Long-legged quarter horse Pinon comes rushing down from the top of the pasture like there's a bear on her tail. I enjoy the sight of all that muscle and energy and rolling brown eyes sailing right past me all worried like, and wait for the black shaggy beast to come lumbering after her, roaring in a fury. My husband--who once had a stand off with a bear over an elk, a story which is now epic mythology in my family--says bears can run as fast as horses.

But it's boss mare Teyla instead, shaking her polka dots furiously in Pinon's direction.

Percheron horse Toby is a close third, bucking and farting so copiously the trees are shaking in the wind he's breaking.

Arabian mare Morning Star has her tail all twisted up in a sideways banner, a question mark, hooves hardly touching the ground.

Andalusian horse Caprichosa canters past furiously, nose in the air, her bad leg forgotten for the moment.

Teyla stops in front of me and rears up on her haunches, tucks in her chin so hard her salt and pepper mane stands up like the jagged teeth of a buzz saw or something hit by lightning. She is the unequivocal ruler of the roost, the queen of the pasture, one hundred swirling spots of pure attitude. She launches herself from the ground. For a moment she is flying with her speckled legs as stiff as pokers. I can see the white of her eye that's glued right on me. I am laughing so hard she does it again. And again.

What insanity a sudden April snow can inspire.