Danny Tyree

As a lifelong resident of the geographic region that is the epicenter of the storied Tennessee Walking Horse industry (yes, it’s possible to be from a small town without being from the proverbial “one-horse town”), I was intrigued to learn that country music legend Randy Travis recently released a song called “Horses in Heaven.”

Extrapolating from Bible references to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as well as the fiery chariot that carried the prophet Elijah away from this vale of tears, Travis waxes poetic about … God as a cowboy wearing a Stetson hat.

(Guess I missed the Bible verse about “God loves a cheerful product placement.” Mercifully, the song contains no mention of bladder issues and the ensuing “gotta talk to the Man Upstairs about a horse” maneuver.)

The song is (intentionally?) ambiguous about whether the heavenly horses are supernatural creatures or beloved pets who have entered their eternal rest. If the latter, the question remains whether horses get an “all dogs go to heaven” sort of automatic pass, or instead the Almighty demands more of them.

The ideas pictured in the song elicit a wide spectrum of reactions. The populist view is that it would just make good horse sense for those magnificent creatures to be rewarded with a pasture in heaven. (“The book of Revelation says there will be no more death, sorrow or crying. It doesn’t say, ‘no more stalls to muck.’ Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to dressage!”)

Other animal lovers get misty-eyed about the concept of adventuring forever with a trusted steed, but acknowledge that it’s probably just wishful thinking. (“You can lead a horse to holy water, but you can’t make it fly.”)

And of course, traditionalists think that giving free rein to the idea of animals having souls is downright sacrilegious. (“Forget about rolling boulders. Repent of your heresy or you’ll be putting the cart before the horse for the rest of eternity!”)

Perhaps we could settle the matter once and for all if a horse had a near-death experience and dictated a book about it, sort of “straight from the horse’s stenographer’s mouth.” (“Tell my agent ‘ebook only!’ If there was a hardcover, I would always worry about Uncle Spirit being the glue that holds it together!”)

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from writing more about this fascinating subject; but a space-conscious editor might. Sigh.

I feel spurred to search for a different topic. Maybe I’ll do some meteorological research before saddling up for next week’s column.

Hold your horses! You don’t have to warn me about getting a frosty reception from those 37 percent of DEI hires at the National Weather Service.

They’re probably too busy trying to calculate how many fairies have to dance on the lawn to generate a good frost, anyway.

Happy trails to you.