I’m calling him Barney at the moment. He responds to it even though it isn’t his real name. I stopped by with an apple to say hello, and he was heading to the fence before I got out of the car. I’ve never spent much time along with horses; I know they are bright, but Barney seems alert and intuitive.

He knows my car now and seems to know from my demeanor when I have an apple. I had one today, it was in my right hand and I held it out. Barney has done this before; he leaned forward delicately and gracefully took it out of my palm.

He chewed it slowly and deliberately as if he were savoring it.

Then I get what I want: to get close and look into his eyes. I don’t know what he thinks, but he seems to get the eye-to-eye thing. I stare into the beautiful, dark pool that is his eyes, and he stares into mine. I think we stood there looking at each for five or ten minutes.

He seems to grasp the idea entirely. I don’t think he was a working horse. The woman who owned him once says she pays the farmer to keep and feed him. He is semi-retired, she said.

Then a truck pulled up, and a nice man asked out of his window if I was all right. This happens almost every time I pull the car over to take a picture or feed an apple to a horse.

But his truck rattled Barney, and he backed up and moved up the hill. I said I was taking a picture and thanked him for stopping, and the man waved and drove off.

Whatever might divide us, we are always available to each other if anybody gets into trouble.

I didn’t have time to stay longer. I waved to Barney and said goodbye. I appreciate this friendship.