Horses

There once lived three special horses atop a very high cliff in Northern California. But these were not your run-of-the-mill-carriage-pulling-neigh-neigh-whinny-snicker-clippity-clop horses. No, these horses were so much more. These horses... had a destiny.

The first horse was named Job. Job was an admittedly clumsy horse, always tangling his hooves and inhaling flies (yes, this was due to clumsiness). In fact, Job was more than clumsy; he was out of his mind. Like how I made that jump? Yep, Job was sick in the head.  Off his rocker. Not all there. Nuts. Bamboozled. On crack. Well, maybe not on crack. Job tried every day to impress the ladyhorses, but he would inevitably trip over a crack in the ground or inhale a fly and scare them away forever.

The second horse was named Buster. (Yes, I know what you're thinking. Just like Arthur's cheeky rabbit friend.) Buster was a gentleman if there ever was one. He would always clack his hooves politely at horses he passed in the street, and he would always be seen with a shiny mane and, of course, his trusty monocle. Buster owned and managed several successful businesses and, unofficially, one night club.

I never did catch the third horse's real name. I knew him only as Colonel Tom. When I tell you that this horse had a mustache, I mean this horse had a mustache. I mean, seriously. This horse had a mustache! Right above his nose. It was possibly the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my entire life. I never did catch how he managed to grow that mustache. Huh. Anyway, Colonel Tom never talked much. When he did, it was usually in the form of strung-together profanities aimed at someone named "Annabelle." Probably his sister. Horses are largely familial creatures.