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I actually beat Rose in on Monday morning. I had become quite the early riser, now that I had my one-horse operation to tend to, not to mention a longer commute. I had hoped to beat Rose in to give me a few minutes to get things organized with Uncle Phil’s so-called horse charity expenditures before approaching Dad. But first things first. I did what every office dweller does when he or she enters their nook at the start of a business day: I booted up my computer and checked out social media.
“Wow!” I said when I started scrolling through f*******: posts. I had about two dozen entries about horse rescues, showing heart-wrenching photos of neglected animals. Horses going to auction with broken legs and newborn foals being separated from their mothers to be sold for meat. Draft anim
