Ma and Pa Ledge had the finest farm in the county.  For years, it provided them with all their needs, plus a nice surplus.  Even if their tastes may have been a trifle expensive.
    The Ledges (or "Ledge's," as it said on their mailbox) had a passel of children and a faithful horse named Bo.  Bo was the one who did all the heavy lifting that made the farm work.  Bo pulled the plow, carried the heavy sacks of produce, pulled the family wagon, even took the kids to school and back.
    Every year, Ma Ledge compared the farm income to the farm outgo, found a nice, fat surplus, and declared the year another rousing success.  Until that one year ...
    "Goodness gracious glory!" exclaimed Ma Ledge. "We're running a deficit!"
    "Oh, dear!" yelped Pa Ledge. "What can the matter be?  Dear, dear ..."
    "Cut that out!" ordered Ma Ledge sharply. "This here budget is loaded with fat, and we've got to get rid of it!"
    "Do you suppose it was all those trips to Vegas?" suggested Pa Ledge. "I've lost track of how many thousands we lost there."
    "Mandatory entertainment expenses," replied Ma Ledge.
    Pa nodded.  "Of course.  How about the sauna and hot tub?"
    "Necessary health costs," said Ma.
    "The new mansions?  The banquets?  The diamond brandy snifters?"
    "No, no, and no," said Ma. "All necessities, those."
    "Well, what about this?" suggested Pa, pointing to a line item on the budget.
    "Ah, ha!" said Ma. "I think you've got it!"
    "Um, hay for the horse?"
    "Exactly!  That nag is eating us out of house and farm!  We'll cut his food ration in half, effective immediately!  And you know what else?  Now that I look at this, that horse isn't doing nearly enough work for all that food we aren't going to give him.  So let's double his hours, as well!"
    And so they did.  Bo didn't know what was going on, but he did know that he was hungry a lot of the time and that the work was getting harder to do.  Never the less, he soldiered on.  Or horsed on.  No horsing around.

    The next year, the Ledges were in for another shock.  The deficit had grown larger.
    "Gotta cut that fat!" fumed Ma Ledge.
    "That horse doesn't seem to have an ounce of fat on him," observed Pa Ledge. "Do you suppose it's something else this time?"
    "Nonsense!" snapped Ma Ledge. "Have you seen how lazy he's getting?  Always going slow and dragging his feet?"
    "But how about the ermine toothbrushes and the solid gold back scratchers and ..."
    "Necessities!" countered Ma. "That horse needs stomach reduction surgery so his stomach can only hold three ounces of food at a time.  Then we cut his ration in half again."
    And they did.  After the surgery, Bo could barely walk, but he kept on pulling and hauling and carrying as best he could.

    Ma and Pa were sure they had the deficit beat this time.  The next year, however, the deficit had grown alarmingly.
    "That horse has just been having a party with our resources!" griped Ma Ledge. "It's time to cut the fat."
    "I thought we already cut the fat," said Pa Ledge.
    "No, we didn't!" countered Ma Ledge. "And shut up!  Just look at how lazy and wasteful that ..."
    "Scrawny horse," prompted Pa.
    "Yes, that scrawny ...  No!  That bloated horse is getting!  We're going to cut off his legs so he can't steal food!"
    So, Ma and Pa amputated Bo's legs, and Bo just twitched around weakly on the ground.
    "Well, would you just look at that useless animal!" cried Ma in exasperation. "He's not doing a lick of work!  Pa, get the shotgun!  Anyway, I know someone we can hire to do his work for a fraction of the cost.  And we can sell the meat to one of them fast food restaurants."
    "Ok," said Pa, leveling the shotgun at the hapless animal's head. "But I've just got one question."
    "What's that, Pa?" asked Ma.
    "Who do we blame next year?"