Penny the horse (Provided photo — Amy Cheney-Seymour)

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark” — Hamlet (Act I, Scene IV), William Shakespeare

I have a horse named Penny. I bought her for a dollar, whose value plummeted through no fault of her own.

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Just between us girls

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Penny began her life adored by two girls who braided flowers into her mane and dusted her hooves with pink glitter. She was safe and loved, but alas, the family moved, and Penny — like thousands of horses — was shuffled to the next owner. This gem, unable to “break her,” was abused soundly with brooms and shovels when she wouldn’t come to heel. You never know where some horses will end up.

When I met Penny, two owners later, she was locked in a stall 23 hours a day. She was quiet there, so people ignored her, deeming her “difficult.” During her one hour of turnout, Penny zipped around with joy, her compact frame full of grace. Rejected from the lesson program, she was slated for the disastrous summer camp circuit. Then I came along, eternally dedicated to the underdog.

I had dreams of floating over jumps on Penny’s shimmering palomino frame. Her dream was to become a lawn ornament.

Penny had a typical mare’s sassitude and became boss of our three-horse herd. A stare from 20 yards conveyed: “We are done eating this grass; we will now eat that grass over there.”

The boys rolled their eyes and moved along. Unpredictable, for unknown cosmic reasons, Penny would squeal and tear around the pasture, and then 10 minutes later sidle up for a belly rub.

Riderless, Penny floated across the fields, changing gaits and popping over small jumps flawlessly. Once under saddle, she alternated between shaking and prancing to standing petrified in rivulets of sweat. Regardless, for a year I rode Penny repeating the mantra, “God hates a coward.” Clearly, 25 years of traditional horse training taught me diddly squat. Then the stars aligned, and I met trainer Nicky Frechette.

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Moon shadow

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Working with Nicky was a life-saving epiphany. Penny spent six weeks at Rookery Ranch. Each week, the progress was visual and sensory as Penny’s demeanor morphed from scared to secure in Nicky’s leadership. Nicky had a clear plan, pinned in patience and an intelligent understanding of what progression looked like. She was not domineering, nor did she train through intimidation; it was constant communication and cooperation that brought success.

Twenty years later, Penny and I still work on the skills Nicky taught us. Our journey includes a ride now and then and free therapy sessions by moonlight. I am grateful my little shiny mare was not tossed aside, which brings me to another penny of little value.

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Five and above

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Buy something with cash, and the demonetization of the penny seems a miss, as some stores round up or down, leaving you shortchanged. Worth disappears first at the margins; the smallest unit is dismissed. The penny’s disappearance reflects decay. Inflation and indifference hollowed it until it costs more to mint than its value. In its fading relevance, the penny mirrors the fate of everyday Americans.

As Shakespeare warned, “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” When leadership is sickly, the decay drips downward, touching everyone. The United States is eroding. Rome and Britain did not fall because they were weak; they failed because leadership drifted into performance while ignoring responsibility. Institutions sagged under neglect, and ordinary people carried burdens meant for the state. When those in charge care more about image and self-preservation than service and competence, decline is underway.

Many of us feel like Rocky, pinned against the ropes, getting the snot punched out of us by the administration. The average citizen, and any immigrant, are the underdogs in a society that devalues its people and basic principles. The deeper decay is exposed: our liberty and ability to protest without fear are no longer guaranteed — they are negotiable. Societies don’t crumble from external attacks; they fall from within, one “justified” erosion at a time.

The human cost is real. In Minnesota, Alex Pretti — a nurse devoted to protecting others — died in a confrontation fueled by ego, tension and misjudgment. Officials issued statements and promised reviews, but the truth cut deeper: almost everyone is expendable. Vigils and protests followed, mourning not just Pretti, but the deflation of human life.

Penny’s value was overlooked, and the penny dismissed; both are symbolic. Leaders don’t abandon responsibility, but imposters do. Every small injustice, every ignored life, chips away at freedom until it’s quiet and stays in a stall.