I’ve often wondered how people can a name a horse that does not technically belong to them and do we all have to adhere to these rules? If I can think of a better name, why should I use what someone else thought up? And if they can do this, then surely I can.
It’s very hard to get good photographs of wild horses. Mostly because when they are doing the most interesting things, like fighting or running or playing, they are worked up and they want nothing to do with human observers. I was, up until I ran into this small band, having a day just like that. It was only my good fortune that the truck broke down. Being stranded in this area isn’t funny. It’s a long walk to anywhere if you can’t call anyone in. But with the last of my cell phone battery I was able to connect to a rescuer. And in the ensuing wait I aroused quite a bit of curiosity.
I had stopped a good distance from this little band and decided to walk their way, when I changed my mind and discovered my truck would not restart. So after popping the hood, fooling with battery cables and making several trips back and forth to the cab I noticed I was being watched. Intently. Hmmm… this brought to me a childhood memory (yes, now for a flashback).
Years ago, my parents rented a house in Hamilton Montana and the neighbors horse pasture came up against our driveway. I think I had been running through sprinklers or some such thing and had been wrapped up in a towel. As any child would do, I turned my towel into a cape and flew about the driveway. Ok, not just any child. I was solitary and I lived in my head. I haven’t changed much. The horses went nuts. From my child’s perspective the horses and I were having fun. They would run about when I did. When I stopped, they stopped. But of course, my parents put an end to the fun and claimed I was spooking them and that it was mean. I still don’t believe it. Later I would take walks in that pasture and the horses would follow me like big dogs. I was five years old and very small and I paid no mind to how big they were.
No, I didn’t run around with a towel to tease the wild horses. But I did wave my hoodie around. Just a little. And this wonderful boy brought all his girls to come and see me till they realized there was not much to see and drifted off to graze.
Ah, and now to the point of the whole story and I bet you think I forgot I had one. I call this beautiful stallion, with the taste for black and white mares, Oreo. Please disregard all other names.
