Can a horse get a decent Frappuccino around here?

Hold your horses ... what has become of the Wild West?

Of Arizona?

Is there no more horse sense left in our beautiful, rugged desert, the land most closely associated with the glorious Old West of Billy the Kid, Cochise, the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and every John Wayne movie ever made (more or less)?

How is it possible for a rider to lead a horse to the drive-thru window of the local Starbucks and be denied the opportunity to let it drink ... a Frappuccino?

And yet, according to news reports, that is what happened at a Starbucks in Anthem.

A young women named Aspen Cline and her loyal steed Scout, along with another friend on horseback (because Anthem is not a one-horse town), trotted up to a local drive-thru window and ordered a couple of Frappuccinos and cups of whipped cream, to be shared, presumably, between riders and equines.

Granted, this was a horse of a different color for the puzzled barista, who may have questioned the horse sense of a horsewoman ordering a Frappuccino and cream.

There is no doubt that we’ve lost our sense of familiarity with the magnificent four-legged animals that made the West.

Years ago, I covered the tragic story of a horse that had managed to slip through a fence on the side of Interstate 10 and couldn’t find a way back in, trotting back and forth across the freeway, hemmed in from open range by flimsy wire and posts.

Department of Public Safety officers were dispatched to the scene — in automobiles, of course. They could not corral the wily, resourceful animal.

It became a traffic impediment, which in modern desert living is unacceptable.

Worst of all, in the once-wild, wild West, no man or woman could be found who was handy with a lasso.

After a long time and a long freeway backup, the horse was put down. Shot.

We don’t need horses anymore. In practical terms, anyway. In other ways, we need them desperately. More than ever.

We need, ironically, to get off our high horse.

Not too long ago, authorities were determined to remove a small herd of wild horses on a portion of the Salt River lying just beyond the asphalt, concrete, skyscrapers and golf courses of our cities.

The horses managed to find a stretch of shallow river lined with willow, mesquite and creosote, and inhabited by other refugees from urban sprawl, small animals and birds. And human horse lovers. Members of the Salt River Wild Horse Management Group eventually

were able to save the animals.

To save us, really.

The group’s president, Simone Netherlands, called the stallions and fillies and foals living at the river “a lovely reminder of where we live.”

I’d wager there are more Starbucks outlets than horses in Arizona these days.

And among contemporary equestrians, I’d guess more of them would favor Frappuccinos than anything favored by the rugged pioneers who put the wild in the West.

Starbucks has apologized and is now willing to serve riders who pony up to the drive-thru window.

To accommodate that connection to Arizona’s glorious past, I’d suggest that a minor accommodation or two be made on the Starbucks menu.

“Barkeep,” the next horse rider at the drive-thru would say. (Because a self-respecting cowpoke would not call the server a barista.) “I’d like a grande whiskey for me and your best venti oat bag for my friend.”