I always say you can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat their horse (and you can tell a lot about a man by the way he drives his truck).  I came across this herd over in Arbon Valley, the next valley West of the Portneuf Valley, just a hop over a mountain pass from where I live.  I don’t know how I ended up in Arbon Valley yesterday except I was driving my truck, I had country music playing on the radio, the dogs and my ski  gear in the back, the world was covered in fresh snow and dappled with springtime sun — I felt like seeing some country so I did a little wandering on the blue highways.  When I saw this posse of horses out on their winter range, I pulled off, grabbed my camera and made some friends.

As I walked to the fence, they picked their heads up from grazing, looked at me from a far, and then the leader began to walk to me — an old swaybacked paint with wind woven dreadlocks in his mane.  One by one they wandered over, sweet and curious, eager to exchange scent with me.  They nosed my pockets for treats.  Let me rub their cheeks, press my cold hands beneath their wild, tangled manes as they draped their heavy heads over my shoulders.  I touched the softness of their muzzles and fell into the pools of their kind eyes.  These horses have a good cowboy and cowgirl.  I can tell.

Horses are good for the soul.

:::Post Scriptus:::

Doesn’t that buckskin have a beautiful tail?  It hits the ground!