Me and Chiefie - my partner in wooded trail crime. We broke a few rules, and had a few spats, each underestimating the other's stubbornness. I felt at once like a kid, a lady, and a medieval heroine. Beckett said "Oh wow! Mama looks like a real cowboy-girl!" I felt like one too. It's just a remarkable way to move through nature. I think hoofbeats are regarded by birds and butterflies as nonthreatening, in a way that footsteps are not. Except maybe not hoofbeats at a run, either that or I just couldn't hear the birdsongs over the roaring thudding of my own heart.B also said, "Chief must be a boy horse, cuz he's big and I'm big, and I'm a boy!" His ride was very short, but way too long for my equinophobic parents, who stood quaking in their proverbial boots at the mere thought of their grandson subjected to the whims of a wild beast. Beckett and I were thrilled, though.My poor parents. I did my best to not freak them out too much, barely moving while Beckett was in the saddle, and alone in the saddle, keeping Chief at a slow walk as long as I was in view. If only they knew how recklessly I'd ridden under the cover of trees. A little late 20's rebellion is good for the soul, right? As long as it doesn't send your son's young and healthy grandparents to an early grave."Hey look! It's a couple of horses' asses!" - Mr. Andy Anderson a.k.a. 'Buddy'