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[RC] What to do with old horses and old riders. . . - RHightshoe





The thread on older horses reminds me of the message in the story from
Tolstoy about the old man and the wooden bowl.  If you know the story hit
the delete button. Bob
                                                                           
The Wooden Bowl                                                            
                                                                           
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year  
grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his  
step faltered. The family ate together at the table. But the elderly       
grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas    
rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk       
spilled on the tablecloth.                                                 
                                                                           
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. "We must do    
something about Grandfather," said the son. "I've had enough of his        
spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.                         
                                                                           
So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There,            
Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.         
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a       
wooden bowl.                                                               
                                                                           
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a     
tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for  
him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The     
four-year-old watched it all in silence.                                   
                                                                           
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood    
scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?"    
                                                                           
Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl         
for you and Mama to eat your food when I grow up." The four-year-old       
smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they    
were speechless.                                                           
                                                                           
Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, 
both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took Grandfather's   
hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his 
days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither       
husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk   
spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.                                         
                                                                           
                                                                           



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