Solitary Man

He stepped into the barn aisle and inhaled deeply. A surplus of scents moved invisibly across the fine hairs inside his soft nostrils. He filtered them methodically- noting the musky scent of the new horse who had arrived yesterday, the tangy odor from the breath of a neighbor who had received antibiotics earlier today, the acrid smell of death from a recent kill by the cat. The person beside him spoke in a quiet tone- he liked it when the people spoke to him. Chevy rarely knew that they were saying- just picking out a random phrase here and there- but liked the soft tones that were usually directed his way. They fell onto his soul like a tenor hand stroking his heart.

The red horse did not realize the impression that he made as he walked quietly beside the smallish man. He passed beneath the beams of sunlight which streamed through skylights and his short hair glistened an even brighter shade for a moment. Beneath the slick coat, the thick muscles of the stallion moved in a symphony of power and strength. Clp, clop clop, Clp, clop, clop. His feet accompanied him by tapping out a rhythm.

Chevy was an oddity of sorts. He was a mature breeding stallion: masculine, muscular, physical, and perfection. However, he was gentle and peace-loving. He avoided conflict and confrontation. His testosterone served nature's purpose but none other. It did not seep into his kind and easy attitude. The other horses in the barn already knew this about him. They knew that he best liked Neil Diamond songs on the radio, that he still remembered and loved his mother; they knew that he preferred to curl into a ball like a foal to sleep, and that he enjoyed playing with his ball toy in his stall.


In a different time, he would most likely have not sired foals. He could not, nay, would not, have challenged another stallion for the right to breed a mare. He would have happily roamed a prairie eating grass and taking long naps in the sunshine. But it was not another time. People decided which horses would have an opportunity to reproduce. And therefore, the same traits which may have prevented him from siring foals in the wild, caused him to have the opportunity to do so now. His slow nature, gentle attitude, and willingness to work alongside people ensured that his genetics would carry on.

The pair reached the end of the barn and walked out into the mid-morning sunshine. Just outside the barn doorway, sat the red truck with small black horse trailer tagging along behind. The door to the trailer was swung wide open and Chevy paused for only a moment before he stepped his front feet into its entrance. With agility that even a large cat would have envied, he quietly lifted his rear in a single hop that should have made a sound on the trailer floor but did not.

He dropped his head anticipating the familiar snap of brass beneath his chin and settled himself comfortably for the ride. The people standing outside spoke briefly and then the door behind him latched and blocked the sunshine from following him inside. He looked lazily ahead as the truck wheels began to turn. He saw the green countryside begin to move and closed his eyes for a nap. And he dreamt of grazing upon a prairie.

(Chevy makes a trailer trip about 3 days each week to Rood & Riddle to have his semen collected and prepared for shipping to mares around the United States and Canada. He has enjoyed this routine for 4 of his 5 breeding seasons and loves to travel.)