Found him thin by the water trough, dust in his eyes like sand, Ribs like a worn-out washboard, tail saying “try again.” I tossed him scraps from the cookfire, he took ’em soft and slow, And when I saddled at sunrise, he shadowed heel to toe. No name needed, no word said, Four legs keeping what two legs tread. Miles and miles under the same old sky, My horse, my shadow, and a watchful eye. Town fell back like a bad old tooth, we climbed where the junipers grow, Trail cut thin on a shale-gray spine, wind talking low. He learned the smell of weather, the sound of a distant bell, Slept light by the coals each night, knew every coyote well. No name needed, no word said, Four legs keeping what two legs tread. Miles and miles under the same old sky, My horse, my shadow, and a watchful eye. I’d break bread and he’d take half, gentle from my hand, Shared water out of my hat, made treaties with the land. Never begged and never lied, just met me mile for mile, Ears like little weather vanes, eyes with a sober smile. Snow on the hat-brim winter, heat in the rattler’s time, He’d scout ahead at a fork in the trail, pick out the honest line. When camp got quiet and stars stood still, he circled once and lay, A sentry carved from midnight, keeping wolves at bay. No name needed, no word said, Four legs keeping what two legs tread. Miles and miles under the same old sky, My horse, my shadow, and a watchful eye. Came a day in a grizzly draw, chokecherry dark and deep, Brush shook hard—old thunder paws—woke every bone from sleep. I stood my ground and the ground stood back, teeth and iron met, Horse tore loose, the world went red, the sun burned like a brand. When the dust laid down and the echoes left, the grizz was gone to ground, I bled where the needles gather, too weak to hear a sound. But he was there with the steady look that never asked me “why,” Pressed his warmth against my side, kept the buzzards from the sky. Days or hours—I couldn’t tell—time fell off the ledge, He drank no water, touched no meat, stood guard by the edge. And when my breath rode out for good, light trailing in its wake, He curled up close and took his rest, the last long watch to take. No name needed, no word said, Four legs keeping what two legs tread. Miles and miles, then still and wide— Two old travelers, side by side. Morning found us quiet there, the mountain keeping time, Horse stood facing east a while, then wandered down the line. Some say a good dog knows your heart; I say he knows the land, And sometimes that’s the same old thing, shared softly, hand to hand.
