Heck horse Puns

Not having much knowledge of the animals, he asks the owner to show him around and tell him about different breeds. "Sure, let's go," says the owner, and brings him over to the paddocks.

"So a lot depends on what you want the animal for," he says, and gestures to a powerful stallion running laps. "Over there, you've got your Type A horse: strong, fast, and a little unpredictable, but great if you want to get somewhere in a hurry."

"I think that'd be a little much for me," the man says, and the owner nods, then brings him over to see a mare quietly chomping at some hay in the shade. "This is a Type B horse - tends to be quiet and they're good companions, but not much for doing work."

The man pauses to think about what he wants the animal for, then looks over at a nearby pond and sees a horse swimming and diving over and over again. "What the heck is that one doing?" he asks the owner. "Oh, him? That's a C horse."

A man is riding his horse through the desert, and, well, he starts to get thirsty. He sees a small town off in the distance, so he sets off in that direction to get some water for his horse and some whiskey for hisself.

Well, as he gets into that little town he starts to notice something peculiar. Not a soul is out. Sun's setting, but still plenty of light. Water in the horse troughs tells him it ain't a ghost town, but folks ain't comin' out for some reason.

Now, as soon as he turns onto the town's main street, he sees a soberin' sight; the sheriff, on a ladder, hammering the last nail into a brand new gallows. He sidles his horse on up to the sheriff and says, "Pardon me sheriff. I don't mean to pry, but pray tell, who're them gallows fer?"

The sheriff looks around, surprised to see someone out. He steps down, takes off his hat and scratches the back of his head thoughtfully, before replying, "Well, I reckon you must be a stranger in these parts. I reckon then that you ain't never heard of Brown Paper Bart. Anyway, we're lynchin' him come sunrise."

"Brown Paper Bart? I reckon not, sheriff. That's a mighty peculiar name, pray tell, whaddaya call him Brown Paper Bart fer?"

"Wayill, I reckon we call him Brown Paper Bart on account 'a the fact that everything he wears is made a' brown paper. His hat's made a' brown paper, his boots is made a' brown paper. His chaps is made a' brown paper, his neckerchief's made a brown paper. Heck dang shoot, even his lunch bag is made a' brown paper!"

The man looks at the sheriff a moment, perplexed, before replying, "Well, sheriff, I reckon that's a mighty peculiar thing for a man to do, but that don't explain these brand new gallows. Pray tell, what're you lynchin' Brown Paper Bart fer?"

[Insert a dad-length pause here.]

"...Rustlin'."

Was out at my wife's Grandmas farm for thanksgiving (canada) and I was holding my 2 year old niece who doesn't say a heck of a lot on a fence to look at the horses. I say to her:

"Hey Ireland do you like standing up on the fence?"

She doesn't answer so I say to the rest of the family around "she's on the fence about it"

Eyes were rolling but I was pretty happy with myself.