They nod dumbly into their lunch pails. Only Bruce pipes up.
“Yea so? Whaddya gonna do about it?”
“I sense it by the stables and paddock.” I shrug, “Maybe we
need to kill all the horses.”
“I sense it by the swimming pool.”
“That doesn’t negate my evil horse theory.”
“You think they’re playing water polo?”
“Fuck you, Bruce.” I say hurling my stadia rod into the bed
of the pickup and storming off to investigate the pool house.
I check towels, deckchairs, and pool toys. An inflatable
green ring with a toothy-grinned horse spins in the water, mocking me. Finally,
I pop open the filter and find the evidence I seek. It’s clogged with horse
hair.
“Who’s stupid now?” I grin returning to my truck for the
carrots I have been soaking in kerosene.
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