...and on the eighth day, God created the horse in perfect image, to romp graze, gallop, play and make manure wherever it darn well pleases, in divine grace.

Here’s an oldie, but a goodie:

While April Fool’s Day is a good time for pranks and jokes, it can be one bucking thing after another all year round. Here’s having a little fun with our fellow Horsemen and we’re not just trying to sell you our half of the Pymatuning Causeway...

There is a certain amount of finesse required when speaking to a Horseman; understanding one in conversation requires a degree in Foreign Language.

Your hearing is fine, so cupping your hand behind your ear and squinting will not decipher the code any easier. Tipping your Stetson back a little further and saying "Yup" now and then can give the illusion that you’re keeping up.

But staring blankly with a slack jaw is considered rude, and the cowboy with whom you are conversing might think you’ve had a horseshoe lobotomy at some point, possibly from trying to ride that "Impressive" Gelding(1) the other day.

See if you can translate these items into the Queen’s English; this is Cowboy Vernacular at it’s finest:

"That Mayor just keeps gettin’ loose on me; I better fix that fence." Does this mean somebody’s small town has a renegade public official on their hands?

Or, "That Mayor is in season, she’ll have a healthy Fo on the ground in a few months." This same town sounds like it could have a real problem on their hands, but that cowboy was smiling when he said it.

Actually seen in newspaper ads recently: "For Sale: Dabble Grey Gilding. Gated." Does this mean he only rides smooth when behind the pasture fence?

Somebody tell me what this is, take a good look, now: "Tobianero Philly. Will be gated when mature at 15.5HH." She sounds like an oversized Mexican ball player living in an exclusive community.

Try to figure out what this one is: "For Sale: Bilgium Gilding. Good Confirmation." Has a Bishop been by the barn to confirm the conformation or is this horse just a big, honkin’ Catholic?!

Stay away from this one: "To a good home, older Gilding. Companion only, has Vehicular." It’s almost as bad as the one with Flounder. Are fish driving cars, or do these horses have hoof problems?

This one is scary, because she belongs to me: "For Lease: Plaudit Mare. Bathes-Clips-Loads. No brakes. Doesn’t steer too good, either. Supple."

What I’m really saying is, "Needs experienced rider." Supple means she’s capable of such bucking good gymnastics while coming down the rail it would make MaryLou Retton turn green with envy.

You’ll be fine if you can stick and ride it out. If not, you could end up eating the corral footing while looking like you’re filming an ad for a hemorrhoid commercial. You’ll be fine once you hook up to a morphine drip.

The following actually occurred last summer and those of you who saw me walking around with socks wrapped on my hands knew I wasn’t practicing to be the Mummy for the Costume Class at Fair.

An event like this one can be funny, but only when it happens to someone else:

My Grade American Shetland Pony "Levi" was in his true "Weasel Boy" form that day. I thought I would give him a little harness driving tune-up, sans gloves, by hooking him to a single tree and ground driving him around the barnyard.

Things were going great until we bumped it up to a slow jog. Heading around the long side of the yard, the pony decided he’d had enough and took one giant leap forward, without so much as a "Mother may I?".

Hanging on to the lines and making a beautiful arc dive that would do any pro swimmer proud, I did the old snake-in-the-grass-slide for a good eight feet before coming to rest in a tangled heap of grass, dust and gear.

Has anyone ever heard of the single tree lobotomy? Now there were two ponies, now back to one.

The #1 no no in ground driving is allowing the animal to turn and make eye contact with you while in harness and blinkers. The humiliation was complete when he actually stepped toward me, looked down and said, "You know, if you’d quit hanging up on my mouth..."

The next scene looked like and old black and white/vaudeville rendition of a Chaplanesque silent film, complete with jerky motion.

Lobotomy completed, I gathered my lines and scathed body to resume working. Gee, grassrash sure is a pretty shade of green; I was admiring the change in color on my duds when the pony took his second giant leap forward.

This time the ropes slipped through my hands like a fishing line with a huge honkin’ fish racing away on the other end, giving me the Queen Mother of all rope burns.

No, ya’ll, I’m not raising coyote puppies, that howl was me.

I guess this pony thought he was Sputnik, because he began to orbit the barn better and faster than any modern day satellite. Two other ponies (2) that had been grazing quietly in the yard nearby suddenly looked up with growing interest on about his fourth pass around.

Their crinkled brow concern at the single tree and lines stuck to their poor buddy like a hay stealing monster, followed by a silent film star complete with Sleestak (3) hands, faded into looks of, "Hey, we’ll help!" and they promptly joined the foray.

The Roman Legions would have been mighty jealous of the speed and formation of this trio. Rounding the second turn of the barn, one of them decided that this was far too much work and ended the makeshift unicorn hitch by pealing off and going back to grazing.