A friend sent this in an email the other day, and it really tickled me:


Why do I like horses? I reckon I must be mad.
My mother wasn't horsey - And neither was my dad.

But the madness hit me early – and it hit me like a curse.
And I've never gotten better. In fact…I've gotten worse.

My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel.
Last year for my birthday - I got a brand new shovel.

I hardly read a paper - but I know who's sold their horse
And I wouldn't watch the news – unless Mr. Ed was on - of course.

One eye's always on the heavens - but my washing waves in vain
As I rush to get the horses in - in case it's gonna rain.

And though they're wearing 15 rugs, The best that you can get,
I bring them in to keep them dry - while I get soaking wet.

I spend up every cent I've got - on horsey stuff for sure.
I buy fancy rugs and fancy rugs, and then I buy some more.

I should have had that hair cut - or bought that nice blue shirt
At least it wouldn't be now - ripped to shreds and in the dirt.

I can't make a bloody sponge cake - I don't even try
But I can back a car and trailer - in the twinkling of an eye.

It's jeans and R.M. boots that I live in night and day
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn't wash away.

Once every now and then I dress up for a ball.
Make up and a hairdo - with high heel shoes and all.

I ache from long forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape - from being squashed again.

But late at night, when all is still - and I've gone to give them hay,
I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.

They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair
And I know it's where my heart is - more than anywhere.