As I drove down the hill from the Bunny Ranch, several wild mustangs gathered by the access road. The largest one, a chestnut-colored stallion with white markings on his forehead, walked toward my car, blocked my path, and stared straight at me. He whinnied and twisted his head back and to the left, as though he was trying to get my attention. I got out of the car for a closer look. "There's a lady who hikes in the morning over by where we live," the mustang said. "You mean Farrah Banks?" I asked. "Yeah, that's her. We call her Sister Goldenhair. What's the story with her?" "Well," I said, "I think you'd like her. She's an animal lover. She's an art lover. And she's a wonderful lover overall." "She has great fetlocks," the mustang offered. "We don't call them that, but I see your point," I responded. "Why do you ask?" "Oh, Rusty here has a crush on her,” he said, nodding toward a small brown colt pacing nervously. “He goes to the looking spot every morning to see if she is there. If she comes by, we all pretend we’re grazing, but we’re really sneaking a peak at her without her knowing. Why doesn’t she come by every day?” “I think she likes to take different hikes,” I said. This seemed to sadden the mustang, so I quickly added, “But I know she really likes to see you guys out there.” The horse nickered softly. “That makes me feel good. Seems like she has a big heart.” “She does,” I said. “Hey, why is Rusty staring at himself in my side-view mirror?” “Oh, he’s preening himself in case she comes by. Wants to look his best. Rusty! Stop acting like a horse’s ass!” The mustang led his pack out of my way. As I got back in the car, he sidled over and motioned for me to roll down the window. “Thanks for the info, pal,” he said. “You know, sometimes you meet a mustang in passing but you don’t get a chance to know them until much later. Then, when you finally do, you find out how neat they are. Know what I mean?”
