So, I was halfway through fixing the chicken coop when I noticed Barley, my old yellow Lab, trotting up the dirt road like he always does after his little morning adventure. But this time, he wasn’t alone.

Right behind him was a dark brown horse with a worn leather saddle, reins dragging in the dust—and Barley had the reins in his mouth like he was proudly walking it home.

I stood there, hammer in one hand, trying to figure out if I was hallucinating. We don’t own a horse. Not anymore. Hadn’t since my uncle passed and we sold off most of the livestock.