The poor things are so slow. It's their nature to take things easy. It's the way you can treat life when you have a home. The problem is, when you have your home with you, no matter where you are, it makes you a bit lazy about keeping up with the rest of the world. You're cruising along, day after every blessed day, and (any time you like) you just plop down and you're home again. Jiggity Jig.
Convenience has a price.
I see them on the road ~~ the wide, wide road ~~ and they have begun their journey to the other side. It's one step at a time.
Clop. . . . Clop . . . . Clop . . . .
I always swerve to miss them. And yet the memory is there as I drive away in my fast, fast vehicle. How could this poor thing ever make it to the other side? It would take half an hour. The chances are too strong against.
A few times, I've stopped and picked 'em up, when the highway was empty except for me, and put them back in the ditch on the side of the road. I imagine them looking at me with those rubbery necks and prehistoric eyes, saying in an old, old language,
"There is no need, my friend. Your people cannot hurt me."