Our Andalusian mare, Caprichosa, that is.

I think I've known the horse for so many years that I ceased to notice her talkativeness in any meaningful way. Maybe I just take it for granted as part of who The Big Gal is. But J. doesn't miss a thing where that horse is concerned. With Caprichosa still on the mend, she’s been riding her brother’s horse Pinon and has been complaining that the quarterhorse is too quiet.

What do you mean? I ask her. She whickers at us when we come down to the pasture. She always whinnies if we take any of the other horses out.

That’s not what she means, she says. She's missing the running conversation that Caprichosa has with herself and with her when they are riding together. Don’t I know what she’s talking about? she asks.

And so, I begin listen for it, to hear what J. hears. And now my ears are full of it. Cap’s long, langorous moans and groans. Punctuated by deep chested grunts with each stride of the trot. A roaring in her throat, as if she’s some kind of rare white lioness, instead of a horse.

She tosses her head at the thought.

Yep, she talks a lot.