two horses side by side

two horses side by side

in the shelter of an old oak

tails to the cold wind

The miniature black horse still inhabits the little pasture, but the population of other four-leggeds has changed once more. All summer and fall, he shared the pasture with two American Standards, a pinto pony and a donkey. When they arrived, I was so happy for him after being alone all winter. But the big horses seemed to ignore him -- or was he ignoring them? I couldn't tell. The donkey sometimes tried to play with him, but he didn't rise up on his little hind legs and spar back. At the beginning of winter, I feared he would be left completely alone again. Since horses are herd animals, it seemed to me that aloof company would be better than no company.

So when I didn't see the two big horses anymore, I scanned the pasture. No donkey. Ah, but there's the pinto pony! Cocoa Bean and Pinto Bean, I call them. At first they didn't seem to graze very close to each other, but gradually, they drew closer and closer.

Then one cold, windy January day, I find them standing side by side, in the shelter of the long corrugated limbs of an old oak, tails to the wind. Happiness is a friend in bad weather.

spring, feeling frisky

spring, feeling frisky,

the young pinto wants to play

with someone, anyone!

First the frisky young pinto asks the little black horse, "Come play with me."

But the little black horse says, "I'm too busy grazing on this fresh green grass."

"Who else will play with me?" wonders the pinto.

"What about you, donkey?"

"Yes, I want to play!"

They jump and whinny and bray.

"Catch me if you can!"

"Boys will be boys," says the little black horse as the pinto chases the donkey around the spring green pasture.

early spring -- frost flowers

early spring -- frost flowers

bloom on the window, snow bends

grass in the horse pasture

We're past the state of disbelief that winter could still be hanging on so long. Late March, the sky turns tarnished silver and starts sprinkling little white stars, quickly coating the long grasses in the pasture. The horses meander through the whiteness, tracing little brown paths. In the morning, frost flowers bloom on the windows, glittering in the sunrise, which soon sublime as the air warms ever so slightly.

belly deep in snow

belly deep in snow,

wearing a crown of burrs, yet 

happy horse with new friends

Through the coldest, snowiest winter in eighteen years, I continue to keep my daily vigil for the little black horse as I pass the pasture on the edge of town. Alone since last summer, he rarely ventures far from the red barn or the shelter of trees along one fence line. Even in a blizzard I would see him, black back coated white, nuzzling for grass beneath the snow.
          He was separated from his last companions as the result of a divorce. Not for the first time, he found himself alone. One year, he kept company with a big black bull. The next year, his buddies were two brown calves. And finally, three actual horses joined him in the little pasture and he became quite attached to the gentle, big-footed Clydesdale. When they vanished, I grieved for him once more and prayed that he be gifted with at least one pasture mate.
          A few days ago, in the midst of another snowstorm, I suddenly see not one, not two, not three, but four new four-leggeds in the pasture with the little black horse, and I start shouting for joy. This time, his new friends are two chestnut horses, a brown and white piebald pony and a little gray donkey.
          Cocoa Bean stands belly deep in snowdrifts, looking legless, yet his short legs manage to plow a wide furrow as he follows the others. Despite his nose powdered with powdery snow and his mane tangled with burrs, he seems utterly happy to have company, and I am ecstatically delighted that my prayer has been answered.

after the apple

after the apple

is gone, the little black horse

seems to say, don't go

Except for a few patches, the snow is gone, so Cocoa Bean has ventured out into the pasture. When I stop the truck, the little black horse looks up from grazing and walks up to the fence. I give him an apple, cut in half for easier eating, which he grabs and consumes in a few bites. 

          I notice that his forelock is now so matted with burrs that it stands out like some kind of bizarre unicorn's horn. 

          Scratching him behind his ears, I say, "Cocoa Bean, you look like you're having a bad hair day." 

          "These burrs?" he snorts. "Nah, they just keep the hair out of my eyes."

          But when I turn to leave, his liquid chocolate eyes plead, "Don't go!"

surprise spring snowstorm

surprise spring snowstorm --

the little black horse plods to the fence

for a handful of grass

Cocoa Bean, as I call the little black horse, has been alone in the little pasture next to the little red barn for several months. I found out that he lost his companions of last year, the big Clydesdale and two American Quarter horses, to a divorce, and that he belongs to a boy, though I've never seen the two together. From the looks of the burrs in Cocoa Bean's mane, it doesn't look like he gets much grooming. He spends his days, from early morning to late evening, grazing. But this surprise Spring snowstorm has covered the low grass, so when I appear with a handful of long grass from the other side of the fence, he plods through the snow to eat from my hand, clearly grateful for both the grass and the attention.

frost moon, alone again

frost moon, alone again,

the little black horse wandering

the empty pasture

Frost this morning and a full Frost Moon tonight. Furry animals are putting on more fur while those that live on plants have to graze or gather longer. Americans have just celebrated Thanksgiving, packing on extra calories in one day of feasting, an ancient practice designed to store fat for winter.

          As the grass dries up in the fields, farmers are bringing in big round bales of hay for their livestock. I drive by the horse pasture with four apples, hoping to find the four horses near the fence so I can give them a treat. But I am shocked to see only the little black horse, grazing close to the red shed at the far end of the field. The three big horses have vanished, leaving Cocoa Bean alone again.

          What happened? I can only guess. The farmer's actions are a mystery. One winter, the little black horse has a big black bull as a companion, but he disappears before spring. The next winter, Cocoa Bean shares the pasture with a pair of Jersey cows, but they, too, are gone by spring. And now this year, the two American Quarter horses and the Clydesdale have suddenly been spirited away. I feel very sad for my little friend, facing another winter without a single companion.

the little black horse

the little black horse

looks on as three big horses

browse in his pasture

The little black horse is back in his pasture after his summer vacation, perhaps part of a petting zoo tour. I call him Cocao Bean and I really don't want to know his real name. This is his third year in the little pasture on the edge of town, wedged between the Little League baseball fields, the roller rink, a veterinarian and the wetlands nature preserve. Every day in late summer I kept watching for him, sometimes thinking I saw his small dark form, but it always turns out to be a clump of weeds or a pair of tires along the far fence.
          Finally, he shows up in September and I'm ecstatic to see that he has company again. Not a big black bull, like that first winter. Not a pair of Jersey cows, like the second winter, before they disappeared and Cocao Bean was sadly left alone for many months. This year it's three actual horses. At first the big horses stick together and Cocao Bean follows them at a distance, like a younger kid who wants to be part of the gang of older boys.

After a week I notice that Cocao Bean is following one of the horses at a distance. The other two horses, who stick together, appear to be American Quarter horses, but the one the little black horse has chosen looks like a Clydesdale, with feathered white feet and white face. These big draft horses are known for their docile nature and Cocao Bean seems to be saying, "Please, may I be your buddy?"

Not long after, Cocao Bean and Clyde are inseparable.

Even when the Clydesdale grazes side-by-side with the other two Quarter horses, Cocao Bean "heels" Clyde like a friendly dog.

A few days ago I spot the gang hanging out under some overhanging trees, a bit of protection from the rain, though Cocao Bean's coat is soaked.

Cocao Bean is so small he could easily stand under Clyde's belly, where he wouldn't get wet. Bedraggled as he is, he still looks happy to be close to his best buddy.

black horse in the snow

black horse in the snow

eating dry grass from my hand --

where are you going?

Ever since the two young bulls disappeared, the little black horse has been staying close to the little red barn. On a snowy day I stop to see how she's faring. Her nose is buried in freshly fallen snow, seeking tender grass among the brittle weeds. Her black coat stands out against the whiteness. When she sees me approach, she looks up and walks towards me, which surprises me. When she kept company with the bulls, they usually moved away when I appeared. 
          Now she stops and surveys me for a moment. I'm wearing a furry brown hat, brown coat, brown gloves, brown boots, and the black camera I'm holding up to my face might look like a black nose. Perhaps she thinks I'm one of her lost companions. But maybe I'm not giving her enough credit for knowing the difference between a four-legged and a two-legged animal. In any case, she pushes on through the snow to the fence where I'm standing. 

          Her mane is still matted with burrs and her back is a little wet from the snow, but her thick coat must keep her warm. She sticks her head over the low fence and I scratch behind her ears. She nuzzles my hand. What, no apples? Tangerine, yuck! She pushes my hand away, so I pull some long grass and feed it to her. Some of it gets caught in her mane and some of it drops on the ground, but she manages to swallow a little of my offering. The grass on this side of the fence is about as scarce as on her side, so I quickly run out. While she's rummaging around on the ground for the bits she dropped, I start to walk away. She looks up, a stalk of grass dangling from her mouth. What, you're leaving? Where are you going? Are you coming back?

          Maybe I'm reading too much into those pleading eyes, but I feel sad leaving her alone again. Horses do form lasting friendships, usually with other horses, but in her case I believe she misses those two brown bulls. Next time, I tell her, I'll bring apples.

little horse alone

little horse alone

again, twin bull companions

vanished with the snow

The day before yesterday I stopped to visit the three companions in the little pasture on the outskirts of town. The miniature black horse was grazing by the fence while the twin bulls were lying in the grass nearby. When I approached the bulls got up and eyed me a little skittishly. I didn't have any apples, so I picked some long grass and held it over the wire fence. That got their attention and they all came right up to the barrier. One of the bulls stayed back a bit but the other one nosed and licked the grass with his big pink tongue. The horse seemed to know how to be hand fed and took several offerings. When the horse moved away, both of the bulls nuzzled their little friend.
          Yesterday the sun melted most of the snow in the field. I saw the little black horse all alone, no sign of the twin bulls. She was walking slowly with her head down, not held high as she used to do when she ambled through the pasture with her brown friends. Horses and cows are both herd animals, so I feel sorry for the little black horse, once again alone. Sorry, too, for the fate of the departed bulls. 

in a snowy pasture

in a snowy pasture

little black horse, two brown bulls

graze on clumps of grass

As soon as it gets light, the three companions emerge from a little red shed to forage until dark on clumps of grass poking up through patches of snow in the dappled pasture. When I approach from the road, the little black horse, standing knee deep in the snow, looks up first. Then the twin bulls stop grazing and turn their heads in my direction. They've grown quite a bit since last summer. The miniature horse looks just the same except for a thicker coat. As the three continue to gaze at me, I can't tell whether they're just curious or fearful. After a long moment of examination, the black horse walks rather quickly over to one of the brown bulls and stops near his protective flank. I leave my offering of three red apples just inside the fence and return the way I came.

in a small pasture

in a small pasture

young bull and little black horse

grazing side by side

The miniature black horse and one of the twin bulls are cropping the long grass right by the fence, so I stop to say hello. The other bull retreats behind the brush pile when I get out of the truck, but the two by the fence continue grazing. They look up when I approach. The young bull backs off a little when I get closer, but the little black horse stands still, sniffing the air. She is shorter than the fence, so I reach over and down to scratch behind her ears where the halter rubs. Her forelock is matted with a strand of burrs. I pull some long grass and feed it to her, wishing I'd brought some apples. She consumes the grass, snuffles my hand, and then rubs the side of her head against the wire fence. The young bull, less wary now, turns his head down and licks a spot on his side. When I turn to go, they put their heads together, perhaps discussing the stranger who came by. I look back in time to catch the other bull emerging cautiously from behind the brush pile.