During the work week, I check on my horses at least twice a day. Once in the morning and once in the evening. And now that we’re feeding free choice hay with the winter, my horses may or may not be at the bottom of the pasture when I go to check that no one’s caught in the fence, no one has a tummy ache, no one’s punctured or broken anything, no one’s stomped down the fence, etc. So in the dark right before the dawn this morning, with the eastern sky just starting to glow red, I am seeking out five horses, one by one, among the maze of pinon trees, my Coleman lantern in hand, heeler pups racing ahead of me. And of course, they’re no help. I suspect the horses hear them stomping towards them, all panting and tongues lolling out with stub tails wagging, and head in the other direction. I glimpse tails and hindquarters. An eye catches the light. Our white Andalusian glows like the moon as she steps out to greet me, hwa-hwa-hwa-hwa-rumpphing noises beating like a drum in her chest. The quarterhorse and appaloosa appear then disappear mirage-like in the lantern light. I nearly run right into jet-black Toby, who is snoozing like a rock next to the old fence post.