Horses, Not
for Me
When I was in kindergarten and the first
grade, I had a tall friend who loved horses. I mention tall because I was (and
still am) very short. During recess every day, we played horses. She was the
“mama horse” and I was her “baby horse.” I don’t think she ever got to have one
because she lived in town.
I, however, ended up with one, or I
should say, my sister had a horse. Her name was Tilly, and my experiences with
her were always bad. Troubles culminated the day she stopped dead in her tracks
and threw me over her head.
Luckily, I wasn’t hurt, but that was the
end of any future relationship with Tilly. I was always secretly a little
afraid of her. (I was short; she was tall.) She managed to founder twice and
survived both incidents. Maybe that’s why she became so cantankerous. My sister
and brother could handle Tilly, but I chose not to climb right back in
the saddle.
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