First and foremost, this book would not have been possible without my beautiful wife, Kate, whose decision to end our marriage gave me unlimited time to finish Neigh It Ain’t So: A Coffee-Table Book of Badly Irregular Horses.
Thanks also to my editor and Domino’s delivery guy, Freddy. How it worked was, I’d order a pizza, and when Freddy showed up, I’d jump out and show him a picture of a horse. If Freddy vomited, the horse went in the book.
And I couldn’t have done this without everyone at Random House, who, when I interrupted their shareholders meeting to pitch my idea for a coffee-table book filled with visually upsetting horses, had their security guards subdue me non-lethally.
I’d also like to thank my roofer. Let me explain. He’s kind of a jack-of-all-trades guy, so when he was fixing a leak one day, I climbed up the ladder to ask if he thought it would be possible to make a book that was four feet wide and three hundred pounds. “Probably,” he replied. “But why?” It was none of his business, but I was feeling generous, so I told him the truth: only big, strong coffee tables are worthy of my coffee-table book.
I never could have finished this book without Google—specifically, Google Images and the search terms “horse,” “eww,” “retch,” “gag,” “horse (very old),” and “sadder than an extremely sad funeral.”
Of course, like any author, I’m indebted to the great ones who came before me. I still remember the day I picked up Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. As I gazed down at it, I immediately understood what a book was, and that I could make a better one.
Thanks also to church, where the man told me that I would always be forgiven no matter what, and I said, “Even for what appears on page forty-six?” and the man said, “Beg pardon?” and I said, “You’ll see.”
Who else? My parents, my friends, my first-grade teacher, Ms. Pierson—I stole money from them all to pay for the self-publishing costs of this book, and I intend to steal more to cover the inevitable legal battles with them.
To anyone I’ve forgotten, please accept my apologies. I could not have done this without you. After all, a book is more than just a collection of pages. In this case, it’s well over two hundred pages, each six feet high and four feet wide, each with a picture of a horse that is bad to look at, all sandwiched between a massive spine made of two-by-fours and sheet metal to make the whole thing weigh three hundred pounds. My roofer came up with that. Great guy.
Finally, thanks to Simon Littlefield, the man my wife left me for. Seriously, Simon—no hard feelings. I’ve never seen Kate so happy. And I’m doing better too. There’s so much I wanted out of life that just didn’t seem possible when I was with her, if that makes sense. Truly, I feel lucky. And to think, without your professorial good looks and tossed-off air of casual confidence, I’d still be stuck in a humdrum marriage with nothing to show for it but two beautiful children I see every day, a gorgeous woman who loves me for who I am, health insurance, and no time to start my heavy book of mal-horses!
Hear that, Simon? You did me a favor! Before you came along, I hadn’t even thought to sift through thousands and thousands of disturbing horse pictures to compile into a big, unwieldy coffee-table book. How pointlessly adrift I was! But no more. When you strolled up to Kate in that coffee shop and said, “Mind if I share this table?” with your expertly tailored tweed coat and dog-eared copy of Giovanni’s Room tucked under your arm, you were actually setting me free! My life has meaning now! Why? Because the book—my magnum opus, what I was put on Earth to do—is done! Don’t you understand? The horse book means I win, Simon! THE HORSE BOOK MEANS I WIN!!
Additionally, I would like to thank drugs.