Hoax: Man on the Moon Has Wings

From the Italian version of The Great Moon Hoax. Leopoldo Galluzzo, Altre scoverte fatte nella luna dal Sigr. Herschel (Other lunar discoveries from Signor Herschel), Napoli, 1836 (Smithsonian Institution Libraries)

From the Italian version of The Great Moon Hoax. Leopoldo Galluzzo, Altre scoverte fatte nella luna dal Sigr. Herschel (Other lunar discoveries from Signor Herschel), Napoli, 1836 (Smithsonian Institution Libraries)

AND BEAVERS CRADLE THEIR BABIES IN THEIR ARMS on the moon!

READ ABOUT THE GREAT MOON HOAX!

CLICK HERE for a long list with links to other proven hoaxes.

God forbid that I should go to any Heaven in which there are no horses. ~R.B. Cunninghame Graham, letter to Theodore Roosevelt, 1917

“In horsemanship, however, he was noted as the most proficient in the Academy. In fact, rider and horse held together like the fabled centaur...” James Longstreet

“In horsemanship, however, he was noted as the most proficient in the Academy. In fact, rider and horse held together like the fabled centaur…” James Longstreet

US Grant was the greatest equestrian president. Everyone says so!

“He was a great horseman and sat his horse as if he were part of the horse, all one figure. There was never a movement of any description that was not masterful and graceful. No one ever saw him disturbed in any way, that is, jolted or taken unaware on horseback, whether he was going fast or slow. He was a born horseman. He had a natural love for animals of all kinds and he was of kindly instincts, without being demonstrative at all, except to his family. He never abused an animal, never.” Corporal M. Harrison Strong Grant, The Equestrian

And then there’s Theodore. Whatever he didn’t possess in grace he made up for with enthusiasm!

Go, TR! Go!

Go, TR! Go!

Bully!

Bully!

Presidential Horses

Humbug Taft gets rid of Horses

Cincinnati the Great Horse!

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” Will Rogers

cvxza

One of my very best friends in the world died last night. It was just me and him. Everyone else traveling or gone. Huck Finn, my stomping, imperious little King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, stole cookies, started fights and chose me as favorite. A writer needs a dog like him–one who jumps in your lap when you’re feeling rejected and growls so nobody else will come near you. His heart was weak and he’d been suffering, but on Sunday he followed me out into the flower garden and rolled in the grass like old times. I’ll bury him in a shady grove on our hill top where just enough sunlight allows a soft carpet of green.

Click through to a wonderful blog post featuring 19th century dogs and their owners.