Much like buttholes, families were kept tight, and no family was as tight as the Applebutt family.
They kept everything in the family, handling their ripe and plump apples with a tender hoof, and flexing their flanks on the farm to buck from sunrise to sunset. Heck, when Applebutt was a little filly, her parents would buck until they were both drenched in sweat, using every ounce of strength to buck until they collapsed.
They bucked a little less when her ma was pregnant with Blankbutt, but the farm doesn’t tolerate bums, so she worked her butt off around the house.
Applebutt ended up learning a lot from her parents, and taught her little sis how to buck like a pro when she was old enough.
They’d ram the hard wood for hours, going at it like a pair of well-oiled machines, unlike those shitty inventions those two buttheads tried to sell them. A lifeless machine could never replicate the feeling of flesh hitting wood early in the morning. There was no passion or love in a piece of metal, and it'd never be able to replace family.
In the end, a family that bucks together, stays together.