The pasture next door is filled with brood mares. They grow rounder and heavier with each day. They are all quarter horses, I think. I count nine. They stare at me solemnly with their dark, liquid eyes from the other side of the fence. Sometimes one will sidle over for a good back scratching or a little conversation. I am most acquainted with the boss mare because she shoos the others away from me. Needless to say, we've made friends.

One day, there were no foals in the pasture, and then suddenly there is one. As if out of thin air. A colt. I saw him first when he was only a few days old. He is all legs and energy.

My husband and I sneaked through the fence at the back of the property to get a closer look at the little fellow. The eight pregnant mares trailed along behind us as we wound our way through the pinon trees, wondering where momma and baby could be. And then we saw them. The colt teetered on his unbelievably long legs next to his mother's flank, eyeing us inquisitively. The mare seemed happy for the company and strolled over to greet us, her little one in tow.

Dennis rubbed her head and then placed a hand lightly on the colt's rump as he skittered by, all ears and legs and flash of tail.

First contact.