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I was able to get Two Socks to trust me enough to stroke his head.[/caption]
I named him Two Socks. Two Socks is an abandoned American Quarter Horse. He lives in a meadow-covered canyon in Northern California. The only herd that he is a part of belongs to a small band of black-tailed deer. They are his closest friends.
A rancher tried to shoot Two Socks eighteen years ago. When the shot was fired the horse found his freedom by jumping a barbed wire fence. That rancher sure missed his target, and Two Socks cruised right over that fence.
After hearing this story, I went looking for the horse and found him. Hours spent gaining one another's trust paid off. We became friends. Four months have gone by since I first met Two Socks. He is a good teacher. The word "horsemanship" has new meanings. I have learned much from this horse.
In saying goodbye to Two Socks, I did two memorable things. I cut a lock of hair from his tangled mane and placed it in my pocket, then I cried. He stood as a bronze sculpture as I walked away.
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He was a wise old fellow.[/caption]
The hair cut from Two Socks' mane hangs in my horse trailer as a reminder that there are thousands of horses in America that are abandoned. Two Socks' life span is short. We will most likely not see each other again. I will miss him.
The snow is melting in Montana. I am heading north. Mark Pendl is traveling the byways of America in search of the perfect cowpony. He's living off the land, and writing to share his adventures when he can. --Editor
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