Yesterday, we're standing around in the field waiting on the farrier, the way you do, and Morgan, on a whim— who is whimmy in the truest sense of the word, the kind of person who does the thing the second the thing occurs to her — just hops up on Cassie bareback. No saddle. No plan. Twenty-nine-year-old horse, three years off, halter and lead and a rider going purely on muscle memory.

Today I thought: what if I just tipped the cage a little, so all six kits slid to the high side, and then I dragged it across the grass with nothing under their feet to catch? Genius. Efficient. The kind of innovation that wins awards. Until one of them fell out.