Race Horse

While jogging down a country lane,
I came upon an old gray horse.
I heard a voice say, “Hello there”
And looked around to find its source.

The horse came over to the fence
And then I clearly heard him say,
“May I ask to where you’re trotting,
On such a pretty, lovely day?”

First I looked for Candid Camera,
Or maybe some ventriloquist.
“If you are not a horse, “I said,
“I’ll go see my optometrist.”

Then he told me about his life.
His name was The Duke of Sother.
He once had been a fine racehorse
Just like his more famous brother.

“We ran in Kentucky’s Derby.
You’ve heard of us, I will suppose.
That was the year I almost won.
My brother beat me by a nose.

Old Sother had bet the stable
And so he blamed me for his loss.
He sold me to this old farmer,
Who really is a sorry boss.

Now if you’d buy me from this guy,
I know that I could run again.
And if you would just feed me right,
I know that I would surely win.”

To heck with racing, this horse talked.
It would not matter what I paid,
If I could buy this animal,
My life time fortune would be made.

I found the farmer in his field
And joined him out there on his walk.
I figured that he didn’t know
That his old horse could really talk.

“I’d like to buy old Duke,” I said,
“Your old gray horse that used to race.”
The farmer stopped and looked at me.
A smile came on his wrinkled face.

“You’ve been the victim of a joke,
“The horse’s owner laughed and said.
And then he laughed some more so hard
He had to hold his hurting head.

“That stupid horse’s name ain’t Duke.
His name is just plain old Herby.
He lied to you,” the farmer said,
“He never run in no derby.”


There are so many versions of this story that I thought that I would write Racehorse to get the true story out.

The city slicker thought that the old farmer was too dumb to know that his horse could talk and the farmer thought that it was hilarious that his horse had outsmarted the city slicker. The story is a fine example of stereotyping.

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