When I was a kid, there were certain places I loved going. Usually, I loved any place with water: rivers, ponds, water slides, lakes. My grandparents had purchased a little cabin by a lake in western Montana, long before I was born, when the price was cheaper than a vehicle.

His color was just ordinary old bay, but he was a real looker – big, stout hip; nice, neat, pretty head; solid, heavy bone; four black feet and built like a brick house.