Mother came down to the barn today, and she told me there were cookies on the horizon. She and Aunt Margie are going to order a 50 pound bag of Mrs. Pastures to split. 50 pounds!! I wonder how many individual cookies that is? It boggles the mind...
Although I only get half, even though I am a much better and more deserving horse. 25 pounds... how long will that last?
I refuse to worry about this anymore. Mother said there will be cookies, so there will be cookies. I did all that worrying and nearly have an ulcer, and there really wasn't anything to worry about.
Mother took me down to the grass by the outdoor arena and let me eat while she read her book. It was nice to munch away and have her there for company, although she kept sticking her freezing little human fingers under my warm mane. Human fingers are okay when they warm and are petting me or fixing my equipment or my food or handing me cookies or brushing me or whatever... But they're really kind of creepy, you know? Like their hooves just split and are all frog and they just have little hoof half tips that they pick at your scabs with.
Great, now I'm creeped out by fingers. I think I need to see a hippo-psychiatrist. Can anyone recommend a good one?
Do you think they give patients cookies? I could be really sick for a long time...
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