I was a shy middle child, second of four. When the youngest was born, he turned out to have some big special needs. He soaked up all the attention from all the adults.
I didn’t mind the lack of attention too much. I was a horse-crazy bookworm, happy in my own little world.
Then one day when I was eleven years old, my father shocked me. He offered to buy me a horse.
Dad and I put up a barbed wire fence for a pen in our one-acre yard, and Dad bought a shed from a neighbor and had it moved. Then we brought home Strawberry, a large good-natured pony. She was a reddish-brown animal with white hair sprinkled all over her, a coloring called strawberry roan.
We lived in Mississippi in a new subdivision where there were no rules against having a pony. In fact, we were one of the very first houses in the subdivision, and there was a lot of former pasture land there waiting for future houses. This was the early 1960s.
So Strawberry and I and our dog Fritzi wandered all over the subdivision. I’d get home from school and run out for a ride if it wasn’t raining, year ’round.
I got to know the kildeer and the meadowlarks, and I loved the big floppy pink wild flowers we called buttercups. Though I was outside a lot, I have no recollection of feeling either too hot or too cold. I wasn’t paying any attention to the weather. But it must have been really hot at times!
Strawberry was my friend and companion, very much in the way a dog is a companion. She waited by the gate with her ears pricked up, when I came home from school. She nickered to greet me, a dear little noise that no one hears unless they are loved by a horse.
I always rode bareback as we roamed around the neighborhood. Soon it sprouted some houses, and there were some younger kids very interested in Strawberry. I let one kid get on her, but Strawberry wasn’t thrilled about it. She reared up and made him slide off. So I gave her a good scolding.
There was a herd of mules that sometimes roamed the neighborhood, tearing up people’s bushes and flowers. I don’t know where they came from or how they got loose. But they were a great opportunity for me to try to round them up. I could pretend I was a cowgirl. I managed to chase them out of the subdivision, but I couldn’t really direct where they were going. After all, the mules were each bigger than Strawberry, and there were six of them!
My joy lasted two years. Then Dad announced we were moving away, ,and Strawberry would have to be sold.
They took her away while I was at school.
I’ve hardly ridden since. I didn’t have the money to board a horse or a pony, so I couldn’t own one. And who wants to rent a horse that sees you as a stranger or a burden?
But I have memories.
(This appeared first in my author newsletter.)