My Horse Friend

I went to the pasture last night to see my horses. It was cold. One of the first truly cold nights of the season. The first of many more to come. The air was crystal clear and the light from the stars and almost-full moon was sharp and seemed to prick my cheeks as I looked upwards. The pasture is quite far from any houses or buildings, so it is remote and silent. Everything between the lake and the mountains seemed to sink into the earth, and there was nothing in between where I stood and the base of Timp. The horses were far out in the pasture, so I had to walk a way out in the deep grass. I was whistling and calling to them, and searching in the moonlight to see the herd. I finally caught sight of them, a few hundred yards off, at about the same time they became aware of my presence. The first movement I saw was Flash. It was a sort of fulfilling of my childhood horse dreams—the great alabaster stallion running towards me, ears pricked and tail fanned out behind him. And he was mine. He was answering my call. A thrill came over me, the result of years and years of horse books, Black Stallion movies, model horses, riding lessons, and girlish dreams lying under the peach trees of our orchard. Flash came running up, eager to show off, display the herd he has now come to lead, but mostly, and amazingly enough, to greet me—his person. Little Fox was right behind him. They came up, puffs of breath rising from their great nostrils, and greeted me with soft nickers and the blowing of horse-kisses. It was a moment of great validation for me. I have had a fear that they would forget me, that these two pets of mine would find that they loved living a life wild and free of fences and saddles and work. But the amazing thing about these two is that they want me still to be a part of their herd. Fox would greet me every night at the yellow house with a quiet whinny and kisses on my ear. Flash knew the sound of my car as I would pull up to the stable. Last night, Flash searched my pockets for treats. Fox stood with his chin on my shoulder and let me hug his neck. There is a power in having something so strong and proud allow you to love it. It shares that strength. It is a partnership—the same partnership I feel when I ride—the feeling of the horse beneath me, the power which I am guiding, the way I can move in a way so much stronger and swifter than I can on my own. And all of it is possible because this great horse has chosen to allow me to be his partner. And his friend.