I used to have a wild streak. The great American prairie, that romantic expanse of plains country "stuffed" between Pennsylvania and the California coast, used to be my home. I'm the notion romantic dreams are built from-imagine those old, western movies, that cowboy in that white hat galloping across that landscape, into that bold, orange sunset. Could you be there without me? You name your muscle cars after me-mustang, pinto, colt. Mick Jagger, in his romantic period, sang about me-I "couldn't drive [him] away."

What did drive me away? That great American Prairie used to be filled with my kind. My hooves once roared like rolling thunder across those Great Plains, where nobody could catch me, nobody saw me coming, and I was king of the hill. But, progress took its toll. Roads must go in, bridges must be built, "big box" stores must rise up furiously, usurping the land beneath my hooves. But, what about me? Where do I roam free? Am I still even here?

Is the wild horse truly extinct from the great American prairie and, if so, where has it run off to hide?