Those Zany Horses

You just never know with those guys. Last week I did a lot of picking in the lots. It's work I never mind doing. I liken it to cleaning cat boxes, only easier. For one thing, I don't have to bend over my fat pud to sift up the poop. For another, I don't have to chisel hardened clumps of pee free from poorly designed corners.

Still, it is work, so I can't avoid indulging in a small sense of satisfaction when I tip the last muck bucket into the dumpster. Yes, the paddocks look pristine, don't they, I say, praising myself smugly.

I suspect the horses agreed. Look at the formation poopwork they left for me to admire the next day; behold its fearful symmetry. I don't have to believe that they colluded, dupah to dupah, but I want to.