Past Her Prime

We had an old nag when I was a kid. Her belly would sag and her hooves would skid. We seldom fell off, but sometimes we did. We'd round up the cows to drive to the field, then we'd play as knights, our lances to wield. The winner would strut; the loser just kneeled. When milking time came we'd drive the cows back, no more time to play, no more time to slack. If we're late, our dad will give us a whack. That old nag was clumsy; the old nag was slow. Just two miles per hour was fast as she'd go, and she wasn't pretty, but I loved her so!