My mother says that being a gelding is a good thing. I would never have made a good stud. I was not very bright, nor very strong. Yes, she had to make sure I couldn't reproduce. I don't remember much about my castration, as the nurse put me to sleep for it. Apparently it didn't take long, as my mother was still reading the same magazine when the nurse walked me out.

My new name was gelding, and my mother's name was mistress. That is... until she sold me.

The mare who had purchased me was swift to put me in my place. Out in front of her cart, a heavy harness on my withers, with thick ropes. My very first stop for her was the local surgeon.

No more penis, no more prostate. A perfectly obedient and undistracted beast of burden. From then on, I pulled her cart. Uphill and downhill, long muddy roads, rocky mountain roads, snowy road, in good weather, in horrible weather. The sun beat down and burned me, yet I would still pulled her cart.

Then, one day. I fell down.

I had fallen down many times. But, this time was different.

I couldn't get up. I could not move.

What did mistress do?

She unhitched me from the cart, hitched herself to it, and left me alone on the road.

I watched until she vanished into the distance, never once saying a word. Not a single goodbye. Why should she?

I was nothing but a gelding. My purpose had been served. I broke, and she was going to seek out a new one.

I can only wonder, as my vision fades.

Did I do good?