Timeless Tuesday: Stories I Shouldn’t Share with my Children

Nah, I’m not going to share pictures of “illegal” activities or things I did as a kid that I probably shouldn’t have (not that there are many of those)… I’m talking about horse stories. Middle kid has decided that she really needs a pony. Honestly, I really wish I could give her one. Maybe one of these days. Until then, we may have to search for some horse riding friends or travel to visit friends that we know who still have them. All possibilities.

This (I request correction here from those who know), I believe, is Applejack. I didn’t know Applejack. He was before my time. But I always heard stories of Applejack and when I was a kid, I always thought of Applejack as the horse we used to have even though he was never a horse of mine.

My sister and my brothers riding Applejack.
We were never “horse” people in the sense that we cared about breeds or pedigrees. There was always a resident pony in the pasture. When I was a kid, her name was Roberta. She was somewhere between a Welsh and a Shetland and would just as likely dump you on the ground as she would give you a ride. Ornery as could be, but I loved her all the same.

My cousins and I made a game of riding Roberta. We’d saddle her up and take turns going for the “big ride”. On Roberta, that meant a leisurely stroll to the end of the drive where the row of 8-foot high lilacs ended, and then the game was to hang on as she bolted across the yard. Roberta was smart. She’d aim for the lowest hanging branch of one of the many elm trees that populated our yard. As soon as she had succeeded in scraping her burden from the saddle, she’d drop her head and munch the grass, not a bit concerned about the rider who was picking herself up from the ground and pulling twigs from her hair. We’d lead her back to the “starting line” and play the game all over again.

One of my biggest successes in riding Roberta was the stick and carrot method, only I would use a slice of alfalfa hay. I’d tie it with twine to the longest stick I could find, then climb aboard bareback and “lure” her round and round the pasture. It wasn’t a fast ride, but it was fun.

I also enjoyed just sitting on her back on a summer’s day. She never much minded how you rode her, as long as you didn’t try to tell her where to go. That was when the trouble always started. I remember lying on her for hours just watching the clouds float across the sky. She was kind of fat and round so she made an easy chair. None of that boniness down the spine you would find in more capable horses.

Sometimes I’d take a book… and just feel the breeze… and take in the horsey smells and that of pasture grass. It was very peaceful hanging out with that ornery horse, especially when you were willing to do so on her terms.

This is Roberta. Me on her back and my sister.

This is me on my horse Pegasus, aka Peggy. And no, I didn't dress cowgirl for just any occasion, only the Dodge City Days Parade. The hat wasn't even mine. The boots, however, (snakeskin!) were. Well, hand-me-downs from a cousin/uncle, anyway.

I have better pictures of the horse, but I thought this one was more entertaining. Don't you just despise all those years of Kodak Instamatic Cameras and 110 film?