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  • It is still dark outside.

    We step into the barn. Smell of hay, muffled stomping in the stalls. We are trespassing. My son stops in front of the half door. A low whicker inside, and a giant head thrusts out. The horse tosses his head and snorts. I see my son's hair move.

    "Are those horses friendly, daddy?"

    "I hope so."
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