Saddlebag Dispatches—Spring/Summer 2019

He was all legs, a heap on the ground, struggling to breathe his first breath.

Panting, he looked around this new place where he had just been dropped.

A nose nuzzled his neck and nickered, urging him up.

Galloping up in a cloud of dust and rocks, skidding to a stop in front of him, the lead Stallion eyed him with suspicion and pushed him with his nose and ran off as if to say, “This is how you do it. Follow me.”

His legs wouldn’t work yet, and he fell. He fell again and again but then he walked, finding his mother’s strength and nourishment.

He walked some more and fell again. He went to sleep.

Soon, he was leaping about the green fields, always moving, always moving.

From beneath his mother’s flank he gained strength, he watched, he learned.

He grew in the wild of the mountains, traveling from water to grass from desert to lush meadow.

He knew no man, no rope or fence. His herd was his family, his life.

The stallion took on all comers, from wildcats to usurpers to his herd, grew old.

New leaders came and fought to lead the herd, always the strongest, smartest won.

The young one felt the urges and challenged when he was ready but lost.

Each year he challenged again, until he won and led the way from old haunts, learned from older leaders and Stallions. His herd grew.

His wild heart never knew rope or saddle or man.

It was his time to goad the new ones to stand and follow. He was the Stallion.

“Come with me. This is how you run and set your heart wild and free.”