The horse flies bite Chief’s face until they draw blood. His steady eye watches me as I wildly try to swoosh them off. He thinks I’m mad.
Traveler’s front feet are tender. He stumbles beside me over rocky terrain, catching himself and then finds suitable footing in sandy spots off the trail. Just being together on an adventure transcends his discomfort and we find a way to be in simpatico gait.
Geronimo is always “starving”. His meager start in life has created his present food obsession. He can’t help himself, nibbling at dry, brittle stickers protruding from the earth. It is our constant battle when he is haltered, and knows that he is not to eat with “that thing” on his head. My angry outburst at the umpteenth time in correcting this bad habit is met with his liquid brown eyes of adoration. I burst into tears, and in a flash, he uses my moment of emotional drama to grab another bite. This makes me laugh. He knows well how to steer me into lightness from such “grave and serious transgressions”, i.e. grass nibbling.