Farmer Jim had a beet farm that he worked with an old plow horse named Sheila, who had faithfully served him for ten years. Ever vigilant and dependable, Sheila was as devoted as any horse has ever been to the farming of beets. Jim also had a son-in-law, Kevin, who was neglecting to take responsibility for his family, that is, Jim’s daughter and grandchildren. One evening, Jim unhooked the old horse from her plow, put a saddle on her, and rode over to Kevin’s house to confront him. An argument ensued that resulted in the son-in-law fleeing for his life as Jim tried to run him down atop the age-ed steed. Sheila, at this stage in his life, unable to endure a sustained manhunt, collapsed from two broken legs, and Jim was forced to put the poor animal out of her misery. Jim wanted to honor his old friend, and her fidelity to the beet farm. So, he dug a deep grave, placed the horse at the bottom, and covered her with the very beets she had helped cultivate. In summary: In trying to horse a dead-beat, Jim was forced to dead a beet-horse, and in the end he had to beet a dead horse.
After the solemn funeral for Sheila, Jim went to see a man about getting a new horse. Amos Horseworth, as it were, the horse dealer, had promised Jerry that he had for him a horse that would rival old Pam in every aspect, and would possess one new faculty that neither Jim nor Sheila had ever dreamed of. That is, this horse had been bred for super-equine vision. Where most plow horses will look no further than the end of their nose, and peradventure a few good ones, the end of the row, this horse had the ability to affix her gaze on an object sixty miles ahead, enabling her to plow rows so straight, Jim’s Beet Farm would replace the Equator and Prime Meridian, as the standard from which to measure Earthly locations.
Furthermore, Amos wanted to give the horse to Jim, free of charge. Because he couldn’t imagine the vulgarity of bringing money to the table to replace such a priceless friend as Sheila, Amos would hear nothing of payment, it wouldn’t even be mentioned. Not so much as an insinuating eyebrow was to be raised: no clearing of the throat, no tugging of the earlobe, no code talk of “how much does that dog weigh?” or any such thing. They were to proceed as if no two men, in the history of the world, had ever even conceived of any agreements, save those of pure charity. The terms of this agreement being so favorable to Jim, he didn’t bother with whether the claims of this horse were true, or even really, whether the animal was fit in the usual sense, he just accepted the offer of Horseworth. That is, remembering the words of his father, he thought he “shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
As time went on, everything the Dealer had told Jim about this horse proved to be true. Jim’s rows of beets were the truest that anyone had ever seen, and their distance at both ends from the Tropic of Cancer was measured, and found to be within .0001 inches of perfection. And through the empirical testing of a group of nay-sayers, much to their chagrin mind you, it was proven with such certainty that this horse could count the number of yellow feathers in a finch’s tail from 75 miles away, that it was widely reported that they had begun to say “yea.” Sharon’s Potentate, as Jim had named her, became the most valuable horse in the world, and Jim, on account of the straight rows in his fields, the happiest man in the world.
In time however, the value of the animal became a matter of concern for Jim, so he took out a $10,000,000 insurance policy. The insurance company, now having an interest in the health of the horse, sent in a team of veterinarians to give Sharon’s a once over, one of which was a world-renowned equine dentist, whose celebrity status had moved him to sack his given name, and adopt the single title: Dave. Dave arrived with a photographer, intent on making digital files of the horse’s teeth, so he could keep better track of her oral health. As the equipment was being set up in preparation for the creation of these new Graphics Interchange Format pictures, something about it gave Jim a strange feeling, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not being a man of superstition, he dismissed this premonition as the result of his not having eaten breakfast. But as just as soon as Jim thought he had put the matter to bed, his worst fears were realized. When the final teeth pictures had been loaded onto the photographer’s computer, Sharon’s Potentate fell down dead. All of the puzzle pieces in Jim’s mind falling into place, he realized that he had not remembered his father’s words correctly. In hopes that no one would ever make this mistake again, on Sharon’s‘s tombstone, Jim had the stonemason engrave the words:
We GIFed a Look Horse in the Mouth.
Two Weevils 