It’s been seventeen days since I was released to exercise. My fifteen by fifteen foot cell consists of a floor that is completely covered in thick brown dirt with wood-shavings scattered into it for "softness". A few small mounds of the fly infested aftermath of my digestion fill the air with a pungent stench of manure. Dark brown, rusty, metal bars surround my space; just low enough for me to see over but high enough to not be able to climb over the enclosure. Inside the corner of my quarters is a sun rotted, sky blue, 25 gallon bucket with jagged edges that stands upon the dirt for me to slurp from. The water contains a greenish residue that sits upon the top and rarely is it changed out with fresh, clean, and cool water. Standing beside the water bucket lies a statue of life, a corrugated, hollow, shining, silver, steel, thing of beauty… the food bucket. On the bottom of the bucket lie small green flakes that are left over from my food. The gate where I am let out is only kept shut by a weathered chain and a squeaky, metal clip. Everything in the cell is covered in a fine layer of dirt, including me. The air reeks of dust, poop, and more dirt.
Eye boogers form in my eyes, crust overnight, and torment me each time I blink and without the help from my owner I cannot do anything to clear out my beautiful eyes. My eyes have been explained a something no one has ever seen before. The right is a deep dark brown and the left is like a beautiful saphire perfectly placed in my long face. People who pass by my cell comment on how there is something special about me based on my eyes. The imps people call flies are some of my greatest hatreds. They buzz in and out of my eyes and ears and never let up; no shake of my head ever scares away even half of them. Other inmates are given protective masks to shield their faces from the tiny demons and I am left to have war with them upon my watering eyes. Each time I take a step a small cloud of dust forms beneath my feet. Walking from one end of my cell to the other fills the air with a smoky haze. My cell is the last one of three that are all in a line that are covered by a rusty corrugated metal roof that shades our bodies from the threatening sun. I want to escape, or at least be let out to stretch my muscles and run out the accumulated excess energy. 
I am awoken by the rooster across the property that "cookadoodledoos" with the rising sun. Outside through the bars I watch the people who are free to roam and do however they please. Every morning, I watch the owner of the land - who also happens to be the one who helps me change my old dirty shoes with shining new silver ones - get into his truck and start it with a grumbling roar that fills the air.  I have no idea where he goes, but a large trailer, full of fresh metal shoes that clank against each other, is always pulled behind his truck. Each morning and evening, a short wrinkly old man with the tasty looking hat comes and carelessly drops large, rectangular chunks of thin, dry, faded, green sticks into the bucket; letting some of the light sticks slowly hit the dirt around the bucket. Before he leaves, I will usually reach my head out for a bite of his straw hat. To reduce the dryness and allow for easy digestion, I bring the light food to the water bucket and dip it into the water; which is the main reason why the water has a green film across the top of it. The bale from where the food comes from is too far for me to reach, but I still always try and stick my head through the gap in the bars just to get a nibble. In the afternoons, the men with the buckets on wheels come into my cell with their rakes with the pointy ends that easily comb through the dirt to pick up my dark, forest green fecal matter.
The stall mate next to me is let out and ridden frequently while I am cooped up for weeks on end. The owner of the land will occasionally let me run in the arena out of pity for I am hardly met by my true owner who has little time for me; but stills expects that I should be perfect when she finds the time to come and ride. The world is moving and going on without me and all I have to do is wait and watch the great, bright sun come up and over me for weeks. Watching the beautifully colored fuchsia and orange sunsets almost makes me forget where I am.
A thin, orange and white tomcat occasionally comes into my cell and slips in between my feet and purrs. I reach down and pet him with my face and his back arches and presses against my nose. This cat is one of my only true friends, and he never fails to bring some light of hope to my heart. I watch him as he roams free about the land and lives however he chooses. I yearn for that kind of life. While rarely being exercised, I have become fat and out of shape; losing my muscle as the hours of standing pass. My fur has become matted and chock-full of particles of dust.  I watch the others of my kind who are ridden in the arena and are bonding with their riders. I daydream of having a person who puts that kind of time into me. As everyone is taking advantage of their freedom, I will be here waiting and waiting for my trainer to come and ride.