Prince

I looked up at the sound of thundering hoofbeats. Perhaps I should've been afraid. I stood still and watched the herd of horses racing towards me. I was 90% sure they weren't going to run into me. They turned about 5 feet in front of me and slowed as they passed, tossing their heads and whinnying. As they pranced around me and then dropped their heads to graze I let out my breath, suddenly realizing I'd been holding it. If my mother knew about this, she would've scolded me to no end- but she didn't know. I had told her I was visiting the horses at the end of the road...I didn't tell her that I was climbing INSIDE with them. There were about 15 horses and their leader was a nasty gray mare who tolerated me, but every once in awhile would charge at me to see if I'd run. I never did.

We were living in Mississippi. I was 10. Our neighborhood was part of a golf course, and there were only about 4 kids that my sisters and I knew. Being homeschooled, the limited access to peers made for a relatively lonely 3 years. We didn't have pets, so I adopted the horses- particularly one.

I would pick handfuls of grass and feed the horses before climbing into the field with them. Next I would search the ground near the gate for a nylon rope. The bales of hay given to the horses were usually tied in rope and after the horses had eaten, the ropes would collect near the gate. Finding one, I would spot the horse I was looking for: a tall, quiet bay. He had a halter on. I loved to take him on long walks around the field. Sidling up to him, I would talk soothingly and slip the rope through his halter. "Come on, Boy" I'd say and he'd willingly follow. Sometimes I'd jog and he'd trot along beside me. He'd stop to eat and I'd lean against him and stroke his mane. I never tried to ride him- I simply went to that field for company. I called him: Prince.

One time I proudly brought the one kid in the neighborhood who was my age to see the horses. "Here's mine!" I said as Prince trotted towards me, nickering a greeting. My friend was nervous. "Are you sure this is ok? What if they kick us??" "They won't" I said and patted Prince's neck, feeding him some fresh grass. Some of the other horses approached us, eager for grass. "OW!" my friend hollered startling them. "What?" I asked. "That horse stepped on my foot!" he said pointing at one of them. "Oh! I'm sorry! You do have to be careful you know." "Gross! There's horse poop everywhere!" "Don't step in it." I replied. I never bothered to bring the boy along again- he didn't understand why I found that field so enticing.

I'm not sure how I got my instincts where horses are concerned. Certainly, I wouldn't encourage little kids to go stand in fields of horses and let 'em play chicken like I did! I learned a lot about patience and respect from them. I miss those lazy Mississippi afternoons: basking in the sun, listening to the cicadas and walking through the grass with Prince.