Beating a dead horse

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago (Temperance) that the village I grew up in was a tourist attraction - a village restored to its 1860s glory.  Glory is perhaps a large word to describe it - I might be overselling.  In any case, one of the attractions of the village was a ride in a wagon pulled by a team of plodding draught horses.  "Plodding" and "draught horses" will help you understand that this was not a Kentucky Derby nor a Ben Hur chariot race experience.  Exciting it was not.  But it was charming and kids always loved it.  Delightful and uneventful.  Except for one day.

They say you can tell the age of a horse by checking its teeth.  I have never learned that particular interpretive skill, and have no plans to develop it.  But if I had done, and then checked the horses that day, I might have known that for one of them the "best before" date had expired.  Which is what he did on the ride.  Expired.  Sadly I did not witness this village excitement, but the tale spread like only town gossip can.

My source was our neighbor, whose family owned the local garage and the only tow truck in town.  "What's the connection?" you might ask.  How else does one remove the remains of a large (think Budwiser Clydesdale) equine?  The tow truck was called and we were later regaled with details of the said towing.  My neighbor discovered something of which I would not immediately think.   It seems that death reduces a physical body's ability for bladder control.

Why am I telling you this cheaply sensationalist story?  It was the only amusing way I could think of to introduce the idea of beating a dead horse.  I know that no beating occurred. But there was a dead horse. And that's something.*

To beat a dead horse is to waste time and energy on something that is not going to change.  And it is recommended that one does not beat a dead horse.  This bit of pithy advice is in contrast to widely distributed upteenth generation photocopies of a half-swallowed frog gripping the neck of a very hungry egret with the caption, "Never, never, never give up."  Now I admire tenacity, but not all situations call for tenacity.  There is a time, the writer Ecclesiastes tells us, for everything.  And to the point, "a time to search and a time to give up." (Ecclesiates 3:6, NIV)

So why am I so reticent to give up on things?  Because culturally, I think, to give up is to fail.  It has a  negative moral connotation.   Furthermore, if someone were to ask me, "are you going to give up?" or more likely, "are you JUST going to give up?" I would immediately feel ashamed of my failure and lack of stick-to-it-iveness.  (And if the "just" is included in the question the shame comes in the package, free of charge.)  It is just wrong to give up - I think so, as does the one who has asked me.  But, there IS a time to give up.

If you want to continue to think about this biblically, and include another barnyard animal in the bargain, I would direct your attention to Jesus' words, "Do not cast your pearls before swine." (Matthew 7:6)  Or his advice to the disciples as they went out two by two, "and if anyone will not receive you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet when you leave that house or town." (Matthew 10:14)  Both of these sound kind of givey-uppy to me.  But in both, Jesus himself tells us that there ARE things that are not a good use of our time and effort. And sometimes those things are particular people - not to put too fine a point on it.  There is a time to call it quits and to spare the poor sad horse.  And not to feel ashamed of it.

The difficulty is, as always, in discerning when is the time to be the half-swallowed frog and when is the time to let the horse alone.  It is beyond the scope of this modest text or my equally modest abilities to suggest a method of discernment.  But the discernment problem does not change the fact that, whatever "people" might say, there really is no point in beating a dead horse.



*My motivating philosophy in life is, "If you can't be good at it, at least be funny."