Our wild Navajo pony, and badass mule, have a thing going on. We catch Geronimo and Chief in long smooching sessions. Necks extended, lips locked, they appear to be kissing each other in deep affection for lengthy periods of time. Then abruptly, one flips his neck and delivers a good nip to the face of his affectionate brother, and the game is on. Biting, circling and bucking in a cloud of flatulating fumes, the once tender scene ends with borderline, dangerously playful antics. These guys are completely and utterly in love with life and with each other.
Traveler, elder mustang, is starting to participate in the herd bromance as he acclimates to his new surroundings. The younger hooligans are better watched from afar, but even his careful maneuvering to stay out of the fray doesn’t always work. Geronimo comes from behind, bares his little, menacing teeth and delivers a nicely placed pinch on Travelers big, round rump. Gentle giant Traveler was aghast with surprised horror when this initially happened. Now, six months into his new living arrangement with all of us wild and woolly types on this western, sage-dotted land, he is engaging in his singular way: squealing and stomping like a little schoolboy, he throws a tantrum. From older sage to silly fellow, he tosses his head and massive weight around with the best of them. These rough, playful actions are the threads of deep bonding within the fabric of the herd. The tapestry of love. The cloth of bromance. The intelligence of play.
Geronimo and Traveler in a respite from Chief
Equines are emotionally astute, a quality that we inherently possess as humans, but are in danger of losing. Immersed in our vast, but narrowly specific world of technology, we are dimming our ability to read the signals of subtle behavior and deep clues beaming from the living sources around us. Our connection to the magical web of nature has been dialed down into devices that we robotically stare at for direction. Our spark of guided divinity is withering. Frenetic addiction to technology over our superior aptitude of intuition is turning us into lamebrains.
Si intelligent; si stupide. This succinct, telepathic drift was delivered to me by Chief, as he gazed over his sagebrush kingdom. Yes, the mule speaks an elegant dialect of French. I caught his mixed-message characterization of my species, loud and clear, albeit my French is rudimentary. Considering we are part of his family-herd, I retorted that he had committed a serious faux pas. He said we need to hear the truth and followed up with another gut punch: we’ve lost much of our joie de vivre.
Hard information to swallow, coming from a mule, but I must admit I’ve been listening very carefully to him. I now drop my worries, petty anger and trifling grudges when stepping into the energetic orb of the equine community. I stand tall, breathe deeply and partake in our magnificent, wide vista while staying in the sweet spot of the potent moment. And, Viola!, I’m invited into the plush tapestry of entwined love, connection and equine bromance of brotherhood. A palpable magnetic field of energy opens and I become part of their magical lattice of connection.
Then….the herd finds a patch of dry, rough grass at my feet to munch and blow their noisy, nostril exhales on, while giving their “sis” soft nudges and nose bumps. A poor food choice amidst thirty-five acres of lusher pasture, but these foragers have picked the emotional over the food card, and I am delighted. Chief smugly says to me, Bien joué. I had to look that up. It means “well done”. He is getting a little over-the-top with the French affectation, but we encourage a dash of rakish, eccentric behavior on our wild piece of untamed heaven. Splendid elegance resides in places one would never expect.