The horse was too sad to jump, too sad to sprint, too sad to do much of anything besides eat and neigh forlornly. There wasn’t even anything that happened. The horse was just… Sad.

But the owner refused to give up on his horse. He bought fancy horse brushes, salt blocks, comfortable bridles and anything else he could think of. He cleaned the stables thoroughly. He made sure the horse’s paddock was open and the horse would run and frollick as much as he wanted. He even bought a large set of drums the horse might be able to play. But nothing worked.

One day, the owner purchased a large barrel of beer from a local brewery, complete with its own bar and grill. He brought the barrel to the horse and, as the horse started to drink, he could see how much the horse loved it. The horse drank until it could barely canter, leaning against the walls of its paddock with a dumb smile on its face. It wasn’t ideal, but the horse was happy.

Every week, the owner would purchase a large barrel of beer, bring it to the horse, and watch him drink it all. The horse would forget his worries, and the owner would feel at least a little accomplished.

Then, one week, as the owner was buying a barrel, there was an accident. A dozen barrels fell from the shelf, crushing the owner to death. Law suits were filed, and the brewery has to cease production. The horse mourned the loss of the beer, but more than that, he mourned his owner. This man had done everything to make the horse happy. As much as the grief stung his horsey heart, he couldn’t let his efforts be in vain. He swore, no matter what, he would find a new way to be happy.

So he took up those drums from a few paragraphs ago and began to play. He played and played until his shoes were worn down, trying to let out his exasperations with the world. He got better as he went, and the sound caught the attention of a talent scout.

When the talent scout saw that the amazing playing was done by a horse, of all things, he couldn’t believe his luck. He immediately signed the horse into a contract, putting him in a band with a guitar playing goat and a chicken who could play the keyboard. The horse might have hesitated a few months ago, but after all his owner did, he refused to turn this down.

These shows were electric. People came to see the novelty of a band made of animals, but their music was raw expression no human could come up with alone. They were beloved. And the goat, chicken and horse all became friends. True friends, bonded by their shared talents and experiences.

All this fell apart when their limosine was struck by a truck on the motorway. The horse was safely in his horse box, far from the crash, but both the goat and the chicken were dead. He couldn’t bring himself to even look at his drums, unable to play with his barnyard friends ever again. Once again, the horse had lost everything.

But as the horse strolled back to his old stables, he noticed the bar and grill. The same one that took his owner from him, now under new management. The same place that, so long ago, his owner had found the first thing to alleviate the misery. And, maybe, it could do it again.

To make a long story short, the horse walks into the bar, and the barman asks “why the long face?”