Then there was the pinpointed moment when, after my day loping around with Bubba on the beach, I looked at him, hitched to the post with the others. He didn't look like the alert head tossing drool machine I'd been on all day. He was falling asleep, encrusted in sweat and dirt. Half an apple later his salty saddle and bridle was removed I began to brush out the saddle marks. Fur was flying, he was sighing. Everyone, around the five chairs was watching me care, and that felt a bit strange, but I continued. Then we went to the back pasture so he could nibble on grass and I could practice brushing smooth his many cowlicks. The rubber nubby brush (it's not much of a brush, but I don't know the name of it) worked out hair and more sighs making his lower lip get all trembly, Bubba started looking like a horse.

I'd really like to hurt the person who named Bubba, Bubba.