Mature and gentle horse seeks same for love and laughs in a quiet border town. My human friends have described me as a tall (seventeen hands) chestnut, with good teeth and a big heart. I’m looking for a companion who is sociable, sensitive, loyal, and, above all, a horse.

Outdoorsy former cart horse looking for quadruped with whom to share romantic ambles across the prairie. I like standing still, grazing, and nudging open the saloon doors to surprise the barman. He usually gives me a carrot, but I’d prefer a whiskey (neat). After living so long with humans, I’ve picked up a few anthropoid habits, but I’m longing to meet another horse.

Horse seeking horse. I’m also open to a tall donkey who is into horseplay.

LUNCHTIME LOOKER: Last Wednesday, at high noon, I saw you at the top of Pine Ridge—a palomino with a glorious mane and legs for days, wearing a blue blanket. You raised your head toward the sun, snorted, and disappeared. I was the solitary chestnut far below, frantically waving a hoof. Please tell me you saw me, too?

Me: happy-go-lucky, helpful, healthy, honest, handsome, hopeful. You: a horse.

Every night, I break into this town’s post office to use the typewriter for these personal ads. By the light of a flickering candle, I bash the keys with my hooves, and every stroke feels like an SOS call from my heart. Then I roll a slim cigarette, clamp it between my lips, light it, and dream of finding “the one.” Some nights, when the candle has burned down to a stub and the smoke hangs heavy in the air, I write poetry. Will you be my (horse) muse?

Roses are red.
Coffee is hot.
If you are reading this and you’re a horse,
Please write me a letter!

Literary and passionate horse seeks a special equine for intellectual sparring. Occasional smoker, committed herbivore, eternal optimist.

To the “Open-Minded Quadruped Seeking Same” in last week’s gazette: You sound like my soulmate! I’m also an adventurous horse who is equally happy exploring the abandoned mines or spending a quiet night nuzzling at home. Meet me by the burned tree on the ridge, Friday, at sunset. You’ll know it’s me, because I’m the only other horse around!

To all the singleton horses from neighboring small towns who attended the unexpectedly large gathering by the old burned tree last Friday—an evening that started out awkwardly, and ended up as an epically rowdy night of such carefree indulgence that I can only describe as a bacchanal—same time next week? ♦