I said. “I have heard people talk about war as if it was a very fine thing.”
“Ahh!’, said he. “I should think they never saw it. No doubt it is very fine when there is no enemy, when it is just exercise and parade and sham fight. Yes, it is very fine then: but when thousands of good brave men and horses are killed, or crippled for life, it has a very different look.”
“Do you know what they fought about?” said I.
“No,” he said. “that is more than a horse can understand, but the enemy must have been awfully wicked people, if it was right to go all the way over the sea on purpose to kill them.”

    At least Black Beauty could talk for herself and led a more interesting life than most horses.
“How come some horses can talk and some can’t?”
“I don’t know. They just can,” Rosely sighed, closing the book but marking the place with her finger, already exhausted by the thought of the interrogation to come.
“But why? Flicka and Thunderhead couldn’t. So how come…”
 “I don’t bloody know! It must be because Pommie horses are better educated than the Yankee ones.”
“But Champion and Trigger are the smartest horses in the world…” you protested.
She sighed. “Oh Zed, that’s just movies. They ain’t real.“
    The enormity of the slander was too unbearable to contemplate.

“Cors they are!"