The Dead Romance of Horses I’m not in love with horses anymore. Like a long marriage the enchantment is gone, the romance worn and faded. I can’t write about horses in terms of the wind made flesh or the heart and courage of the champions. Man O’ War Secretariat They were the exceptions. Instead I think of Saddlebreds on hot Kentucky days, of lazy CC and Banner who threw me because I wanted him to canter. Or the silly filly at Churchill Downs, dumb as a Valley blonde, shying at a donut wrapper that rattled in the wind. But yesterday in the toy store window I saw a plastic Saddlebred stallion, like a photograph of an old lover, proud and handsome, as though prepared for war. And I thought of Pride and the way we glided down the stable aisle, moving together like lovers who had known each other a long, long time.