It’s a request every time we drive to my parents’ house: “Momma, can we drive by the horses?” And it’s an easy yes. A short little detour takes us by the field, and every time we draw close, I hope the horses are out grazing instead of hiding from the Texas heat in the barn set too far back from the street.

This time was like all the others. I checked for cars coming up behind us and then slowed to a crawl, then a stop, scanning the field. “Ah, guys, I’m so sorry. I don’t see them.” I looked all...