Rumor says it’s Friday, but I don’t care about Rumor unless Rumor provides me treats. Every day could be Friday and I wouldn’t know the difference. People are saying “happy Friday” this and “TGIF” that and I’m like “womp womp womp.”

Speaking of treats, my cookie jar is still empty and I am not a happy equine. Again, Rumor says Nicole’s mom is driving to Texas next week to visit, sight-see, and deliver garden goodies from the pantry and freezer. If that woman arrives without treats, I’m never nickering at her again. Unless, of course, she’s scratching my ears. Or rubs my nose. Or scratches my belly. Then I will reconsider our friendship and rank her higher on my preferred list of tolerable humans than Mister H, who says treats are forbidden.

I’m quite upset about the empty cookie jar. This is my upset face:


I’m also upset about the insanely high winds that have been blowing recently. Have you ever had to pee in 50mph wind? It ain’t easy. Every time I’ve peed, my legs and belly get wet. That’s wrong on so many levels. Farting in windy conditions is also hazardous. I farted yesterday but I was turned the wrong direction, so the wretched stink came back in my face.

You know what else is evil? Last weekend, Mister H bought square hay bales. As he was unloading them off the trailer and stacking them in my barn, I supervised his progress:

ONE ….. tubby, tubby!
TWO ….. tubby, tubby!

I now have 59 fresh hay bales (there were 60 but I already ate one). Score!

Enough of this nonsense, you folks need to get a life. Today (March 1) is National Horse Protection Day and I’m celebrating my eating, pooping, sleeping, pooping, eating, sleeping, eating and pooping. Considering how some horses have to live, I am blessed.

To celebrate, you should save a horse and ride a cowboy. And buy me treats.