM disrespect and disconnect. We shall forever be proud and thankful that Ginger stepped up to save us but the taste of idiocy and unfairness still lingers in my mouth today.
“I get to tell you what I want but you can’t say anything to me cuz I said so” is the BLM’s new leader of the Wild Horse and Burro program’s mantra.
“If I begin to talk you might realize that neither myself nor the BLM leadership knows the first thing about what we are doing and that we fully intend to do all of the wrong things that we have been doing for years simply because, (insert evil laugh) we CAN!”
Let me repeat what I said as Joan left the podium,
“Consider this a good opportunity, Joan, to connect names with faces because you will be hearing from us on the range, in the media and in the courts of this great country!”, because ladies and gentlemen, we ain’t going away and nobody is getting away with thinking that WE are THAT stupid.
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