Congratulations Rambunctious Filly!

Those flanks, ripping with muscle, coursing with blood, constantly engorged with movement and fluid strength.  The raw power of your hindquarters is enough to drive anyone who looks at you, man, woman, old, young, any everything in between, into wild estrus.  You are sex incarnate, and as your hooves pound the field out behind our uncle's house we are all thinking the same thing.

Only Gregg will say it out loud.  Only Gregg, simple Gregg with two gs, will have the tincture of stupidity and courage necessary to speak the words we all desperately avoid saying as we stare at you, as we watch you move, so free, so majestic, so pure.

"I wanna fuck that horse," Gregg will murmur before spitting a long stream of tobacco into the ground.

Half of us will nod.  The other half will avert our gazes, for fear that we might say the same thing.  None of us will act on these desires, universally shared, uniformly daunting, but all of us will be thinking of the same response.

No one should ever try to lay claim to such a wondrous, beautiful thing, even if for a heartbeat.  Also, you could disembowel anyone that tried to fuck you with one good kick.  It just wouldn't be worth the risk.

Congratulations Rambunctious Filly!

Congratulations Problem Horse!

Sometimes people have to work with horses a lot. Sometimes those horses are dicks.

You are one such horse.

“Thith hay ith too thick!” you’ll nasally intone at your co-workers. They’ll all roll their eyes at you. The new guy will jump up in the air.

“Holy shit,” he’ll scream. “Did that horse just talk?”

One of the veteran stablehands will shrug.

“Yeah, but he never says anything important. He’s a fucking prima donna.”

In response you’ll stomp your hoof twice.

“Guyth, thath not very nithe to thay,” you’ll neigh, casting an especially irritated look at the stablehand that hurt your feelings.

“You’re not very nice,” someone in the stables will mutter a little bit too loudly. You’ll throw your head back, whinny, and kick open the door to your stall before tromping out and down the hall to the stable manager’s office. You’ll kick in the door to that as well and then poke your horsey head in.

“I wann mow mawney,” you’ll whine into the office. The manager will his eyes and throw an apple at your head, which you’ll catch in your mouth. It will shut you up and distract you, for only a little while.

“I can’t wait for you to break your leg so I can shoot you,” he’ll mumble under his breath. The apple will be so crisp and juicy, though, you won’t notice. For a handful of minutes there will be nothing but apple in your world.

Congratulations Problem Horse!

Congratulations on Making Love to That Horse!

War Horse was a hit. It’s pretty clear to everyone involved and the critical apparatus that there’s never been a better time to be a horse in the industry since that movie came out. Seabiscuit is now a name dimly remembered. Everyone’s scrambling to get the horse that played War Horse (lovingly referred to as “Horsie” by agents everywhere) attached to their picture.

They’re plying him with carrots, oats, horse blankets and, of course, expensive prostitutes.

You’re one of these prostitutes. You’ve always had a thing for horses thanks to the absence of a strong father figure in your life when you were growing up. Unlike all the other hookers that get thrown at Horsie you’re actually going to be accepted into his stable and, instead of being stamped to death, you’ll make sweet, sweet horse love with him.

What follows will be an explosion of media, scandal and a story of true love.

“Can horses marry?!” slower reporters will ask, while other, smarter reporters cover other stories in newspapers.

When the dust settles the media coverage, months from now, will ruin any chance the two of you had at a real relationship, which is a shame because you’ll get along famously. But Horsie’s career will be propelled by his tale of love lost, crisis and redemption and you’ll be well taken care of for the years to come thanks to your role in the entire thing. Some other woman will write a book with your name on it and you’ll occasionally go on talk shows to talk about love and just how much punishment vaginas can really take.

But the real victory here will be the love you two will share, however briefly, following your sexcapade. Facilitated by Horsie’s success, sustained by your big heart and durable vagina and your mutual distaste for language and eye contact during sex, it’ll be brief but wonderful, the best that either of you will ever have throughout your entire lives.

Enjoy it while it lasts and try not to cry in the shower in the years to come.

Congratulations on Making Love to That Horse!