We had no word for the strange animal we got from the white man—the horse. So we called it šunka waken, “holy dog.” For bringing us the horse we could almost forgive you for bringing us whiskey. Horses make a landscape look more beautiful. --Lakota Holy Man Lame Deer

I love to watch my children and their horses.

It's impossible to tell from this photo, but the coat my daughter is wearing is just about The Rattiest Horse Jacket Around. The fleece is almost bare, the elbows are almost gone, the zipper works sometimes, and it will take a good deal of energy to part her from it. J. gets attached.

The only answer is when the weather gets cooler, this one won't be sufficiently warm, and then I'll switch The Horse Jacket out with a new one from the local tack store. Sneaky mom stuff. But not all that sneaky, because we still have The Horse Jacket prior to this one. A faded red affair with black horses that's hanging in the back of her closet and will most likely do so until she's at least in college.

Last night, J. did some vaulting on Caprichosa. This is very informal stuff. We use a halter and longe line, no side reins, and the very lightweight vaulting surcingle (that's all I've got at home right now) because of Cap's sensible and generous nature and the fact that she usually seems to enjoy it very much. Typical of her breed, she's highly intelligent, and seems to funnel the antics on her back through a refined sense of equine curiosity and a bit of bemusement. I don't believe the horse would tolerate it if we decided to get really serious about it with her, however. We just kind of hang loose, and keep it fun, and then she's thoroughly engaged in the process. It makes for good practice.

I wonder what my daughter--the one who gets attached, the one who keeps a clipping from Caprichosa's mane in a little medicine bag in her armoire--will remember about the Andalusian horse when she looks back on her across the years from the perspective of a mature woman? The horse who now carries her way up into the mountains through the sunshine and the hail to deep, high country lakes and lets her stand on her back while she walks quietly and carefully in circles, keeping all of that Andalusian power in check.

Will she think of the glimmer in the mare's eye, that hint of the big spirit?