Marlboro Man Mule
I restrain my gushy antics, and agree with him. Despite our dysfunctional relationship, I am in tune with his philosophical musings. Chief knows our existence is a mystery and subscribes to an equitable school of thought: science is important, yet spiritual inquiry keeps us humbly grounded in the big mystery.
Diminutive Navajo pony, Geronimo trots up snaking his head menacingly, and wedges between me and Chief. He likes my saccharine gushing and shoos Chief away for some sentimental goo. Size has nothing to do with hierarchy within our herd; the little pip-squeak thinks he is king and so he is, in his eyes. Both Chief and massive Traveler, our elder sage, know this charade too well. Little Geronimo blows his trumpet big and loud, is ignored, and the normalcy of peace and harmony prevails.