A horse of a different color

I may have forgotten to mention in my first 40th birthday post that as I get these gifts I'm to tell the story behind them. If I get them in a group (like the rooster magnet I got while vacationing in Montana), I have to tell the story right there. But this latest gift was left on my porch in a gift bag last week. I found it shortly after my sister, Jenny, had been here for an overnight stay. Coincidence? I don't think so. But nobody's taking credit yet. If you have no idea what I'm talking about but want to know, click here.

Anyway, here's a picture of the gift and then the story of the horse. The note taped to the package said, "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to Ned's we go!"

Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my aunt Ruthie and uncle Ed's house. Their kids were more my age than my own siblings. Scott, Mike and Danny were my most frequent playmates as a child. Scott is two and a half years older than I am, Mike is almost a year older, Danny is a couple of years younger, and Jason was born about a month before my tenth birthday. When Ruthie didn't have us doing chores (she was the master of the Chore List, especially on Saturday mornings), we were playing "Jacques Cousteau" or "school" or "church" (I was never the priest) or "house" (I was always the mom). Some of my favorite memories include being at their farm, which at the time was where their grandparents, Susie and Pete, and uncle Paul lived.

On the farm, they had a horse named Tonka and he didn't look anything like the horse pictured above. He was light-colored and was a pretty mild-mannered and tame horse, but he had his moments. I loved riding him because it was different and exciting to be on horseback. Once when I rode him, Mike saddled him up for me. He didn't get the saddle cinched tightly enough around Tonka's belly. We got as far as the driveway (which isn't that far from the barn) when the saddle slid sideways. And so did I. Once I fell off (I clung to the saddle horn for a long time before I finally gave up and landed on the ground), I looked back and all three of the boys were standing behind me doubled over in laughter. I was not happy. After they quit their guffawing, they finally cinched it up tight enough and I went on my ride.

Another time, the boys and I had just returned from a week of summer church camp and I was out at their house after a brief visit at home with my own family. I wanted to ride Tonka, as I did every time I went to the farm. Someone finally saddled him up for me and I got on to ride. As luck would have it, Tonka hadn't been ridden in several weeks. He was ready to run and no amount of coaxing with the reins convinced him to slow down. I was bounced around in the saddle and terrified of falling off when he finally slowed down and allowed me to have him stop. By that time I was over a mile away at the nearest neighbor's house. That would be where Ned and his parents lived. Ned was the scary neighbor who embodied all the stereotypes of a hillbilly. Once I got Tonka stopped, I got off and stood for a moment weighing my options. I decided to hold the reins and walk him back to the farm.

I'm sure I rode him again after that, but I don't remember. I probably haven't been on a horse since I last rode Tonka. I'll have to ask what eventually happened to him, I don't recall if he was sold or given away. It's rare that I visit the farm when I go back home. Every once in a while I get the urge to ride a horse again, but then my childhood memories come to the surface and I change my mind.