"Collect her up, Harry," Doris, Harry's riding instructor watched on with approval as Harry put Robin through her paces.

Ever since he'd first sat atop a pony and trotted around the "pony ring" when very young, he couldn't get enough of horses. He had been seat-belted in the saddle, and didn't even get to hold the reins. For the ponies' protection from unskilled riders, the reins had been tied to the saddle, out of reach. So it hadn't been "real" riding in any sense of the word. But he'd begged his parents to take him there every weekend, his love for horses already blooming.

When he'd gotten a little older he'd worked in a stable in England as a young teen, mucking out stalls, just to be around horses. Something about them gave him a sense of serenity.

After he'd come to the states and gotten the job at the vet hospital, Harry had begun taking riding lessons. Every Saturday morning, he was in the saddle. He hadn't ever had any proper lessons, and found there was a whole lot more to it than met the eye of the casual observer. It was work, but he enjoyed the challenge.

He was learning to ride English-it made perfect sense, as most people in England rode with an English saddle and bridle. Frankly, Western style riding had never even occurred to him, even though the majority of Californians rode Western. He no doubt would have been stared at out on the trail, but he never left the arena, so it didn't matter.

There were so many things to think of at once. Keep your heels down, keep the horse moving forward with energy, keep your back straight, hands correctly holding the reins, and butt firmly in the saddle, no matter what.

Harry loved his lessons dearly, and even though it was sometimes a struggle to put aside the fifteen dollars a week, it was well worth it to him. After all, it was his only hobby, so he convinced himself he was justified in spending the money. He didn't make a whole lot as a vet tech, but he realized the importance, and the need for something that was just for himself.

The horse he rode today was a twelve year old strawberry roan mare, Harry's favorite in the barn. A large horse, she stood over sixteen hands high and must have weighed close to twelve hundred pounds. She was said to be half Arabian; no one knew what the other half was. But she was such a sweet, wonderful mount that Harry had decided long ago that if his dream of having his own horse someday ever came true, it would be an Arabian, or at least part Arabian. He loved their elegant looks, their willingness to please, their lively spirit and intelligence.

Robin wasn't for sale, but it wouldn't have mattered if she had been, since Harry had no place to keep her. Boarding would be out of the question, with Harry making not much over minimum wage. So riding lessons it was; it made him happy and it was his only real indulgence in life.

Harry was ambivalent about his job, sometimes loving it and sometimes coming close to despising it. The older veterinarian he worked for, Dr. Jenkins, couldn't afford to pay his employees much, but he was a very likeable man, and working for him, Harry often felt as if the office was one big family. It was a good feeling, as he missed his family in the U.K. There was a high turnover of course, because of the low wages, but Dr. Jenkins always seemed to hire the nicest people-the ones who inevitably quit for better paying jobs almost always came back to visit often.

Dr. Jenkins, however, was getting on a bit in age, had been a vet for many years, and was becoming more and more jaded as time went on. Actually, he was only in his mid-fifties, but looked at least ten years older. Being a vet was not an easy job. He was not always as conscientious he should have been, and some potentially serious mistakes had been made.

As Harry took Robin over a few jumps, he reflected on his years with Dr. Jenkins. Among other quirky traits, the man had a habit of avoiding particularly pesky clients and requiring his employees to talk to them when they called about their hospitalized pets. Often, the employees had to attempt to explain to the owners about their animals' serious health problems, not having the knowledge to answer the worried owners' questions properly. The employees ended up winging it at those times. Harry dreaded this.

Just as disturbing, Dr. Jenkins just did not care as much as when he was a younger man. He was just plain tired. He had a wife at home whom the employees all loved, but who had a habit of spending every dime the doctor made, no matter how much he brought home.

So, even though he had a huge clientele, and should have been able to retire comfortably, he was constantly pressured to push himself to make more, and the more he worked, the longer the hours, the more the money seemed to dissolve almost before he made it. He took on much more work than he should have, rarely turning anyone away. He had many loyal clients that had been with him for many years, wouldn't dream of going elsewhere, and had come to expect the prompt service the doctor had always provided. But his clientele continued to grow through word of mouth, without advertising even needed, and so the doctor became ever more overworked and weary.

Therefore, with financial problems, and fatigue from overwork, Dr. Jenkins' mind was not always on the job. His distraction caused him to make errors, and his patients, the animals, were in danger of paying the price. Harry, being an avid animal lover, had a hard time dealing with this. That, and the fact that the doctor offered no medical insurance of any kind for his employees had had Harry thinking about looking elsewhere for employment for some time now.

Sure, he was young and healthy, but medical emergencies could happen to anyone. Harry supposed he was just being stupid and overly loyal by staying as long as he had—It was his nature to be loyal, but this was, after all, his first job, and not only would he hate to leave Dr. Jenkins and the staff, but the thought of going somewhere else was also intimidating.

Could he even manage another job? He'd been too sheltered-that much he knew. Bless his mother—she had done her best, but nevertheless had not prepared him properly. She had babied him, and with his face, it hadn't been difficult, and although she had tried to warn him, it was to no avail. He hadn't been ready to come to the U.S. and face the harsh reality of the work world and living on his own. He'd accomplished it though, and was proud of it.

Learning to be a vet tech had been easy for him because of his interest. He could draw blood, give vaccines, take x-rays, do dental work on dogs and cats, and even assist in surgery. On top of that, he also did receptionist work answering phones, making appointments. In short, he could hold his own anywhere he was needed in the hospital. He had gotten a great deal of experience.

But could he learn another job as easily? Something that perhaps wouldn't come as naturally to him? He'd gone to school to become something that he apparently hadn't researched well enough beforehand, because, of course, he'd found out soon enough that a vet tech job in general didn't pay much.

He did know he was sick and tired of barely making it from one paycheck to the next, and sometimes having to do without so he could put some money aside for emergencies or a rainy day. This was an absolute necessity, considering his lack of medical insurance.

His car, an older Range Rover, was far from reliable, and so that too, was a constant source of anxiety. That nagging doubt in the back of his mind that it might not start, or get him to work and back. Harry was so intimately familiar with the vehicle's idiosyncrasies that he could almost talk it out of its occasional temperamental refusals to cooperate. He knew just when to feather the gas pedal, ease up or gun the engine to make it behave. But the fact was, it was just plain getting old and worn out, and he was aware it wouldn't last forever.

Harry was amazed, as always, when his one hour riding lesson came to an end. It seemed to go by faster every week. Time really does fly when you're doing something you truly enjoy. Dismounting Robin, he caressed the loveable horse's neck, and the mare turned her head to nuzzle his cheek.

The fierce longing returned just then-here we go again, Harry thought. The longing to have his own horse, live somewhere else far away. He must remember to mention to Audrey how this insistent notion just would not leave him. After five days, he still had the feeling she wasn't taking him seriously.

Hoping it would burn itself out, Harry had neglected to mention to Audrey just how tenacious this strange urge really was; how it clung to him. Maybe he'd find a solution as to how to eradicate it from his mind. Good Lord, he even dreamed about it at night! It had been going on for weeks, maybe as long as a few months. He couldn't be sure of exactly when it had started. These totally unacceptable, irresponsible thoughts must be banished, or he'd surely lose his mind.

"Harry, you're coming along so well," Doris, the riding instructor interrupted his pensive thoughts. "I like the way you go with the horse. And you have good hands. You have such natural ability."

Harry couldn't help but glow from her compliments. But, considering his line of thinking today, he couldn't see himself making a career with horses, because he didn't have enough talent or experience to do something like showing, breeding or training.

"Thanks, Doris. That makes me feel good. I wish I could ride every day. Someday, maybe I'll be able to."

Doris wasn't certain just what Harry meant by that statement, but she did know he was a delight to have as a student. So willing to learn, so patient and compassionate with the horse, following instructions to the letter. She wished all her students were like him. Holy moly, but he was a joy to look at too. If only she were about twenty years younger. . .

"Maybe soon I'll put you on a horse with more spirit," she said. "It'll improve your riding skills, plus it'll be a challenge. The true measure of a good rider is the ability to handle all kinds of horses with all kinds of dispositions and levels of training. When you ride a green horse, and know what to do, and what not to do, and encourage the best out of the animal, you'll have confidence on almost any horse."

"That does make sense," said Harry. But at the same time, he wondered silently if he'd be around long enough to ride a more challenging horse. The unbidden thought alarmed him. Why had he allowed that ridiculous whim to enter his head again? Now he was becoming truly concerned. He'd definitely have to talk to Audrey tonight.

But Harry's conversation with his best friend did absolutely nothing to ease his mind. They had almost the same identical conversation as last time. This time it was via telephone, and Harry couldn't help but feel slightly guilty about Audrey's response. She simply didn't understand why he'd want to leave. And she had good reason, Harry mused. He didn't completely understand it himself. There was a certain degree of tension between them that hadn't been there before.

These wanderlust feelings of Harry's had been slowly increasing in intensity until he now feared they were beginning to dominate his thoughts. Audrey was supportive, yet she was clearly frustrated with Harry's rather sudden lack of good sense.

Harry double checked the chart for Mrs. Settlemyre's ancient dog, Susie. He squinted at the doctor's handwriting again and again, unable to believe what he was seeing. The doc's orders clearly stated he wanted a prescription filled for Aminophylline. This made no sense to Harry, who knew Aminophylline was a drug used for breathing problems. Susie had arthritis, not breathing problems.

Harry finally tracked Dr. Jenkins down after scouring the five thousand square foot building, while phones rang incessantly, owners and pets waited in exam rooms, and people continued to flow through the front door. This was routine for the animal hospital. The office was almost always this busy, except for a couple of months in the winter.

Finding Dr. Jenkins and approaching him in the x-ray room, Harry presented the chart.

"Doc, are you sure you wanted to prescribe Aminophylline for Susie Settlemyre?"

Dr. Jenkins, slightly flustered from his constant attempt to catch up—something that never happened, peered at the chart in question thoughtfully, then snorted his disgust with himself at his blatant mistake.

"What would I do without you, Harry? You're right—I meant to write Dexamethazone." He quickly amended the orders with the pen that seemed to be a permanent fixture in his right hand. "Good boy to keep on top of things." He patted Harry on the back. "I'm so damn busy I can't hear myself think sometimes."

Harry smiled. "No problem, Doc." Harry knew Doc was doing the best he could under the circumstances. Good thing, though, that he had a staff that was vigilant about checking up on his orders. Hell, the two drugs didn't even begin with the same letter!

But Harry suspected Dr. Jenkins had been hurriedly working with more than one chart at a time, and had simply written another animal's orders onto the wrong chart. A fairly common mistake for him lately, but potentially lethal, depending on the particular drug, and a pet's condition. Harry feared it was only a matter of time before a technician did not catch a mistake, and an animal needlessly ended up suffering, or worse.

Harry tried not to dwell on this distressing thought as he filled the prescription. Susie was all old Mrs. Settlemyre had, being a widow and living alone. Even though the dog was probably not going to live much longer than a few more years, an untimely death, or added health problems would not do the elderly lady any favors. Her dog, like many of Dr. Jenkins' other clients, was like a child to her.

The remainder of the day flew by, as they all did. Harry rarely stopped running longer than a few minutes, and then it was just long enough to stuff a sandwich down his throat. Even so, he'd take a bite or two and then have to answer the phone, or would be called to the back to assist with something.

Many days, like today, there was no time for lunch. He was either answering phones, asking Doc questions for clients, calling back test results to owners, autoclaving, peering into the microscope, developing x-rays, updating charts, or sending out vaccine reminders, non-stop.

All the employees worked well with each other, like a well-oiled machine, taking up each other's slack when needed, all keeping the successful practice running smoothly. Nevertheless, the fact that Doc would not turn anyone away, even if booked solid, meant he always had more than he could handle. This often resulted in overtime for the already nearly burned out employees.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd started the day without a pile of charts to update and endless calls to make. By the end of the day, there would always be a fresh pile. It was frustrating to never be able to completely catch up.

Back in his apartment, Harry flopped down on the couch, almost too tired to make dinner. The doorbell chimed, and he wearily trudged to open it to find his only other close friend, Tish. Though Harry had many acquaintances and casual friends at work, Audrey and Tish were special. Harry didn't allow many people into his personal life, but these two were of the rare sort that could be trusted completely not to cause him grief or betray him. Not having a lot of free time, Harry was careful about who he spent it with. Harry was aware that Tish knew he was gay, but they had never mentioned it, so he supposed she accepted it, and that it was a kind of silent understanding between them that she would never discuss it with anyone else.

Tish was a very timid, retiring type of girl, easily intimidated, but she had been an unequaled friend to Harry. They had also met in high school, like himself and Audrey. Both Tish and Harry were bashful and shy, and although Harry was becoming a little more confident with age, Tish remained the same.

Admittedly though, Harry still had a long way to go, and no one would ever venture so far as to label him as assertive. Quite far from it, actually. So, the three friends offered each other comfort, as well as often boosting each other's esteem in their effort to face life's difficult situations.

Tish was slightly built, even more so than Audrey, and she had a quiet, understated, special kind of beauty with her long, dark curtain of hair and big dark brown eyes. Audrey's hair, on the other hand, was a deep shade of auburn, along with attractive hazel eyes. They were both pretty, and both were attracted to Harry. Harry knew this, but he had no ego to speak of, not letting it affect him, and besides, the fact that he was gay stood between them.

On this night, Harry found it handy that Tish had come over, and decided a second opinion was in order. When he blurted out his unceasing obsession to leave his current life behind, Tish, although wide-eyed, reacted quite differently than Audrey had. After she recovered from her initial shock, she took Harry's hand.

"I don't blame you—you know, sometimes I feel like that too. I don't think you're crazy, or daft as you call it. Doesn't everyone have dreams like that?"

Harry was so delighted that at last someone accepted his fancy without glaring disbelief, that he could not restrain himself from laughing out loud, starting out with his unique barking sound.

"You understand! I know Audrey wants the best for me, is worried about me, but she made me feel a little on the mental side. And I really don't think she realized how much it's weighin' on me. You don't know how relieved I am that someone knows where I'm comin' from! But Tish, I know everyone probably has dreams like mine . . . but, this is much more serious than a dream. I can't stop thinkin' about it. It's with me all the time."

Now Tish's expression registered alarm more on par with Audrey's. She'd had no idea. But she saw the subtle change in her friend, now that she really concentrated on it. And true, Harry had been looking a little dazed and distant lately.

But one thing Tish knew for sure, and that was that Harry was not of the vagabond personality. He was settled, responsible, approaching maturity quickly. She couldn't see him as a drifter. One thing was obvious here—Harry was crying out for help, was terribly frustrated and felt powerless.

"I admit, at first I thought you were not doing much more than daydreaming about something that would never happen, but now I'm not so sure. You really are more than halfway serious about this, aren't you?"

Now Harry had no choice but to face his true inner feelings—be honest with himself. Tish was calling him on it. His quiet friend had a way of doing that; quietly bringing his thoughts and feelings to the fore—into focus.

Harry looked into Tish's eyes and knew the truth in a fraction of a second. That was all it took. It was that simple. Never before had anything in his life been so obviously laid out before him—except for his determination to come to the U.S.

Yes, he thought. I really am serious.

He gasped softly. It brought a flush of excitement to his face, a quiver to his already unsteady hands. This revelation was overwhelming. And in a strange way, it was also a tremendous relief. He felt free.

"Yes, Tish," Harry whispered.

She responded by swallowing and licking her suddenly dry lips with an equally parched tongue.

She was going to lose Harry.

"Yes, I'm scared to even say the words, but I really am serious. And not halfway— but totally. I came to the U.S. from the U.K., didn't I? If I could do that, then I can do this."

Harry's mouth was also dry as the Arizona desert. The impact of actually speaking the words aloud was brutal, baldly shocking, even to himself. Something carefully concealed and constrained had now broken free.

They were only words—not actions, Harry tried to reassure himself. He could talk about it all he wanted, and never act on it. But somehow that thought was not as comforting as it should have been. And he knew why. Because he wanted to act on it—more than anything he'd ever wanted before in his life. Needed to act on it.

And most frightening of all, he feared he could not continue on without acting on it.