Darn that Midnight, anyway

So I’m standing on the lane with Midnight and Raja, talking to my cousin, who’s venting—she’s been taking care of our elderly aunt who recently had surgery.

The conversation has been going on for a while.

The two horses are grazing peacefully. It’s hot but thank goodness the sun is under the clouds. I’m mindlessly scratching Raja’s scruffy old back when suddenly I hear the t-tlot t-tlot t-tlot t-tlot of a cantering horse.

What the….

I whirl around. There’s old Midnight, high-tailing it (literally—he’s an Arabian, after all) down the lane. For a split second, I worry that he’ll run right into the street; then I remember that it’s 2:30, feeding time back at the barn.

“Janie--loose horse--gotta go. Come on, Raja. We’ve got to go catch Midnight.” Raja, though, can’t run; he starts to cough, so we slow down to a pretty speedy walk.

Back at Barn Eight, my friend Susan is holding Midnight’s lead rope. “Missing someone?” she asks. “Yeah. A mean little black horse.”

That goofball. Just like a kid: they always know when you’re on the phone.