A couple of days ago, I told the story of Sheila--a wonderful wild horse that we raised from a colt. She was a gentle, well-behaved mare. When she was four or five years old, she had a colt, a pretty little pale buckskin that Daddy named Buttercup. Now, Buttercup was like a lot of today's kids--she just didn't want to conform. She would nip you every chance she got; picked fights with other horses; and when Daddy tried to break her, she was ornery. Here she is trying to buck Daddy off. She never did conform. She was one generation removed from a wild horse, and that blood coursed through her veins.
I'm sure at night she heard the call of the wild horses across the river, and longed to join them as they roamed the high plateaus.