Their Wishes Are Horses

(I have a very nasty horse. There hasn’t been a year I’ve owned him that he hasn’t had me in the hospital for some severe accident. The two most recent both needed surgery after nearly ripping my arm off my body, and breaking my arm so badly it turned two small wrist bones almost to dust. Most of my family wants me to sell him but my cousins love him. I’ve gone to visit them with my arm in a cast with the stabilizing rods sticking out of it.)

Female Cousin: “You know I really don’t want you to sell him, but it might be better for you if you did.”

Me: “Well, you and [Male Cousin] are the only ones who aren’t threatening to sell him behind my back. I had to move barns and not tell anyone so they wouldn’t do it while I was here.”

Male Cousin: “Meh, it’s your life, and if he ends it we’re your beneficiaries.”

Me: “And here I thought you just didn’t want me to give up my last semblance of happiness in the world.”

Female Cousin: “Nah, we couldn’t care less about the horse. We just want the money.”