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A couple of weeks ago, as a Mother’s Day present to my wife, I took my children and my dog to the San Pedro river just a mere five minutes or so away from my house so she could have a couple of hours to herself. The kids had a blast, and we all enjoyed watching Wisp the Wonder Dog as she had her first taste of the great oudoors.  We’ve had her a year, and have not even taken her outside of our neighborhood.  Sad, in’t it?

We were there for about an hour…long enough for me to get a sunburn on my scalp. Maybe you haven’t noticed that I don’t have the world’s longest hair? The kids, on the other hand, had nary a hint of a tan. That’s because they, being kids, insisted upon playing in the water…which was in the shade of the cottonwood trees. I, on the other hand, being a well-reasoned adult, decided it was more adult-like to stay on the riverbank. Which was just outside the reach of said shade.

You’d think, with my last name being Schade and all, that something like this wouldn’t really be a problem. I think now is a good time to remind you that Schade, being of German origin and all, means “too bad” in the homeland.

At any rate, there we all were, having a grand old time with the kids and the dog in the water, and me on the bank getting redscalp and taking pictures of it all, when we hear the sound of hooves in water approaching from the north. Now it’s not unusual in any respect for there to be horses in the area. We are, among other things, smack dab in the middle of old west. Horses are all the rage down here, so we didn’t really make much out of the fact that someone is riding through the river area on horseback. I’m not paying much attention at all, and was happily taking pictures of my youngest daughter, Bear, eating dirt. When all of a sudden, Radio yells, “Dad! Look!” and points in the direction from which the sound is coming. Imagine my surprise when I see, of all things, a centaur. And not just any centaur, but a Rocky Mountain Brown. This was utterly fantastic. I hesitated not one second to snap this photo of him.

It was at this time that I realized that this magnificent beast had a certain familiarity about him, though I’m certain I’ve never seen him before. He continued his march up river without any hesitation in his step. Not suprising, since Rocky Mountain Browns are very self-assured, almost to the point of arrogance. But they are also extremely loyal beasts, willingly giving up their lives for those who are fortunate enough to be called their friends.

His stride was sure and relentless as he gently walked past my children. Even Wisp, who would normally bark herself into a tizzy at the sight of such an odd creature, was unusually passive. The eyes of the centaur and mine, however, never parted. His expression was not one of distrust or wariness, but of befuddlement. Perhaps he, too, felt as though we had met before, sometime ago. His gate slowed only slightly as he rounded a bend in the river, and then he was gone.

My children and I stood there, drenched in the cool silence this unusual encounter left us in. The breeze kicked up around us, causing leaves to dance around the stalks of grass and our legs and up into the air and through the cottonwoods. The gentle trickle of the river as it wound its way northward eased into our minds like a vail slowly being removed from our consciousness. Suddenly my children sprang to life like wooden toys abrubtly made real, and they were all over me asking “what was that?” and “did you see how strong he looked?” and “Daddy, why was he looking at you that way?” I continued to stare up the river, wondering who he was, and I got the impression that I would be seeing him again. Someday.

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