"My voice sounded like one of the guinea fowl that screeched in our trees as it pooped, but I never let that stop me."

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Though I am an old horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare, or a fox, or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are only horses, and don't know.

— Anna Sewell