Taming Wild Hearts

After hearing a knock at his ranch house, John set down his coffee mug and opened the door. There stood a young man with a Thoroughbred. "What can I do for you?" John asked. Nervously the fellow answered, "I've heard you're the best horse whisperer around. It's obvious that my horse's brain is the size of a peanut. I'm hopin' you can knock some sense into it." "What's his name?" "Wild Hearts," said the boy. "Ever since I've had 'im, his heart's been wild...mine, too, for that matter. Put 'em together; the name fits." "He's mighty sprightly," John agreed. Though John was only fifty-six, his face had a weather-lined and roughed look. Ironically, it developed indoors--not when he was outside doing what he loved. He'd still be training horses if his doctor hadn't demanded months ago that he quit. John's heavy smoking finally got the best of him, but so did life without training horses. Spontaneously, John said, "I'll see what I can do." While in the corral John experienced problems breathing, but he worked relentlessly with Wild Hearts for over a month. The guy returned weeks later, appalled at what he observed in the corral. Wild Hearts had the look of beauty, courage, strength, and gentleness. But behind Wild Hearts was John lying in the dusty corral, gasping for breath. Shocked, the fellow said, "I'll get help." "Too late," John muttered. "Sir, I owe you everything. Wild Hearts is so calm. It's just unbelievable." "You've more than paid me, buddy. I trained one last horse." John smiled before closing his eyes. Written November 20th, 2001 © on Nov 20 2001 07:28 AM PST   0 • 8