A herd of feral horses was grazing quietly; a sight so common the women didn’t mention it to each other. Christy and Stevie suddenly appeared, racing around the herd and trying to cut foals from the mares. “Omygod!”
“Wolfie, you stay here!” Wolfie gave Dusty an astonished look. She didn’t think he was stupid enough to try that, did she?
The presence of big, hungry animals pushed the herd to disarray. Virginia Highland dogs were typically well-fed and pampered, like Wolfie, but these canines behaved like real wolves.
Shocked, the adult horses raced parallel with the dogs, keeping them on the edges, but then the old mentality returned. The feral herd, their ancestors once owned by ranchers, miners and stagecoach companies had been wild for many generations. They’d saved their young from mountain lions, wolves, coyotes and the occasional bad human. They were not about to lose a foal to a couple of dogs! They stopped running. They formed a circle with the young in the middle. When Christy and Stevie dashed toward a mare, hoping to break the ring, the horses lunged in deadly unison.
It quickly became clear that the price of young horseflesh was crushed ribs or a broken back. Christy and Stevie came wagging to the women on the porch, hoping for biscuits or handouts. Mac was passed out and the cat didn’t care enough to push their Kibble bag off the top of the cupboard.
This isn't a hook. This is the first page (I think). Send this to me in a query letter and you're getting a form letter back.