tarred and feathered.

“Can you make the horse smile?”

Might have been a bad idea. To let him come to the barn. The horse is to be put down anyway.

“Can I do what?”
“Can you make the horse smile? I want to make a happy photograph of the horse. Smiling’s happy.”

All you’ll see are teeth rotten down to the gum. Is that what you want to see? And smell decaying flesh?

“I don’t think a horse can smile.”
“This one neither?”

I used to know you when we thought you were all right. Stop this smile business for God’s sake.

“No. None of them can. Horses don’t smile.”
“So how do you know when a horse is happy?”

I beg you. Please. Let it go. Just let it go, already. Please!

“They’re happy when they don’t show signs of stress. Well, usually.”
“So a happy horse is a horse that’s not unhappy?”