Horses, in their many settings, have always drawn my attention to them. They are beautiful and inspiring as they run or rest. For today’s post, I would like to look back to a childhood memory of horses.
I grew up on a dairy farm in southwestern Ontario in the 60s.
One of those changes involved the mechanization of agriculture, from horse-drawn equipment to a long green line of tractors and combines and ploughs. Farming was revolutionized, easier in some ways, more expensive in others.
For me as a child, though, I revelled in the stories Dad told about Mac and Dolly, the Clydesdales who trod the hills of our farm in planting and harvest seasons. Tales emerged of equine personalities and preferences as they played their part in working the land. There was an attachment to these amazing horses, one not felt for big-tired tractors.
Inspired by Dad’s stories, I recall pleading with my parents to buy me a pony. One day, it seemed that my prayers were answered when a beautiful Shetland pony trotted down our lane way. I rushed to meet him, name him Joe, feed him carrots, and give him a soft bed of straw.
My dream was short-lived, however, when a neighbour from across the way showed up in search of a pony that had recently been a gift to his daughter. Tears flowed, believe me, when I said goodbye to Joe; the dream of having a pony to ride was dashed.
Dad reassured me that horses were a challenge to maintain; a horse would eat us out of home and carrots!
Not really convinced, I had to settle for admiring horses from a distance, catching a pony ride here or there. C’est la vie, I guess, but sometimes, when the carrots are looking extra orange and tempting, my mind wanders back and I wonder whatever became of Joe.
Happy trails, All!
I fell in love with a cowboy
He nearly swept me off my feet
With tales of wild horses and tumbleweed twists
I wondered if his ranch really exists
I am still the wife of this cowboy
Yellow flowers perk up my day
As he rides range with the cattle
And, in his dreams, keeps the horses at bay.
I write poems and plays for my cowboy
Bake cookies and stews for his lunch
Make cool grasshopper pie in hot days of July
With love for my horse-chasing, wild prairie guy.
© 2013 Patricia A. McGoldrick