I see horses tied to carriages on the hot Chicago streets during the summer.  As I pass them, I can feel the heat rising up from the pavement.  The horses are wearing blinders, but I can still see some of their eyes as I walk by them.  I see sadness in those big, black eyes.

I don’t see any food or water for those horses.  They are being made to walk long distances on hard, hot asphalt.  It’s all to offer the rich and powerful and the less-rich and less-powerful the chance to take a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, a quaint old relic of earlier days that doesn’t belong in modern cities with so much pollution and such hard walking surfaces.  Somehow, it seems very wrong to see horses working so hard under such inhospitable conditions.  They have no labor union to speak for them.  They must simply work their long hours in silence.  They look unhappy.  Looking at them makes me unhappy.