03/08/2025
In Northern New Mexico, between Raton and Wagon Mound, there is a waterhole where horses and company mingle, sip, and eat to their heart’s content. I drove past it at least a dozen times last year. It was the highlight of my drive every single time. Maybe the highlight of my year, which either says a lot about the waterhole or very little about my year.
I often wondered: do horses struggle with small talk? Do they nod politely at one another, trying to remember the last time they met? Do they ever feign recognition just to avoid the awkwardness? Oh yeah, you were at that other waterhole… near Las Vegas, right?
And do they especially struggle with small talk with animals that don’t look like them? (frame 2) Does a mule show up and throw off the whole rhythm? Does a cow wade in and ruin the vibe?
What if certain parts of our brain were swapped out for a horse’s? The temporal lobe, for instance—the part responsible for hearing, language, and memory. What if, just for a week, we had to approach communication the way horses do?
And what if horses, in turn, had their temporal lobes replaced with a human’s? Would they overthink their greetings? Would they wake up in the middle of the night replaying an awkward exchange with a goat? Would they develop existential dread, staring into the waterhole and seeing not just their reflection, but the slow inevitability of time?
And more importantly—who’s volunteering for this experiment? Anyone? Science demands a willing brain. Surely someone out there is tired of making conversation at parties.
