Perspective

The humid day melts into dinner picnics, Frisbee throwing, and the laughter of the hardiest swimmers. Buzzing with activity, the Honey Hut dishes out its famous butter pecan. My two antsy sons skip down the eroding path, intent on ice cream. They spy a horse. They sprint towards it, scabbed legs flailing in the gravel. The fact that there is a policeman on top of the horse makes it even better. A giant animal and a man with a specialty tool belt: perfection for little boys.

He sees it all, Billy the horse does. He is the police mount housed in the Cleveland Metroparks and assigned to patrol Huntington Beach with Officer John; Billy offers him the best seat in the house. Perched deliberately on Billy’s back, wizened skin almost protected under his wide-brimmed hat, the Officer can saunter around the parking lot looking for contraband in the back seats of cars. He can see the errant skateboarder who almost gets tagged by a rear bumper. He can keep the peace.

At the same time my boys spot the horse, Officer John notes something suspicious in the back of a dinged-up red Chevy truck. He calls it in, reading the tag number from the dangling license plate. Seems the driver of the car is wanted for an outstanding warrant. Out comes the ticket book as the barefoot driver searches for license, registration, explanations. She even scours the bed of the pickup, long tangled hair flipping like Billy’s tail, as she roots through a bed full of flea market finds.

My boys play in the gravel. The officer and the woman do a strange dance to the music of the crackling walkie-talkie. The boys grow tired of the gravel and scale the picnic table. The officer and the lady continue to dance.

She finally fumbles through the heaps of junk long enough to find all the paperwork and Officer John completes the transaction. She is not pleased. My boys are. Once the official business has transpired, they get to pet Billy.

Perspective on a Tuesday night at the lake. Same balmy night. Same summer sky. Two young boys giggling as they stroke the horse’s flank. One young woman boiling as she adds a ticket to her arsenal. And one stoic horse whose flaring nostrils breathe it all in.