Reminiscence of a true sense of horse sense eventually does show up at about 3/4 of the way down this page. In the meantime, the story goes like this:

We hiked up a gold grass hill in the far eastern edge of Milpitas. It was hot. Real hot. 115 Degrees Farenheit hot. As hot as the hill was steep. We must have been out of our senses to do this hill on that day.

At the top of the hill, the herd of paint, alabaster white, and bay horses stood there waiting. We were expected.

One of the white horses perked up his head and pointed his ears at us. We finally were larger than two ants coming up the hill.

He watched. Seemingly in disbelief. My climbing buddie and I were litterally pointing our noses closer to the ground with every step that we took.

The great white stallion watched as we collapsed into a crawl up the final leg of the hill. We were gasping for breath like it was our last. It was so humiliating that this majestic equine beauty was bearing witness to every one of my stumbles in navigating the California heat, and that hill growing ever steeper in my mind.

Finally, we make it to the top. A few horses single themselves out from the herd and trot toward us.

One of the bay mares, my friend’s companion, walks over to us. Greets my friend. Does a body scan on me.

After slowly running her muzzle several times over my whole body – as if she were an elephant sniffing the remains of a beloved ancestor – I stroke her neck ever so lightly as if touching on the delicate remains of an ancient memory we both share.

Then, I hug her with my cheek pressed firmly against hers. She closes her eye. We drink in the joy between us.

I keep my eyes open; I don’t  want to miss even the sight of her beauty.

I casually ask her silently if she was, “Bricabrac,” the bay horse who took care of me as a child.

She immediately opens her eye smiling into mine…with such penetrating familiarity that I have not felt since childhood.

Her eye closes again. I silently repeat my question…just to be sure of her answer.

Like the first time, her eye opens wide with the gentle glow of affirmation. Again, she closes it as if to more fully embrace our bliss in being together.

I cannot resist asking her for the third time…just to let my mind be without a doubt, sure of her answer.

My heart waits patiently for my mind to catch up to the mare’s third affirmation. It arrives in the same way.

Is she really the horse from my childhood. Who knows. I have a true sense that she is. Maybe, reincarnation is real, if we mean it to be. Or maybe my friend’s bay mare, in her deep sensitivity to my longing, in her sublime horse sense was simply accommodating me…the meaning my friend gave it, as we stood within the immensity of the horses.

True sense, horse sense or not. It was Magic, as good as it gets. The childlike innocence of those magnificent, wise and spontaneous equine power animals created a wholly communion with us on that golden hill.

Another jewel I received that day: Whilst the white stallion and I were in the zone with my chest leaning against his left side, my hands communing with his back, the bay mare came up from his right side, laid her chin down on his back, gazed into my eyes, and nuzzled my face with her sweet, soft muzzle.

I planted my lips on that soft spot for a very long time. It felt good to be home again, somewhere long ago.

If only I had a photo of them to share with you. If only.

But I know you know what I am talking about.

The wonder of being animals loving animals.

Not eating them. Not wearing them. Not bossing them around.

Just loving them for the love of it.