Last evening my wife mentioned our horse was not well. The old paint had taken to laying on the ground instead of standing, and at other times was stationery. I excepted that the horse may need new shoes, and she agreed that new horseshoes have been eminent for some time. Than she asks, "Will you take him to the furrier tomorrow?"
I was shocked. That she would want to have the pour beast slaughtered in order to harvest it's hide for a rug or blanket-- well this idea had a profound affect on my disposition. But for a moment. I realized, of coarse, she meant "farrier," not "furrier!"
Not wishing to correct her (a man must choose his fights carefully specially with his wife), and irregardless of my own pride, I gave my ascent. "Yes, darling, tomorrow, I will take him to the furrier, whom will craft excellent shoes for him."
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