Something moved, over on the far edge of the newly picked bean field. My dog froze, perking both her ears in the direction of the treeline and my gelding tensed up too, his ears like radar toward the west.

I pulled him up and squinted both eyes; it was five whitetail deer. All doe, all picking leftover soybeans the farm equipment had dropped. Little Lady took back to sniffing for rabbits, those deer were too far off for her to bother with. But my horse, well, he kept acting the fool.

I still, to this day, don't know what came over me, but I goosed him and off we went. Straight toward that herd of deer. The g-force of Rusty's take off left my hat on the ground and we were across that mile long field before the doe even knew we were in the vicinity.

Those first few seconds were all it took. Rusty and I were sailing alongside all five deer. Then they scattered in five different directions, leaving my gelding and me to make the trip back across the field all by our lonesome.

I had to circle the field twice, just to slow my horse. He was like a rocket, drunk on running with the wind. And as I stopped him, way back over by my patient little Dalmatian ... I was drunk on living.