Of course, of course. . .

I found a pile of horseshit on the NeighborGoodies table today:



Five handsome postcards (and envelopes...which I guess means they technically aren't postcards. . .) depicting random horsies doing all sorts of things regular, active horses do...such as nuzzling by a stream. . .

. . .or running. . .

. . .or picking flowers. . .


I didn't catch the info on the back of these postcards, but clearly the woman who directed every late 80's douche commercial has found a new career taking pictures of Horses in Nature.

I also found this. . .thing.

At first, I thought this was a vacuum cleaner attachment, but there's no where for the hose to plug in. (hot!) Plus, the brush clearly is stored in the gray plastic item on the left. So obviously the only answer is that this is some sort of cheap horse grooming brush, likely left by the same horse-obsessed woman who left the postcards (with envelopes).

And finally, this piece of heaven:


A soft, crusty blanket with the following note:


I'm starting to wonder if someone in my building actually owned Eight Belles--the horse that perished over the weekend at the Kentucky Derby. There are some stables within walking distance of our Luxurious Hollywood Hills apartment building, after all, and it seems awfully coincidental that these items would show up right after such a tragedy.

The poor gal... She probably walked up the hill to the stables to brush Ms. Belles every day. Perhaps she was my neighbor's only friend. In fact, she's likely the horse model featured in some of those photos. Photos of a happier, more innocent time when the horse and her friends could prance around...almost like ponies. And then BLAM! Tragedy strikes and your horse's remains are stuffed into a blanket that sheds all over the place. The memories are too difficult, so you leave what's left of your horse in the laundry room for a stranger to snuggle under. Happens every day.

God bless you, Eight Belles...we hardly knew ye. And too bad your blanket is itchy.