They say you kind have no humour
But I know how hard you try,
I've seen you laughing, one ear
twisted back, one held alert
and that twinkle in your liquid eye
when you have rolled in mud
just after your grooming;
dumped on your clean, fresh straw
or farted as I brushed your tail,
knowing I was in the line of fire.
You have a poor idea of irony,
satire eludes you. Hyperbole,
litotes are not in your repetoire.
Old fashioned slapstick is more
your style, but when you stomp
a hard hoof on my toes as I
escort you, or with a shrug
of your strong shoulder, a flick
of that powerful neck, you send
me flying to land in a pile of poo.

MADAM, THAT'S NOT FUNNY.