I see this horse every other Wednesday when I’m on my way to my writer’s critique group. He is not close to the road; a large field of lavender separates me from his pasture. Consequently, I do not speak to him or give him carrots. I wouldn’t offer food anyway without an owner’s okay. I play by the rules in most things.

This horse has fascinated me for many months. He is no magnificent stallion, racing the wind.

He is not even particularly handsome what with his Roman nose. Nevertheless, he has a flowing whip of a tail and a graceful arch to his neck like most of his kind. His rotund girth might be a sign he has an ability to fend for himself. Or not.

He fascinates me because I believe he is sad. He is a herd animal, after all, and here he is all on his own, and that is the type of thing that can make me sad for days. You might say I am a patsy unless you are snarky enough to call me a chump.

Anyway, he stands at the fence, facing across the fields, staring at the dairy cows acres away.

That’s how I always see him. He whinnies to them, but they ignore him because they have milk to make. I’m sure he must have a human somewhere, but I have never seen this person.

Some goddess of lonely horses took pity on him a few weeks back, and I noticed that a sleek little bay had been released in the pasture with him. I was thrilled and pulled off the road just to watch the magic of new friendship. Imagine my chagrin when the two knuckleheads bucked along the fence line, ears back, lashing at each other with hooves and teeth. I am no horse whisperer, but it appeared they were not having fun.

Further, it appeared that my horse was the aggressor nation. The next week, he was alone again, looking over the fence with longing and sorrow, or so it seemed to me.

This week, the horse goddess devised another plan. Goats are in the pasture. They are eating.

And the horse is calmly grazing as well, close to the little animals’ sides. If I were Aesop, I’d find some moral here. Maybe that opposites attract, or that loners like to be alone, or that everyone who looks like a friend might not be, or that it takes all kinds. Mostly, though, I just feel better because the horse seems content with his goats.

As for now, this ending is a happy one.

Linda B. Myers is a founding member of Olympic Peninsula Authors. Her newest historical novel, “Dr. Emma’s Improbable Happenings,” is available at Pacific Mist in Sequim, Port Book and News in Port Angeles, and on Amazon.com. Contact her at myerslindab@gmail.com.