His nose lifts, sniffing once. Twice.
He neighs, then glances over his shoulder. Daring me to respond.
I pet him and give him a “good boy.”
He paws the ground, I tap his shoulder, matching his rhythm.
We walk, trot, and canter under saddle.
We walk to cool down.
He snorts and blows and shakes his head.
“Good Boy,” I say, petting his shoulder fondly.
Soon, his mom will get him and bring him home and I’ll never see him again.
But not yet.