After the Title, the Clever Horse Leaps

The owner of the horse was as convinced as one can be when one can be
Convinced a horse can count, can do sums, can be trusted to walk on stage
without lifting a tail for the schullump of drained hay, can wish to impress
a lecture room where schmoes crane their necks, itching in wool suits.
The horse was called Clever Hans, though that were it's stage name.
The gelding the man bought was just known as He, or That One, or Yon foal.
He named it, they say, for the boy he had lost. Oh, the crowds patted pockets
for more coins for more shows for repeats of questions that begged for a pencil...
They came back the next day with their old dripping mothers, even after
the University man outed the IQ of CH.
Even after the papers resounded with boondogglevich j'accuseowicsz.

They say that the owner still brought Hans crisp apples, still  posed tricky figures,
still praised the right answers
still loved him the same.
They don't say what Hans did, how Hans was a healer, how they knew,
in the stables, to bed him down with the sick ones, even goats, and
the owner had a goiter shrink back like a salt lick on a fierce sunny day.