A birth already staged
Aldebaran was born one November morning, already tired that no one was filming him. His mother handed him a welcome rosette, which he immediately chewed to sign his first autograph. The whole stud-farm maternity bowed. He, for his part, closed one eye, like in the magazines.
He galloped alone. With a seagull.
As a teenager, Aldebaran galloped along the Normandy cliffs at sunset, just to check the wind was sitting right in his mane. A respectful seagull always held formation three meters behind him. He claims since then to have Andalusian ancestors. His mother is from Caen. The sea says nothing.
Reads Baudelaire with iced tea
Aldebaran reads. A lot. Mostly the 19th-century poets, settled on a vintage chaise longue out in the meadow, round glasses perched on his muzzle and iced tea on a straw. If a butterfly tries to land on the page, he politely waves it off with a nostril. He refuses plastic oats "for ethical reasons".
