Poor Pony. He doesn't ask for much. A jetted bathtub in which to soak after a hard day delivering the mail. A day with no canine fangs breaking his flesh. A squirrel-free attic. But The Universe mocks him!
There The Pony was, going about his business on Thursday, bringing bills, cards, and junk mail to the masses, when The Universe had to throw him a curveball.
Let the record show that there has been street resurfacing on The Pony's route. Some streets blocked from regular traffic.
Machines scrape the pavement off the streets, so the new pavement will stick better, I think. It's not like the added weight of the new pavement will cause the earth's crust to collapse. It's pretty durable, that crust.
But on Thursday, there was The Pony, hoofing along, delivering the mail to the Backroads masses, when he was subjected to THIS:
As The Pony said, "My lungsssss!"
Such an insult to a hard-working Pony!
But worse was yet to come...
Oh dear, poor Pony, I want to read part two.
ReplyDeleteI hope you are not bothered by the sight of blood...
DeleteI doubt these particles are conducive to healthy lungs. Poor Pony.
ReplyDeleteYes. It's not something you can prepare for.
DeleteOh yes, I smell hot tar!
ReplyDeleteI'm pretty sure that's what will be applied. Nothing The Pony can do about it.
DeleteI am so sorry for The Pony's lungs. And needing both hands to work with he probably can't clamp one over his nose and mouth until he is past the dust.
ReplyDeleteI don't think The Pony would want to try that anyway. Hands get filthy while delivering the mail.
DeleteMaybe he should carry a mask for such occasions?
ReplyDeleteIt might be hard to get it out of his satchel in time, under the dog spray, the zapper dog deterrent flashlight thingy Hick gave The Pony, the spare bandaids, and, of course, the mail!
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