I watched a bay horse black tail swinging cross across the arena floor.  The horse halts after endless steps taken.  And this repeats day after day after day.  The horse led to the arena door doesn't worry about picking up his feet, or his head. No need when everything is sand, not even a bush to be seen, when everything is flat, where nothing changes from one step to the next, forever and ever and ever.

This is the life he leads.

And nothing ever changes as he steps out the arena door and enters the barn where he lives through the night.  Only now, it is not sand beneath his feet but concrete and sometimes rubber.  The horse always protected, not even a stone to worry about or stumble over.

If lucky, he has daily turnout. Led outside, to walk on manicured pathways well-trod, to be turned loose in a paddock that may or may not hold grass to munch on throughout the day. 

But there is little for owners to worry about as special care is taken to make sure there is nothing here for the horse to hurt himself on.  And vet bills are expensive.

And at the end of the day, he is led back in again to concrete and to his stall and nothing ever changes.

And where his steps everything is flat.  His stall floor exhibits width but not depth.  Because, after all, no holes would ever be allowed to break this expanse of flat.   

The barn aisle exhibits width and length. Probably wide enough to allow two horses to go side by side to pass each other.  The aisle long enough to have stalls on each side. 

The horse given two dimensions to live in. He is given length and width but the other dimension is missing.

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