Of course, of course.

Okay, so I haven't gotten around to moving the photos onto the computer yet. It won't happen tonight, either. So I might as well talk about something I don't have photos of -- for no good reason, actually, because they'd be something you'd want to see, and I might have even had my camera with me at the time. So, first things first: Ball dropped. Sorry.

Second thing: Miniature horses! On Bourbon Street!

We first saw them when we were coming back from a little grocery store with rum, vodka and the world's best candy, Lemonheads. Paul saw some guys in cowboy hats from afar, walking their dogs. Then we rounded a corner, and we realized the cowboys were actually walking small horses... one about waist high, the other about two thirds its size. They zipped around the corner on leashes and were gone. When we got back to the hotel, we told Beth about it (she hadn't been with us) and she thought we were putting her on.

That is, until we saw them again and had a lengthy conversation with their owners. I forget one of the horses' names (the male was named Rowdy), and never got the cowboys', but the story goes like this: Years ago, the guys were still in the grieving process when their dog died at three years old. Somehow, they stumbled across information about these small horse breeds, including one crucial fact: They live to be around 45 years old. Having just lost the Dude, I can see how a fact like that could seem like a lifeline. Still, they had no intention of getting one -- they were just interesting curiosities.

Until one of the cowboys brought a horse home with him without warning the other. And they fell in love with him. A few months ago, they got a second one.

The horses are easy to take care of -- the cowboys said they cost about $10 a month to feed (Purina Horse Chow), and they stay in the yard and on the first floor of their house. One has even learned to use the toilet (although not to flush). And a walk around the French Quarter (they're Quarter horses, see?) keeps their hooves sanded down.

Rowdy, the smaller of the two horses, was male... at times, obviously so. Really obviously. Like I-was-worried-he'd-drag-it-on-the-cement obviously. The cowboys said that Rowdy didn't recognize size as a romantic obstacle. He'd get a whiff of a full-size female police horse, and suddenly he'd be rearing up and ready to go. Just gimme a boost, man! I can do this!

The horses were really friendly animals, accepting pets from countless, sometimes nervous, strangers. Their masters were every bit as nice. Sure wish I had a photo to show you.

But if you don't believe me, believe Beth. She saw 'em too.

(Actually, judging from a comment on this Youtube video, the other horse's name is Autumn, and one of the cowboys' names is Scott.)

Rob