Hoarse Horse

Art by Wyatt

"Hoarse," he said raspily.

"I see," I said. Was this horse a Pokémon or something?

"No, hoarse," he said again with emphasis. "Water?"

"Sure?" I said, confused. "What about it?"

"Where?" Another single syllable spilled from his lips.

"Oh, just around the corner." I jerked my thumb in the direction of the self-service jug.

"Thanks," he said, trotting off in that direction.

After a moment or two, he was back in front of me.

"Where?" he asked. It seems I'd have to escort him.

"What are you, some sort of Pokémon?" I asked as I exited the bar.

"What?" he responded. "No."

"Then why were you saying your name earlier?"

"What?"

"You came in here all 'horse, horse.' I thought you were saying your own name like a Pokémon or something. It was weird."

"No - 'hoarse.' Homophone."

"No I'm not," I said as I gestured at the Pride flag on the wall. "We're allies here."

"Uh." The horse practically deflated. "Sore throat. Hoarse. Hurts to talk."

"Oh, well, why didn't you say so?" I asked as I navigated the space between the horse and the end of the bar. I led him through the doorway and started toward where the self-service jug should have been.

"Ah, oh, it seems like our water jug isn't here," I told the horse. I ran through the options. "Someone on the day shift probably forgot to put it out."

I worked my way around the horse and back around the bar in search of the water jug. It wasn't behind the bar as far as I could see. I continued my search with a quick circle of the whole seating area - no dice. I went into the back storage room and spend a few minutes checking nooks and crannies in the hopes that a a jug might magically appear with continued disappointing results.

It seemed like the jug had disappeared.

Now fixated, I texted the work group chat about the whereabout of the water jug and served a beer or two while I awaited the reply.

"I dropped it," my coworker wrote.

"Replacement coming tomorrow," my manager added.

I shrugged my shoulders and broke the news to the horse.

"Water?" he rasped.

Thinking quickly, I stuffed my bar rag in the drain of the handwash basin and filled it with water.

"Water!" I gestured at the soapy sink proudly. The hoarse horse rolled his eyes and walked out the door.

"What was that all about?" asked another patron.

"I guess it's as the old saying goes - you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink."