There was only one thing that I ever really wanted as a child: a horse. I didn't care about exotic trips, fancy clothes or the latest fads. I dreamt only of a gorgeous gelding, with me flying beside the car or down our road on its shiny back. The color never mattered, though black would've been nice. I ripped right through all of the Black Stallion novels like they were brownies after Sunday dinner. Then I discovered James Herriot's wonderful books, a veterinarian telling stories of his adventures, many equine, in the English countryside. Every book about horses that could be found in the public or school libraries was checked out and read voraciously by me. I drew scads of pictures of them, made lists of names for them, and circled the bridles and saddles I wanted that were in the Sears Roebuck catalog (yes, they used to have those in there). Daddy always bought the latest Atlanta Advertiser, yesterday's Craigslist in print form. You could buy anything from cars to gerbils. And horses. I would covertly sneak into the back bedroom of my folks' home, where the second telephone was located. At 10 or 12 years old, in my "adult" voice, I would call the different ads for horses and ask questions about them. I would write the details down and then casually mention it to Daddy. I know he thought I was kidding around when I would ask if we could buy one. But I was dead serious. Every birthday and Christmas, I had one thing on my list (except for that year I put a Crissy doll, right after "horse"...).
There came a day when I was at the place that I could finally consider buying one on my own. I was living at home, working and going to college at night. One night, with great fear and trepidation, I called Mr. Zotti, our neighbor who lived next door and owned a lake and 200 acres. He was Italian and scared me to death. I asked him if I could put a horse on his land. He said yes. So I started buying Atlanta Advertisers and calling horse sellers again, this time not having to fake my adult voice. I met up with strangers in strange barns and fields, looking for the right one. I was thwarted at every turn. There were lots of misfits, most of them too small or too old for an athletic 20-year old gal with a dream. After many frustrated dead-ends, my Daddy pulled me aside one morning. He said, "Rose, I don't think this is the time for you to get a horse. I believe the Lord has something big in store for you and you might just miss it if you are tied up dealing with a horse." I was sad, but felt in my soul that he was right. I got busy with work and life, and before I knew it, Ken exploded onto my horizon and that was that. I left my childhood dream behind with no regrets. We lived for years on acreage where we could have had horses, but I was fulfilled with my good husband, our four rangy children, lots of dogs, chickens, cats and happy times. Ken would've given me one, but I never asked.
Once in awhile, I'll remember how I ached for my own horse, how I would lay awake nights with the windows open and hear the nickers of the horses next door. It brings a smile to my face, thinking of that intensely-lit torch I carried for so long. I thought I might just die if I never got a horse. But I never did, and it's sweet to know that life got along just swimmingly without one. There's got to be a lesson in there somewhere...
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