Fantastic Metropolis

THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN CONFORMATION. Which is the science of us. They have lots of information on that. We know all about ourselves, too, though maybe not as much as they do.

I have a good conformation. They said so when they came to take a look at me and watch me on the go-round. They said I have a nice trot. That didn’t just happen. I watched my own shadow while they were watching me, and I tried to keep my head level like they teach us, so no bouncing. Even I can see I have a nice trot.

There were four of us on the go-round, us three Sams and one Sue. I’d never seen them before. I don’t get to see many others of my own kind. The Hoots sat on platforms so they could get a good view of us.

Mostly they kept looking at me. “Those legs will develop,” they said, and the littlest of them said, “I want that one,” pointing at me. When they came down to have a closer look, they said, “Nice teeth, too. At least his diet hasn’t ruined them—or his conformation. I’d say he’s about eleven.” But all of them wish I didn’t have such a long nose. If I’m good for showing, they’ll have to have it fixed.

They took my picture from all angles. They made me be naked. (They stare too much and they have big round eyes that pop out. That’s how they see so much more than we do, front and back at the same time.) Afterwards, I got pats and strawberry ice cream.

They sent the pictures and my fingerprints away for approval and registration. They didn’t come to get me till they knew I was guaranteed!

 

I’m a Seattle. We’re the best for size and strength, though we’re not as fast as the Tennessees. I want to be a good Seattle. I want to be the best there is.

 

Back at the old place over my stall, it said, SMILEY, and under that, OUT OF MERRY MARY. Will make a strong puller, long-distance trotter, and a good stud. They wrote it in our writing and in theirs. I can read them both.

I’ll be free to stand for any Seattle girls. I might even get my choice.

I didn’t call my dam Merry Mary. I called her mom. I wish they’d brought her along, though I know I’m too old for having my mother with me. She knew things would be a lot better for me here, but she didn’t like to see me leave even so. She wouldn’t let go of me until they took a pole to her. I’ll bet she has a scar. If I ever see an old Sue with a scar across her face, I’ll know it’s my mom.

My father’s picture is in my registration booklet along with mom’s. He was the Sam, Beauty, out of the Sue, Susie Q II Too. Tutu for short. She was a famous endurance racer. There’s nobody hasn’t heard of Tutu.

I’d like to meet my father someday. I wonder if he still looks like his picture? (I wonder if my nose will get long, too. It’s a little bit long already.) At least up to the time of that picture they hadn’t had his fixed. I hope they don’t do that. How will I know him without his nose? His hair is black and shiny and combed nice and neat for the picture. He’s almost naked so as to show his conformation. I wonder what he usually wears? Probably, since he’s special, something shiny.

I look at his picture a lot. I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet him. He’s kind of ugly, but at least he looks different from most Sams, even Seattles. I might know him even if they fix his nose.

 

First I got here, I tried not doing anything, not getting up and not going out to the gym and the arena. I wasn’t sick or tired, I just didn’t want to do it, and I wondered what would happen. There’s some books here I never saw before. One is about a war that was us against us. I could hardly believe in it, but there were real pictures. There’s another about all sorts of animals. I wanted to lie here and read.

I learned, pretty quick, not to ever, ever, ever do that again. And after the poling, I got a kindly talking-to with lots of pats. They took me up over the arena, up where they usually sit, and one of them told me how even they have to work all the time, a lot harder than we ever do, and how they get up earlier (they have to feed us, don’t they?), before any of them eats. And don’t I want to be a good, hard-working Seattle? They depend on me. So now I hitch myself to the go-round all by myself. Now none of them has to wake me up in the morning or corner me to catch me. (That used to be one of my games. It was fun.)

They keep saying we’re the really free ones. They keep saying, “Where would we be without you faithful, sure-footed steadys?” And then they flap their ears (which is their laugh) because they’re so happy about having us. It’s easy to see, where would they be? In their houses they have to scoot around on little stools. I wouldn’t like that at all. We really are the lucky ones.