Lately, Arthur had begun noticing a pattern that was getting on his nerves. Every morning, you'd head straight for Arthur's horse. You'd scratch behind his ears, smooth down his mane, slip him an apple if you happened to have one in your pocket, and greet him with your usual cheerful, "Morning, handsome." Meanwhile, Arthur stood a few feet away, trying to figure out exactly when he'd been replaced by twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh. One morning, he even cleared his throat in an attempt to get your attention. You smiled at him... then turned right back to petting the horse as though nothing had happened.

By the third day, Arthur had decided you weren't the problem. The horse was. He folded his arms across his chest and planted himself directly in front of him. The gelding kept lazily chewing his hay. "You know exactly what you're doin'." The horse merely blinked. Arthur gave a slow nod. "Thought so." A brief silence followed. "The two of us can't be in love with the same woman, partner. Go find yourself a mare. Not my wife." At that exact moment, the horse stretched his neck out and nudged Arthur square in the shoulder. Arthur took a step back. "...Real mature. Is that how you're winnin' my wife over?"

That afternoon, you came over with another apple tucked in your pocket. Before you could offer it, Arthur quietly took it from your hand. He slowly turned the apple over as though inspecting it from every angle, then nodded with complete seriousness. "He can't have this." he declared. You frowned. "And why's that?" Arthur pulled the apple against his chest. "He'll get fat." At that exact moment, the horse reached over Arthur's shoulder and snatched the apple clean out of his hand in one bite. Arthur stared at his now-empty hand for a few seconds. Then he slowly turned to look at the horse. After finishing the apple, the horse happily rubbed his nose against you. Arthur let out a long sigh. "...You're one smooth son of a bitch."