on the intricacies of animal husbandry
and other conversations you have when the wife’s not there to stop you
I was at the barn today. The horse was getting a rub down. There, I tripped over an educational opportunity that I didn’t ask for.
Sounds dirty eh?
It gets worse.
Big news, dear reader!
Sheldon’s getting his nuts cut off soon!
No, none of my friends are getting married.
Sheldon is a young colt at the barn where our daughter rides.
He’s pretty adorable.
And.
It has to happen soon. Otherwise, he’s outta here.
Conversation then switched to tales of how difficult stallions are to handle.
Why keep them?
They’re just incredible. We took two to a huge horse show down south. We looked like a bunch of hillbillies with insane, nasty horses. And. We beat everybody. They did clean runs at a metre and a half. Clean. Then? We tell them, ‘Stud fee is 2k USD, Lucky mares can have live cover before we head home. Expenses expected’ We cleaned up.
This dear reader was when that odd opportunity presented itself to me. I was there with two women who went to agricultural school.
They worked on cattle farms.
They knew things that I was curious about.
Specifically?
Animal husbandry.
Most days I hesitate.
Most days there are children around.
It’s a wholesome, rural, down home environment.
But today?
No kids.
I had to take bold action.
Is there someone who ummm… manipulates the stallion? You know, works his gears.
The two women stared blankly. I was trying to be a gentleman, I was attempting to be discreet. Every cell in my body wanted to scream at them:
Does someone actually get paid to wack off a horse?
Right?
I mean who gets to put that on their resume?
“Chief Steward of Semen Extraction for His Royal Highness, King Charles of Windsor.
That would be a pretty wicked job title, eh?
So, as you can see, dear reader, I was pretty excited to find out some details while at the same time, I wanted to remain ‘polite’.
For some, this ‘remaining polite’ stuff comes naturally. For this fool?
It’s about as easy as farting a ping pong ball over a ceiling fan.
Despite this, I persisted.
I mean, how do they get it? The stuff? You know, the stud juice
Congratulate me, dear reader, for using precise biological terminology.
Then?
They described the process.
They call them ‘breeding sheds’ They bring in a mare in heat so the stallion can smell her. Then he mounts a fake horse and goes to town.
That made sense. No one would want the job of jerking off a horse.
Well… If you want that job, please unsubscribe meow because you’re a dirty pervert.
But for most ordinary fools like us, dear reader, the thought of horse masturbation is quite icky.
Which is why I tried to change the subject.
But the barn owner?
She didn’t let me.
Someone still has to catch it.
Catch it?
Yeah. They catch it with a special bucket. No matter what though? You always end up with it all over you. It’s a good thing they wear long gloves.
And that dear reader, was how an odd opportunity turns into a full body, splash zone.
Tip your horse masseuse, not cows.
And?
If you see someone at the barnyard wearing long dirty gloves?
Give them a lotta room.