Happy Hour

I wandered out after I finished my dinner and met Oreo in the pasture. As I walked up to him I smelled something familiar… but I couldn’t quite place it. It was a smell from my past, my life on the track. But what was it?

“Oreo, what’s that smell on your breath?” I asked.

“Food,” said Oreo, never lifting his head.

“Okay, wise guy,” I thought. I would find out on my own.

I meandered up to his stall to investigate. The Short One usually closes the door in the evening, so we just hang out under the shed row if it rains, but today it was still open and Oreo’s food dish was right there. Now mind you, Oreo licks his bowl for about 10 minutes after he is done eating, but I gave it a sniff anyway and sure enough, I smelled that tantalizing aroma again. This time the light bulb went off and my memory clicked in… it was beer! Oreo was having happy hour without me!

Guinness with his evening meal. It looked so refreshing. This time, after dinner I made a beeline for his stall and tried licking his feed tub for a while. The Short One noticed right away. She understood. The next day she told my mom that I really liked Oreo’s beer. Mom just laughed and said, “Yeah, he has good taste, but no happy hour for Taco.”

I was really sad.

That night I asked Oreo why he got the beer, thinking I could use the same reason to get my mom to change her mind. He said he thought it had something to do with not sweating very well. Hmm. I tried not sweating after I heard that, but it didn’t work. I can just think about being hot and break out in a full body sweat. It was no good, my sweat glands worked just fine.

Then I had an even better idea. If all my beloved fans lobby for me, maybe my mom will have to let me have happy hour too! So send in those messages of support! Taco deserves happy hour too! I know you won’t let me down. I can almost taste that Guinness now….

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