It is about time I got back. I am back because of a snarky remark about my make believe everything horses. I will come clean and tell the truth. From the earliest times Imcan remember I was horse crazy. I understand now it is a thing with some little girls but fo me it was about the most important thing in my life. I read every book about horses I could find from Black Beauty, to all the Black Stallion books books to all the Golden Stallion books. I saved my allowance and pop bottle return money to by small glass horse figurines. I amassed quite a collection over the years. But most of all from the age of about seven I begged my parents for a horse of my own. Be careful what you ask for. One golden fall evening, when I was about nine, I was told to stay in my room upstairs and study. No interruptions. Finally I was called downstairs and told by my dad to look outside. I went to the screen door and saw a horse tied to the Apple tree at the top of the yard. I couldn’t believe it. I ran through the door and down to the horse and immediately threw my arms up around his neck. I could barely reach him.
Dad told me he was 199% my horse and after he would show me what to do he was my complete responsibility. Pinocchio was a retired race horse. A trotter and if any car went by he felt he had to race it. Needless to say I was not allowed to ride my horse alone on the roads until I would become a much better rider. At that point I had never even been on a horse.
From that first night when I I slept by my horse under the Apple tree he was my baby. Alone, I fed him, carried pails of water from our pump on the hill to his stall in the barn almost an acre away. I mucked out his stall every day, and put down fresh straw. Curried him and petted him every day for hours after school. He was my best friend and I told him all my secrets. I would tie him to a maple tree at thr bottom of our yard on the mornings I had school. There he would remain moviing in a large circle eating grass and contemplating his retirement.
Fall soon turned to winter and our lives became more restricted. I would have to pour hot water in the pump to break up the ice and prime it before carrying the bucket of water down to his stall, mostly through Northern New York’s snow and ice. After giving him food and water I would climb the hill to wash up and change clothes to get on the school bus. I was the only child on the bus with the senior high students because the other kids went to country school.
After school I would reverse the process; change clothes, get another pail of water and go down to muck out the stall and spend the remainder of the afternoon with my best friend. Everyone was happy to see spring come that first year. My mom’s heart was broken e struggle through the long winter with no help but I never complained.
In the spring my dad thought it was too dangerous for me to have a house that wanted to race cars so without my feedback he traded Pinocchio for Pete. He was another retired racing horse but he had been a pacer and was no longer interested in racing. I loved Pete but he was not my first love and I really never got over Pinocchio. I continued doing what I was doing for the horse thru the school year and throughout gh the long lovely summer vacation. I spent the whole summer outside with Pete and loved every minute of it. Then the school year started again. In the fall my mom had a long talk with me and convinced me I really didn’t want to go through another winter like the last one. Much as I loved having a horse it was really too much work for a little girl and I frankly had not bonded as much with Pete.
So long story short we gave my horse t Mary Rafferty, a teenager on a farm about three miles away. They also had a pinto pony as well as other livestock, so he was in good hands. I was told I could visit my horse as much as I wanted and did make several trips before the winter again closed in.
I no longer owned a horse but have never lost my love and feelings towards these wonderful, powerful, gentle creatures.
