I’m no horse of course, though I’m often confused, I carry your burdens and still get accused. My voice is a laugh, my ears steal the show, I’m smarter than people are willing to know.

I am a stick with hair, moving across surfaces and taking care to let my bristles touch everything.

Oh my stars! In a game of boards and bulls, this swift guest strikes true, faster than a cat on a hot tin roof. Its path, like a needle's, finds the mark with the precision of a midnight owl's flight.

My first four are a type of injury that generally occurs with heat, fire, or friction. My last three are the opposite of in. Together, I’m either a fancy car trick or an occupational hazard.

Clad in white, an orator of folly. What guides the flock, but still a sheep?