At
first it seems as if no one is home. A sorrel-and-white
stallion with an injured front foot is grazing in the
yard. I knock on the door to the screened-in porch, but
there's no answer. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I
peer inside. Saddles and bridles hang from racks and hooks,
but the place is deserted. I walk around to the back of
the house. Pink snapdragons and white daisies line the
path. Beyond the driveway is an empty bright blue corral.
Still no sign of anyone. Suddenly, I feel the ground under
my feet vibrate, and I hear stampeding hooves. I spin
around to see a herd of black-and-white paints racing
in from the back pasture. At first I want to run as they
head toward me, but then, rounding a bend, is a man on
horseback whooping, "AAAIIIEEEYA!" Vernell looks like
every woman's dream of an Indian horseman. His light blue
denim shirt with cut-off sleeves reveals smooth, muscular
arms. A black ponytail glints in the sun. He's in control
of the herd as he maneuvers them into the corral, yet
he appears wild and impulsive as he spins his horse around
and keeps the flashy paints moving in a fast, tight circle.
After this performance, Vernell casually dismounts, takes
off his hat, and shyly approaches me. With pride, Vernell
White Thunder tells me that he owns seventy-two horses,
which he keeps on 1,100 acres. He inherited the land from
his grandfather. For ten years, Vernell worked for the
federal government, then he taught school for another
ten years, but he wasn't happy until he was around horses
like when he was a boy. According to Vernell, the
horse has a soul, and the soul absorbs what we're feeling.
If we're angry or tense, we shouldn't ride just
walk outside and spend time with the horse. When we're
patient and calm, that's the time to ride because a horse
requires us to know and understand its limitations. "Long
ago Indians and horses were related. We thought of our
horses as our grandsons."
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