He reined the horse to a stop and studied the forest where the deer had emerged. “It’s alright, Garfield,” he said, rubbing the horse’s neck. Garfield, named after the comic strip cat because of his unnaturally orange coloring, flicked his tail from side to side and wandered towards the trees where some taller patches of grass grew.Kyle dismounted and stretched his legs, watching the horse as it tugged at the wild growth. Garfield had been a decent companion even though he was old and had a mind of his own, not wanting to walk too fast, go for too long, or pass a creek or stream without stopping for a break.Riding wasn’t foreign to Kyle. He’d done it a lot as a child, spending weeks in the summer on his grandfather’s farm riding with his cousins. But grandpa had also had an old dirt bike, and rather than messing with saddles and halters, it was much easier to wheel the bike out of the barn, jump on, kick it over, and be off. Looking back, it would have been nice to learn more about horses, but as a twelve year old, he’d been more concerned with fun and adventure than in planning for any distant, doomsday scenario where a knowledge of animal husbandry might come in handy.Kyle tied Garfield to a fallen tree, untied his canteen from the saddle and walked to the river to fill it.
